Chapitre 24: That's Why They Call it Ta-Kill-Ya
"Oh my God. You look like shit. And not regular shit, like hammered, run over by a semi-truck shit."
"You're so kind, Bruss," Allie said, rolling her eyes.
She wore the same clothes she had on the previous night, sunglasses, and held the most giant to-go cup of coffee Bruss had ever seen.
"You're taking casual Friday to a whole new level, not to mention it's Thursday."
"I know. I didn't get a chance to change, and these are the clothes from my go bag," she said.
"You didn't go home last night? These are your Walk of Shame clothes! Oh my God," he was giddy like a child. "Whose home did you go to last night? Was it Carron? Please tell me it was Carron."
"No, it wasn't fucking Carron."
She was rummaging through her desk. "Where's my fucking aspirin?"
"You're out. Who was it?" he asked. "Tell me, and I will give you all the aspirin your aching head desires."
"Real mature. Can I have the aspirin without the extortion?"
"Tell me."
He held up the bottle and shook it. She leaned in and snatched the bottle. "Alvarez."
He started slowly shaking his head.
"Holy shit. Allie, what were you thinking?" He shook his head. "Why did you open that door? You are going to fuck him up again. I can't believe it. Are you back--- Oh my God, I have to tell Shelly."
She cut him off. "No. Not in the least. Do not tell anybody. It will get around soon enough. There is no reason to fan the flames."
"Was he just as good as you remember?" he asked.
She sat down and swallowed four aspirins with a large gulp of coffee. "From what I can recall. Yes. He was glorious as always."
She put her head down on her desk. "I feel like someone threw a concussion grenade straight into my skull."
"It can't be that bad," Dean said, coming up behind her, his voice booming and bouncing off the walls.
Just what I fucking need right now. My head hurts, and now a 6 '6 pain in my ass.
"I have to find some different clothes before Curtis sees me," she said, picking herself up off the chair.
"I guess it is that bad. You look like a piece of shit," Dean said.
"I'd rather look like shit than be a piece of one," she called as she walked away.
"I think she was talking to you," Bruss said.
"Yeah, I do, too," Dean said. "What happened to her?"
"My best guess is she got run over by Jose Cuervo. You don't exactly look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, either. You haven't shaved today, have you?"
"Let's just say that a Grey Goose attacked me."
"I have to get out more. I spent my night on the couch watching Top Chef reruns."
"I would give anything to be on the couch right now," Dean said. "Do you think she feels like working?"
"No, but does she have a choice?" Bruss asked.
"Nope. I was told to come pick Kingston up and take her with me. We have some statements to take."
"You sure you don't want to take me instead?"
"No. Don't let her off the hook just because she made some bad choices last night," he said.
She returned wearing a CPD sweatshirt that was about two sizes too big. Bruss looked at her and cocked his brow.
"It was all I could find," Allie said.
Her hair was fixed back into a tight bun; she had washed her face and brushed her teeth. She looked better but still felt like death warmed over.
"I guess you're partnering up with Carron today."
"Are you fucking kidding me. Tell me you're kidding me. The last place I want to be, feeling like this, is with him," she said.
"You know I'm standing right here."
"I know, but I don't care," she said. "Bruss, you go with him."
"No can do. He was told by the brass to take you."
"Fine," she picked up her coffee, "but don't fucking talk to me."
"This is going to be a most excellent day," Dean said. "Later, Bill."
"Later, Ted," Bruss said.
He caught up with her in the lobby.
"Do you want to drive?" he asked.
"Do I look like I want to fucking drive?"
"Just asking. No need to get mouthy," Dean said. "Plus, I don't know where that mouth has been."
She stopped and turned to him.
"Hey, fuck you."
"I haven't fucked anybody recently. How about you, Allie?"
She sneered at him and walked away.
He led them down the block and around the corner where his truck was parked. She started to walk past it.
"This is me, remember?" he said.
She looked at the gigantic truck. Oh yeah, I do remember this truck, though I only remember the back seat.
Even though she was impressed by it and wished she could have something like this, she would not give him satisfaction. She climbed up into the truck, which looked like she was climbing a tree. She sat down and put on her seatbelt.
"Overcompensating for something, Carron?"
"I don't know Kingston. You tell me?" he said, stepping up into the cab.
If I remember correctly, no, not in the least. The truck size matched the dick size.
"It doesn't matter; I don't think I'm your type anymore," Dean said.
He started the engine, and it rumbled. Allie sat quietly for a minute as they drove through downtown.
"So, what exactly is "my type" Dean," she said, annoyed.
"Not a white boy from Kentucky. I don't think I'm exotic enough for you," he said. "By the way, you are extremely good at darts. Though I think you had some tactical advantage over the other guy."
"Never challenge a determined woman to a game you don't know if she can play."
"You mean a determined woman sharpshooter? Isn't every marine a rifleman first? I don't think they knew that you had military training. You are taught to shoot a fly off a horse's ass, aren't you? Like I said, tactical advantage."
