The next day, Joe glanced up from his desk when Stiles leaned against it. “Something I can help you with, Rich?”
“You said you grew up here, right?”
“Yeah, but I’ve been gone a long time. Things have changed quite a bit.” Joe raised an eyebrow as he swallowed the dregs from his coffee mug. “Though I don’t think the coffee maker is one of them.”
Stiles laughed. “No, you’re probably right. How about Nikki Sterces and her friends? How well did you know them? Can you give me some background?”
Joe twirled the pencil he held between his fingers while he watched Rich and considered how to answer. It hadn’t taken long, once on the squad, to figure out which of the detectives were sharp and which were just collecting a paycheck and biding their time. Stiles was the sharpest, in Joe’s opinion. He knew him to be smart, observant, and thorough. Unlike most of the older detectives in Chicago, Stiles didn’t appear as jaded and ready to believe the worst in every person. Joe respected him, and was glad he was in charge of the Sterces case. At the same time, he knew he had to be careful. With Nikki’s uncharacteristic moods, he feared Rich might start to suspect her.
“I ran into Nikki last night. From what she said you’ve already got more background on them than I could give you.”
“Everything I’ve got is business and financial records, that kind of thing. I need more personal information, and Ms. Sterces wasn’t too forthcoming when I spoke to her the other day.”
Joe couldn’t hold back the grin the comment caused. “No, she wasn’t. Nikki is the ultimate friend, loyal to a fault. I learned a long time ago not to badmouth her friends. She was always quiet and reserved, but seems to have become even more so now.”
“I wish you had shared that information sooner,” Rich said with a chuckle.
“Ah, you look like you got away with out too many singed hairs.”
Rich brushed a hand over his buzz cut. “Only because they’re too short to singe. But, really, I could use some help.”
“You really think one of them did it?”
“It’s possible, but at the moment, my lead suspect is missing.”
Joe sat up a bit straighter. “Brenda’s missing?”
Rich’s eyes narrowed with the question. “I guess Ms. Sterces filled you in pretty well.”
Shrugging, Joe stood and picked up his mug. “Some, like I said, I ran into her last night. How about some coffee?”
They walked down the aisle to the coffee station. As usual, the pot was empty. Joe started a fresh one then turned and leaned against the table while they waited for it to brew. Stiles leaned against the wall across from him.
“I figured your suspect was Brenda because she’s the only one Nikki mentioned. Why do you think she’s missing?”
“We got a call this morning from a Rochelle Stuyvesant. She went in for an early workout only she found a trail of blood leading out the back door. It looks like there was some kind of fight in the office, a broken whiskey bottle, and blood. I found an empty bottle of Percocet, too.”
“Percocet and alcohol, not a very good combination, but, I can see Brenda mixing them. She’s a firm believer in the ‘if some is good, more is better,’ philosophy. With that mix she probably got into a fight with a client then went home to sleep it off.” At least I hope that’s what happened; Joe thought remembering Nikki’s account of last night.
“She’s not at her apartment. Stuyvesant had a key to there as well as the gym, so we went over and checked. She also called Nikki Sterces to see if Brenda had gone to see her, but Nikki said she hadn’t seen her since earlier the previous evening. I’ve still got to talk to her about their visit, but figured it could wait until after school got out.
“You’re probably right about the mess in the office. As to her missing, I’m thinking she’s good for the Sterces murder. She became overwhelmed with guilt after killing him, and took some pills with a whiskey chaser to dull the pain. Then she probably got in her car and took the easy way out.”
“Suicide?”
“Why not? I know she had a relationship with the deceased, and his reputation is less than stellar. She probably caught him cheating on her and killed him in a fit of passion. You don’t think it’s possible?” Stiles asked, reaching for the now full pot of coffee.
Joe filled his mug and then turned back toward his desk. “Murder maybe, but suicide, that doesn’t sound like Brenda. Taking the easy way definitely wasn’t her style. She never backed down from a fight. Come to think of it, that means she’s probably innocent of the murder, as well.”
Stiles cocked his head as he pulled a chair over and sat next to Joe’s desk. “I don’t follow.”
A grin tugged at Joe’s lips and he didn’t even try to hold it back. “If Brenda James had killed Darin Sterces, he would have looked a helluva lot worse than he did. A nice neat poke in the heart wouldn’t have been physical enough for her. She would have beaten the crap out of him.”
“Okay, you knew her, let’s say you’re right. What about the Stuyvesant woman? She’s one tough customer. Maybe she killed Sterces and now she’s trying to frame Brenda James. She explained she’s part owner of the place. She might not be as physically strong as the victim, but I wouldn’t want to get in an argument with her.”
