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Kate Starling slapped the customer service counter, startling the Branson Tri-Lakes Daily News part-time receptionist Cassie Yeats. The young woman’s golden tresses glided across her back in thick waves as she raised her head, swirled around, and lifted out of her chair. “You’re here!” she said, surprising the reporter with an uncharacteristic enthusiasm.
“My early-morning interview with the souvenir shop owner lasted longer than I anticipated. Anyone ... meaning Helen ... notice I was late?”
Cassie shook her head, still grinning ear-to-ear. “Here’s your copy. It came over the fax machine about twenty minutes ago. It’s not very long. Read it,” she said without taking a breath.
“Wow. I haven’t seen you this excited since you were officially hired last year.”
Kate turned the page right side up, and immediately spotted the police department logo in the upper left corner, sending an involuntary tingle up her spine and down to her fingertips.
Unidentified body discovered early this morning on Marvin Way. Police investigation is ongoing. If you believe you have information regarding this issue, please contact the Branson Police Department immediately.
More information will follow when available.
Leonard Daniels, Chief of Police
“This is why Tom was called to work early this morning,” she whispered.
“So cool,” Cassie offered.
Kate withheld comment regarding the young girl’s excitement over a dead body as she pivoted toward the hallway leading to her boss’s office. Looking back over her shoulder, she shouted, “Find Barry. Tell him to meet me by the back door in five minutes.”
Helen met her in the hall. “I heard you coming. I’ve seen the fax.”
“Please don’t tell me someone else has already gone out there.”
“No. But I want you to take a couple of deep breaths before you leave.”
“I’ll breathe in the car. I promise. And I won’t interfere with the police investigation,” Kate added, anticipating her boss’s next ... and somewhat warranted ... admonition.
Following a long pause, Helen nodded her approval, and Kate headed for the alley entrance close to where she had parked her car. On their way to the scene, she briefed the photographer Barry, whose assignments usually involved city council and rotary meetings and the annual 5K run for charity.
“Are we assuming this is a murder?” Barry asked.
“Could be someone simply collapsed and died, I suppose, but Tom was called really early this morning. The police haven’t made an update since the eight-thirty a.m. fax, so, I would say yes, we have our first murder in almost exactly three years.”
“So, you’re not counting the skeleton by the lake?”
“That was an old murder.”
“Right. In any case, it must be handy to be a reporter dating a cop.”
She glanced in his direction and said, “Not so much. Detective Collingwood and I have a complicated professional relationship.”
“Check that out ... the patrolmen in that parking lot,” Barry said, motioning to the small strip mall at the intersection of Marvin Way and Highway 165.
“I know those two officers.”
“Looks like they’re cordoning off an area around that incredibly ugly little car. I’ve never seen one that color before,” Barry snickered.
“Yeah, chartreuse is pretty rare,” Kate said, recognizing the vehicle in question, by the bumper stickers and its neon color. She had first interviewed the owner of the car two years ago in his condo, maybe three miles from the lot. The man claimed that the color was his favorite, but she suspected it was a company vehicle from the group he worked for in Kansas City.
Marvin Way took a couple of sharp turns into a small residential community on the south-western edge of Branson. Sandwiched between the growing number of commercial businesses along Highway 165 and a massive undeveloped wooded area stretching westward outside the city limits, the houses went largely unnoticed.
Two police officers stood between their vehicles, essentially blocking the street at its last sharp turn. Kate and Barry walked the short distance to the guarded access after she parked her Focus along the roadside.
“Hey Skip. Pete,” she said with a nod and warm smile. She had met Patrol Corporal Harold “Skip” Rogers long before her high school sweetheart, now roommate, Tom Collingwood returned to the Branson PD three years ago. Skip had been in the first article of her police recruit series, which began in 1992 as the department expanded to meet the needs of the growing city. Patrolman Pete Sims, newer to the department, seemed very young when she interviewed him for the ongoing column two years later.
“We know nothing,” Skip said with a grin.
“That goes without saying,” Kate retorted, positioning herself so she could observe the activity toward the end of Marvin Way. She turned to say something to Barry, but he was already standing on an old tree stump taking pictures.
“You two can’t go any further, Kate,” Skip said.
“I understand. We’re just responding to the police department fax. A reporter never knows what they might see or who might make a statement,” Kate said.
“I suppose,” Skip said, surveying the area behind him as if trying to determine her and Barry’s line of sight. “My suggestion, however, would be to head on back to the newspaper and wait for the next fax from the Chief.”
Kate laughed. After a moment, she said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were serious.”
Pete whispered, “Coroner’s finally here, Skip.”