“What makes you say that,” Joe asked.
“Usually, a woman finds a mess like that, she cries and is all torn up. This one, she seemed more mad than sad. She was furious when I told her the place had to remain closed until our people were finished. She seemed more upset by the loss of business than her friend’s missing status.”
If Stiles expected surprise from Joe, he didn’t get it. “That’s Rochelle to a T. The bottom line is all that matters, forget they were friends since grade school. They had a business partnership and because of Brenda, that partnership is losing money.”
“Glad I’m not her partner,” Stiles said.
“Yeah,” Joe said, pulling on his bottom lip as a thought came to him. “If Rochelle had a key there could be others out there. Maybe Darin Sterces had one and whoever killed him took his key. I’m not fond of Rochelle, but they all go back a long way. Besides, if she killed Brenda she wouldn’t get paid back.”
“Okay, then give me more on their backgrounds.”
“She, they were part of a group called the Eenie Meanies in high school.” He watched the other detective roll his eyes.
“I know I’m going to regret this, but I have to ask. Why the Eenie Meanies? It sounds like a nursery rhyme or something.”
“Close, remember how you picked who got to go first when you were a kid. Eenie, meanie, minie, mo? Well, the four girls were nicknamed based on that rhyme. Eenie is Alicia Braeborne,” Joe held up his hand to stop Stiles before he could interrupt. “Yes, Senator Braeborne’s daughter. They used to live here, but moved down to Denver to be closer to the political action.”
“I take it she’s the leader of the group since she received the first of the nicknames?”
“Nope, she’s Eenie because she’s so small.” Stiles shook his head and Joe laughed. “Hey, we were in high school, what can I say?”
“Go on,” Stiles said.
Joe relaxed back in his chair and continued. “Brenda James was Meanie. All you have to do is look at her to figure it out. Besides being tough as nails, she was mean as a rattlesnake. Even the guys in high school were afraid of her. She was the muscle of the group, protector of the other three, and she took her position seriously.”
Stiles nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Rochelle Stuyvesant is Minie, and the one I would consider the leader. Care to take a guess as to why she was called Minie?” When Stiles shook his head, Joe explained. “Rochelle is the one with money. Yeah, I know, the Braeborne’s have money, too, but they earned it. Rochelle is from old money. Lots of old money and she knows how to use it. Rochelle never gave anyone a nickel without a string attached, and she likes to pull those strings as much as getting her money back with interest.”
“Sounds like a lovely group of ladies. You said there were four. Who was, wait a minute ...Eenie, Meanie, Minie, Mo, who was Mo?
Regretting his thoughtless turn down memory lane, Joe reached for his mug before answering. “Nikki.”
“Ms. Sterces? That Nikki?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, so what does Mo stand for?”
“Nothing really. Her full name is Domonique, so a lot of kids called her Mo rather than Nikki.”
“That’s it? Nothing more definitive like the others?”
“Nope, where they were all snobby, selfish, bitches, Nikki was generous, loyal, and kind. I don’t think they’ve ever realized how lucky they were to have her for a friend.”
“I remember you telling me you and Nikki dated. From your glowing descriptions, I take it you didn’t care for the rest of the group.”
“That’s a nice way to put it.” Joe turned back to his mounting paperwork hoping Stiles would get the hint and leave. Digging deeper into his high school memories was not something Joe wanted to do.
Stiles stood with a heavy sigh. “Thanks for the insight, though all it did was add more confusion. Between this case and another body they expect is a related homicide, my brain hurts.”
“Another homicide?”
“Yeah, a young guy, twenty-five maybe. They found him this morning. It was a body dump just outside the city limits. Looks like he’d been there several days, the ME doesn’t even have time of death yet. They still don’t have an ID on him or an original crime scene.”
“Is it your case?” Joe knew Stiles already had two other open cases he was working. If he had another case, he was going to be spread awfully thin. He’d been there himself a time or two in Chicago. It made giving each case the dedication it required tough.
Stiles shook his head. “No, but the lead called me in because there was evidence of a blade similar to the one used on Sterces.”
“A stiletto? Really? That isn’t a typical weapon. Finding it used twice in such a short time does seem pretty unusual.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, but the ME said the cause of death was a heart attack. His body was in good shape apart from the signs of struggle and abuse. The smorgasbord of drugs and alcohol in the guy’s system probably caused the heart attack. Since he was dumped somewhere instead of left where it happened like Sterces, I’m not sure it’s connected. Regardless, they’ve agreed to keep me in the loop on their investigation. If they come up with something that can help with the Sterces case, they’ll let me know.”
Joe nodded as he pulled a folder from the stack on his desk. He opened it, but the words on the page didn’t register. His mind returned to Nikki’s parting words last night. Brenda wasn’t in any shape to hurt anyone when I left.
Had Brenda really been that drunk or had she been playing Nikki? She’d still been strong enough to rough Nikki up and threaten her. Maybe someone else had visited Brenda after Nikki left. Stiles said the guy they found was in good shape physically, maybe one of Brenda’s clients came back and they got into it. DNA wasn’t back on the blood from the gym yet. Maybe it wasn’t Brenda’s blood.
Joe closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He should stay out of it. Stiles didn’t need him telling him how to handle the case. He was a good detective. Only he doesn’t know the players like I do. Stretching his neck, Joe tried to ignore the voice in his head. He had to remember, he’d told Travis he wasn’t really on the case, and he wasn’t. He just wanted to make sure Nikki was safe. And innocent.
He leaned back in his chair, twirling his pencil again. There was the problem. The innocent Nikki he’d known didn’t exist anymore. Could she have changed that much?
# # #
Nikki balanced Chinese take-out, her satchel of papers, and several books as she punched in the security code to her house. A week ago, following the discovery of her uncle’s body, she had considered discontinuing the service. After Rochelle’s call this morning, she was glad she hadn’t.
When the green light glowed, she opened the door and set her books and satchel on the hallway table. She reset the alarm before carrying the food into the kitchen. One step into the room, she froze.
Someone had been in her house.
The gym bag she’d forgotten last night now sitting on her kitchen table proved it. She had forgotten about it when Rochelle called this morning and told herself to tell Detective Stiles later. Okay, maybe Rochelle found it and brought it over. Nikki quickly nixed that idea. First, since the gym was now a crime scene, the police wouldn’t have allowed anyone to remove her bag. Second, she hadn’t given anyone her security codes, especially not the Eenie Meanies.
She stood as silent and immobile as a statue, listening for any sound that might betray the presence of someone. Nothing.
Backing silently out of the kitchen, she set the food on the floor and reached for a cane she had in her umbrella stand beside the door. She had purchased the cane after a self-defense class as an unobtrusive but very effective weapon. Nikki slipped off her shoes and padded silently down the hallway.
A long nerve-racking fifteen minutes later, she returned to the kitchen, certain no one else was in the house. Her gaze zoomed in on the gym bag as if it called to her. Closing her eyes, she tried to fight back the fear that held her paralyzed when all her senses were screaming run! Managing to push it down, she inhaled deeply and opened her eyes with a renewed determination to face whatever the bag might hold.
As she stepped up to the table and hooked the cane over the back of a chair, her eyes never left the bag. She concentrated on keeping her hands steady and started to reach for the zipper. Jerking her hand back, she stopped herself. Fingerprints. The word echoed in her head.
Nikki grabbed the napkin from the placemat she kept on the table, sending the napkin ring clattering to the floor. It broke when it hit the tile floor sending shards of glass everywhere. A startled gasp escaped Nikki’s lips but nothing more. Her focus remained on the gym bag.
Using the napkin, she pinched the end of the zipper tab and pulled it across the entire length of the bag. The slight space between the teeth revealed nothing. With two hands, she pushed the sides apart.
A scream clawed at her throat but no sound escaped her lips. She stood paralyzed by the image in front of her. In the bag, on top of her clothing, lay a doll. Someone had raggedly chopped off the brown hair and spiked it at the top. The eyes were taped open and the mouth taped shut with duct tape. It was obvious someone had painted the drops of red so they appeared to be coming out from under the tape. There was a note, written in what appeared to be a child’s clumsy scrawl, jabbed into the doll’s chest with a pearl tipped florist’s pin.
Eenie, Meanie, Minie, Mo
Down by two
Three more to go.
Which one’s next?
No one knows.
Eenie, Meanie, Minie, Mo.
She stood for several minutes staring at the ominous words before it registered she needed to call the police. With awkward steps, she stumbled back to the entryway. She didn’t want to touch anything else in the house until the police had been through it. She pulled her cell phone and Detective Stiles’ card from her satchel. It took several tries before she managed to punch in the correct numbers.
It seemed forever before she heard the detective’s unmistakably deep voice over the line. “Stiles.”
“This is Nikki Sterces,” she whispered.
“Miss Sterces? Speak up, I can barely hear you.”
Nikki clutched the phone as she willed strength into her voice as well as her backbone. “Some one’s broken into my house,” she said a bit louder but still hushed. Despite having searched the house, the image of the doll and note had her feeling as if someone was still there.