Taney County Coroner Artie Richards rolled up beside Kate, his driver’s side window opened. “Nice to see you Kate,” he said, adding, “But not surprised you’re here.”
“Thanks, Artie. You’re a little late to the party though,” she said with a smile.
“Engrossed in a three-day medical examiner’s seminar out in Springfield when I got the notification.”
Kate said, “That explains why the body’s still here.”
“You can go on through, Mr. Richards,” Pete said.
The reporter sidled up to Skip and said, “Saw the two patrolmen marking an area around a really bright yellow-green Plymouth Neon in the strip mall parking lot on 165. Does it have something to do with the victim?”
“Victim?” Skip said, raising an eyebrow. “It would be premature at this time to call the deceased a crime victim.”
“Since Artie just got here, I’m guessing the detectives assume the corpse is a murder victim until shown to be otherwise.”
Skip turned to Pete and said, “Have you noticed how some folks who date policemen think they know a lot about police investigations?”
Pete grinned widely and stared at the reporter.
Kate returned a smile and then walked nonchalantly between the two patrol cars. She stopped as soon as she caught a glimpse of Tom and his partner Detective Sergeant Sid Greene leading Artie to the body, which was in a narrow empty space between two houses close to the street’s dead end.
Satisfied that she’d seen what there was to see from her position, she reversed her course and said, “Okay, Barry, I guess we’ll take this young man’s advice and head back to the office.” She tossed a perfunctory wave toward Skip and Pete and said, “Thanks guys. We look forward to the next police fax.”
“Got some good photos,” Barry reported, struggling with his seat belt.
“I’ll have to come back later to see if the neighbors saw anything,” Kate said.
“Too bad Tom won’t fill you in.”
“Yes, very inconvenient,” she agreed, turning the Focus around to leave.
***
SHARON THOMPSON SERVED as Kate’s police department contact for the crime statistics data used for the paper’s weekly report. The forty-something woman had been Chief Daniels’ secretary since he rose to the position more than a decade ago. She was very protective of him, his time, and his information, and only moderately tolerant of inquiries by the media.
The secretary was more than cordial when Kate picked up the weekly crime info, but the odds of learning anything about the police activity surrounding the dead body on Marvin Way were slim. Of course, low odds never slowed down a good reporter. May as well go for broke.
“Good morning, Kate,” Sharon said, peering over her computer monitor. “I knew you couldn’t wait until next Tuesday to pump me about the murder.”
“So, you’re saying I’m predictable?” Kate said, not surprised Sharon had her pegged.
The secretary shrugged with a smile, causing an errant brunette curl to fall across her forehead. Her new cut and hairdo had revealed a sprinkle of white beginning to creep into her thick now shoulder-length hair. Kate resisted offering a compliment knowing that Sharon would categorize it as flattery.
“I was hoping there might be a more complete press release by now. The patrol officers at the scene wouldn’t let me past the perimeter. They wouldn’t even admit it was a murder, as you apparently just did.”
“Oops,” Sharon said.
“Don’t worry, that wasn’t too hard to guess. Any other tidbits for an old friend?”
“There will be a fax sent out later today, but you shouldn’t get too excited. It’s will still be a preliminary and, therefore, boring announcement. After all, the victim was hardly a major contributor to the community.” Sharon furrowed her brow and pursed her lips.
“Too late,” Kate said. “So, the victim was not a local. Interesting.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t quote you ... directly.”
“Good to know. But I really don’t know anything. It’s too early.”
“Is that part of the PD mantra ... it’s too early to say? Never mind, let’s move on to another topic. Since I’m here, I’ll pick up last week’s crime stats if they’re ready.”
“We won’t have anything for you this week.”
Kate raised her eyebrows. “Because ...?”
“The city administration wants to review the policy.”
“You mean the City Administrator wants to suppress the information?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way and the decision to rethink the policy was a group effort.”
“You mean Mark Orchard and a few of his cronies in the Chamber of Commerce?”
Sharon smirked and then proceeded to straighten piles of paper on her desk.
“Okay,” Kate said after a few moments. “Can I speak to the Chief about this?”
“You’d be better off going to Orchard or Mayor Holt.” After a moment, she looked at Kate and said, “Chief Daniels did not participate in the discussion regarding the crime statistics.”
Sharon’s last sentence propelled Kate directly to the mayor’s office to speak with Laura Abbott, her friend and chief city grapevine monitor. Although her primary responsibilities involved the mayor and city administrator, Laura had held every post in the administration and still had influence within each city department.