“Are you inside?”
“Yes, they--”
“Get out of there now. Go to a neighbor’s house if you can. I’m on my way.”
The line disconnected and Nikki flipped her phone closed. She did what the detective told her. Keeping her eyes on the bag the whole time, as if it would follow her, she backed toward the door, opened it, and stepped out onto her small stoop. The cold of her concrete porch reminded her of her bare feet. She didn’t care if she caught pneumonia. No way was she going back inside.
With the door separating her from the bag, she should feel better only she didn’t.
The red light on the security panel blinked reminding her to turn it off so the police could enter without setting off the alarm. As she did so, the eerie feeling that someone watched her crawled over her skin. Thankful she hadn’t taken her coat off yet, she clutched it more tightly closed as if the wind would whisk it away. Turning she looked out over the street.
She saw no one, but the feeling persisted. Nikki knew the feeling well. She remembered it from when she was young and her uncle would visit. Although she’d never caught him staring at her then, she’d known he had. Later, the night before she’d left town, she’d had the same feeling that something strange and evil had been watching her. That feeling had been for good reason. Her uncle had stared at her that night, and she didn’t know anyone more evil than him.
But Darin is dead. It can’t be him.
The feeling persisted. Nikki wanted to scream to run. She didn’t. Then the sound of a car speeding down the road reached her ears and the feeling vanished. It happened so quickly she looked around again thinking she would see someone rushing away from behind a bush or fence, but nothing. Nothing moved until she saw the detective’s car and another close behind pull into her driveway. Stiles started talking before he was completely out of his car.
“You should have gone to a neighbor’s house,” he called then rushed up to her.
Nikki shook her head. “Most of my neighbors are at work. I wouldn’t want to upset Mrs. Crandall and cause her another heart attack.” She watched, as he seemed to look her over from head to toe. When he reached a hand toward her, Nikki couldn’t stop her long programmed response to pull away.
He didn’t seem offended. Instead, he held up his hand as he stepped closer. He spoke in a quiet, almost comforting voice she never would have suspected he possessed.
“It’s okay, Miss Sterces. I just want to take you to wait in my car while we check out the house. It will only be a few minutes.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I guess I’m more shook up than I thought.”
“No apology, necessary. Someone breaks in your home; it’s only natural to be afraid.” He took hold of her elbow and guided her toward his car.
“I’d really rather not wait out here.” She scanned the yard and neighboring area as the officers from the second car went into her house. Of course, she didn’t want to go back inside, either.
“Do you think the person that broke in is still here?” he asked following her nervous gaze around the neighborhood.
“No, not now. Just before you pulled up he left.”
Stiles stopped walking and looked at her. “You saw him? You know who did this? That a man did this?”
When he had stopped, she had turned and at his questions, she met his gaze. “No,” then she realized why he thought she did. “No, I’m sorry, my thoughts are scattered. I didn’t see anyone; I just had a feeling that someone was watching me. A moment before your car pulled up the feeling disappeared.”
She felt stronger, but scanned the area again. This time she looked focusing more on where they could have hidden and gotten away unseen. “I used he in a generic sense, though I can’t image a woman doing something like this.”
She noticed the detective shake his head.
“Burglary is an equal opportunity crime. It’s not gender specific.”
“This wasn’t a burglary, Detective. They didn’t break in to take anything. They broke in to leave me something.”
“What did they leave?”
“A warning, a threat. Both? I’ll let you decide.”
“All clear,” an officer called.
Nikki looked at the man as if he’d said something vile. Her house definitely wasn’t all clear. It had been defiled and something hideous awaited them inside.
“Can you go inside with me or do you want to wait out her with the officers?”
Against all her self-preservation instincts, Nikki turned back toward the house. “I’ll go with you.”
While the detective pulled on rubber gloves, Nikki led him back up the walk and inside. She went directly to the kitchen. She didn’t walk to the table, but pointed at the gym bag from the arched entrance. “It’s in the bag.”
Detective Stiles walked up to the table and looked all around the bag and the table. He listened intently as well. After what seemed an interminable amount of time, at least it seemed so to Nikki, he pulled the sides of the bag open and looked inside.
“Did you touch this?” he asked nodding toward the bag.
“I used a napkin to pull the zipper back.”
“Good,” he said looking back at the bag.
Nikki gave a half-hearted laugh bringing his gaze back to her. “It really doesn’t matter. It’s my gym bag, so my fingerprints are all over it.”
“If it’s your gym bag, how did someone get in to put this inside?”
“I,” she paused wondering how to explain. “I went to Brenda’s gym last night. I was upset when I left and I forgot the bag in the locker room.”
“You were at your friend’s gym last night?”
Her friend? Nikki realized now Brenda had never been her friend. Thankfully, her brain was functioning well enough to stop her from saying the words aloud. “Yes. Your suspicion of her upset me and I wanted to prove you wrong.”
“Did you tell Ms. Stuyvesant that this morning when she called about your missing friend?”
“No, I didn’t think about it until later. When I did remember, I figured you wouldn’t let me have the bag anyway because Rochelle said you considered the gym a crime scene.”
“The bag wasn’t there when we arrived. Maybe Ms. Stuyvesant recognized it and picked it up before we got there. When she realized it was a crime scene, she could have thought she’d play a joke on you.”
“A joke? You think I would call you if I thought this,” she pointed toward the bag, “was a joke? No, besides which, Rochelle is a lawyer. She knows better than to take anything from a crime scene. I guarantee you she wouldn’t risk losing her license to practice.”
Stiles raised his hand as if to calm her. It didn’t work.
“No, I didn’t mean to insult you. I talked to Detective Fitzpatrick today, though, and he told me about the rhyme here, and the rather nasty side of several of your friends. I have to consider it.”
Joe, damn it. Of course, he would talk to Joe for background information. Her first inclination was to defend the girls against whatever nasty information Joe might have offered. Giving herself time to think before opening her mouth though, she didn’t bother. Besides, he was right. They did have a rather nasty side to them.
“Joe’s probably not the most impartial person to talk to when it comes to the girls, but he’s honest. He probably didn’t say anything I haven’t thought since we all graduated. Still, I don’t believe they would do something this cruel.”
Detective Stiles kept watching her while she spoke. She figured it was some cop trick meant to unnerve her. Well, it was working, but not enough to change her mind.
“Okay, let’s say it’s someone else. Any ideas on who?”
Nikki had been thinking of little else since seeing the doll.”
“No.” She didn’t think it would be prudent to tell him she thought her dead uncle might be to blame. A stay at the local psychiatric facility wasn’t in her plans.
“We’ll talk more about that later. Let’s look around the house and see if there is anything else.”
“There isn’t. I checked after I saw the bag and knew someone had been here.” The detective’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Before he could say anything, Nikki continued. “I know, I know, stupid, but I wasn’t thinking, I just reacted. I grabbed that cane and searched to make sure they were gone.”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”
She nodded in reply. Nikki felt like a child being reprimanded for misbehaving by her father. Though embarrassing at her age, it felt nice to have someone care. It had been a long time since she’d had that kind of feeling. She waited quietly while the detective decided what to do with such a stupid woman.
“Let’s go over this from the beginning. Start with when you arrived home. Did the security company call you and say the alarm had gone off? How did you know?”
“That’s just it, the alarm wasn’t off. I entered my code to come in and reset it when I put my things down. I was bringing my carry-out into the kitchen when I saw the bag.”
“The alarm hadn’t been tripped? Then it has to be someone you know. Someone you gave the code to in case of an emergency.”
Nikki shook her head. “I haven’t given anyone the code.”
“What about your friends? The,” he glanced back at the note. “Eenie Meanies?”
“No, not them either. To be honest, we haven’t been that close since I moved back to town.”
The detective seemed to consider that for a moment. He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Where did you live before you moved back? How long have you been back? Could this be someone from where you lived before?”
“I can’t think of anyone it could be. When I went away to college, I led an exceedingly quiet, dull life. After getting my degree, I taught in a school there for a year before I moved back about seven years ago. I’d been talking to my dad about moving back and then you called with the news of his death.”
He nodded. “I remember. Where did you go to school again?”
“Colorado State University in Pueblo.”
“Any old boyfriends there who weren’t happy with you leaving? Any new boyfriends here?”
“No old boyfriends. I concentrated on school. Since I’ve been back, teaching has kept me pretty busy.” That and the fact that she couldn’t bring herself to trust a man enough to go anywhere alone with one.
She could tell from the way he looked at her he didn’t quite believe what she said. Not that she blamed him. Most healthy young females would be out dating and hoping to meet Mr. Right. Nikki shivered at the thought that a Mr. Right even existed.
“I’m sorry,” Detective Stiles said. “Standing here looking at this probably isn’t the best place to talk. Let’s go down to the station and talk some more there.”
Nikki couldn’t decide if the detective wanted to go to the station because he really thought it would be easier for her, or if he suspected her. Looking at the bag on the table, she decided she didn’t care. They could lock her up if it would keep whatever psycho had done this away from her.
~~~~