The reporter found the executive assistant at her desk, positioned strategically between Holt and Orchard’s offices. Unlike the metal items found in most city offices, the mayor’s suite contained only wooden furniture, still stately but slightly tarnished by time. The secretary’s desk, centered between the men’s office doors, housed the access control center for the executives and guarded three four-drawer file cabinets. A small round conference table, surrounded by four executive armchairs, occupied the area close but off-center to the suite’s archway entrance.
“I know nothing about the dead body,” Laura said before Kate had a chance to finish her greeting.
“Why would I ask the mayor’s assistant about a dead body? I’m here to complain to the mayor about the crime statistics,” Kate said, feigning outrage.
“He’s not here today. But if he were here, he’d tell you he’s not responsible for crime in the city or providing crime statistics to the press.”
“How about the City Administrator?”
“He’s with the mayor in Jefferson City. What do you want to know? Perhaps I can find someone else to assist you.”
“The police department refused to provide the information for next week’s crime report column.”
“Refused?”
“Sharon told me the policy was under review.”
“That is correct. The topic was discussed at the last staff meeting.”
“Can I have a copy of the minutes?”
“Really?”
“How about just telling me why?” Kate asked, letting her friend off for doing her job.
“How about I make an appointment for you to discuss the subject with Mark Orchard next week? Or Mayor Holt, if you prefer.”
“I’ll have one with each, please.”
***
AS KATE WALKED OUT of City Hall, she took her phone off vibrate. She was halfway to her vehicle when her best friend Shirley Barrens called. “Good timing,” Kate said, “What’s up?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” Shirley said, clearly upset.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s Ginger. Carl’s done it again. Can you come to the hospital? She’s on the fourth floor. I’ll meet you there.”
Shirley greeted Kate in the hall outside Ginger’s room. “They’re examining her injuries,” she said, motioning toward the closed door.
“Injuries? When did this happen?” Kate asked.
“Tuesday evening. She spent some time in the ER. They decided to keep her overnight.”
“So, she’s been here two nights already? How bad?”
“Apparently they were concerned about a concussion. She took a bad fall into the kitchen counter. The x-ray revealed a hairline fracture. I’m not sure when she’ll be released.”
“Thanks for calling me. I can’t believe this happened again.”
“Actually, I’m not surprised. Some of her remarks in the last several months have made me wonder if he was regressing.”
The three friends had been close since elementary school, although Ginger had drifted away from the relationship occasionally. But the trio had always supported each other through life events—good and bad—regardless of what else was happening in their lives.
A doctor and two nurses exited the room, leaving the door propped open behind them. One of the nurses said, “She can have visitors now.”
“Thanks,” Shirley said.
Ginger sat propped up in bed, holding an icepack to her left cheek.
Kate found no words to express her thoughts.
“Don’t worry, I’m on some good pain pills. But it feels just as bad as it looks,” Ginger said, trying to smile. “Somebody say something.”
Shirley said, “I’m sorry this happened. I know you wanted things to work out with Carl.”
Ginger shrugged, tears forming in her eyes. “Sorry, I’m a little weepy. I guess I’m a little overwhelmed. The other times were bad enough, but not like this. I thought he’d changed.”
“Will you be able to go home today?” Shirley asked.
“They’re going to do another x-ray. The doctor wants to see how things look now that the swelling has gone down.”
“Have you called your mother?” Kate asked.
“No. I’m not ready for that lecture again.”
“Do you want me to speak to her?” Kate said.
“I’ll deal with it later, but I appreciate your offer. I really can’t think clearly right now. Once I go home—”
“You can’t go home,” Kate said. “You have to go somewhere safe. You can contact the crisis center. I’m sure they’ll help you with temporary housing.”
“Carl’s in jail. They picked him up this morning at his cousin’s house.”
“Robbie helped him?” Shirley said.
“They’re close.” Ginger said. “In any case, I’ll be able to go home. The prosecutor wants to press charges. I’m not sure what that means. I know this is my fault. I should never have taken him back after he got out of jail.”
“For the third assault ... I might add,” Kate said.
“It’s not your fault,” Shirley said.
“That’s what they tell me in my group sessions at the crisis center,” Ginger said. “But the truth is, I stayed with him. I made that decision. Obviously, we’re not good together.”
Kate looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“You both do,” Ginger said. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for coming by. I’ll keep you posted.”
“I’m going to come back after work,” Kate said. “Maybe you’ll know more about getting released. If you can leave sooner, call one of us and we’ll get you home.”
“In the meantime, call the crisis center hotline and tell them what’s happened,” Shirley said. “Ask them what options you have through them.”
“Will do,” Ginger said, pushing through another smile.
***