"Wow. See, this is why I don't tell anyone shit about me. Yeah, I am fairly good with the whole aim-and-shoot thing. No matter what kind of target I'm aiming for," she said.
"Fairly good? I think you are underselling yourself."
"So, do you want to tell me what this conversation is really about, or can we just sit in silence until we get to where we are going?"
"You know what, Allie, I don't care, not anymore."
They sat in silence. She propped her head against the window, watching the scenery whip by.
The Crawford building was an enormous brick structure with white accents. It looked like an old estate house. Allie wondered if it had been at one time.
"Nice brick building. You like brick buildings, Allie?" Dean asked in a passive-aggressive tone.
He opened the door for her. She pulled on the other door and let herself inside. They rode the elevator to the third floor. It opened into a large, beautifully decorated reception area. A young man met them when they exited the elevator.
"Hi, I'm Marco, Mr. Crawford's executive assistant. If you need anything, ask me. Mr. Crawford is waiting for you in the conference room. Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Coffee? Tea? Juice?"
"No, thank you. I am good," Dean said.
"I would love a cup of coffee, cream, and sugar," Allie said. "I appreciate it."
The conference room was majestic, with oak bookcases on the wall filled with binders and the occasional statue or photograph. The conference table was the most enormous table she had ever seen. She counted thirty chairs circling the table. He was all the way at the opposite end. For such a large man as he was, he looked small that far away. He stood up and greeted them.
"Agent Carron," he shook his hand. "Detective Kingston. I've heard a lot of remarkable things about you."
"Have you?" Allie shook his hand.
"Between your time in the department and your military career and commendations, I am happy you are on my daughter's case," he said. "And you, Agent Carron, you are impressive too. Graduated Northwestern Summa cum Laude, Valedictorian; and do you really have an idyllic memory?"
"It's Hyperthymesia. I can recall every event in my life with great precision.
"Rare, exceedingly rare. Too bad you're wasting that degree. If you are ever looking for a career change, let me know. I would love to have a forensic accountant on staff," he said.
"You've done your homework on us," Dean said.
"No, I pay people to do my homework for me," he said. "Please have a seat."
He rolled out a chair for Allie. She took a seat; Dean took the one beside her, and Crawford sat across from them.
Marcus came back in with Allie's coffee.
"Here you go, Detective Kingston."
He put down a mug of coffee, a small pitcher of creamer, and a selection of sugars.
"Oh, my goodness. Thank you so much. You really didn't have to go through all this trouble."
"Trouble? No trouble at all. Would you like a danish or a muffin?" Marcus asked.
"I am good with just the coffee, but I appreciate the offer."
"Are you sure you don't want anything before you start?" he asked Dean.
"No, I am fine. I appreciate you asking."
"Sir? Do you need anything?"
"No, Marcus, I am good. Please do me a favor and call the florist. I want to send flowers to the family of the other girls they found," Crawford said.
"Yes, Sir."
Marcus left the room and shut the door behind him.
"Mr. Crawford, how do you know the identity of the other victims?"
"I would prefer not to answer that, and I am also sure the person I got the information from would appreciate me not to say anything," he said.
Allie and Dean just looked at each other. Neither knew what to say or what to do.
Dean broke the silence. "Mr. Crawford, we are here because we would like to ask about Melody's schedule and routine. Specifically, the day she went missing. Are you familiar with her day-to-day?" Dean asked.
"We are close. Her mother died when she was six; she was always daddy's little girl, but she wouldn't leave my side after that. She was afraid I was going to leave, too. It took me a year to convince her to move into her own place."
Allie felt empathy for her. She knew the fear of losing someone. At that moment, she no longer saw these girls as victims but as someone's daughter, friend, sister, or niece. They were loved. Someone now feels the grief of losing them. Somewhere out there, a mother cries, or a brother is lost without his sister. She knew the pain of that one.
"That would be the townhouse in Coventry?" Allie asked.
"Yes. I thought she needed to have some independence. She needed to live without me constantly by her side. So, I bought her a townhouse. Nice neighborhood, quiet, safe." Chapman said.
"What about her day-to-day? Did it change much after she left?" Dean asked.
"No, not really. She did most of the same things, just at a different place. Monday through Friday, she went to Casa Dolce and got a cappuccino and a bagel. The girl loves her carbs," he looked down at the table. "I mean, she loved her carbs."
"What else can you tell us about her day?" he asked. "Take us back, and let's go through her average week."
The man had been following her for three weeks. He watched her, learned about her, and followed her. Every spare minute he had was used to study her. He quickly determined she had a very set routine. After three weeks, he knew her schedule. He could set his watch by it.
Mr. Crawford cleared his throat and took a deep breath.
"After coffee on Monday, she would pick up her dry cleaning. She arrived at work every morning at 8:30 and stayed till 4:30. Then, it was straight to the gym. She always stayed for an hour. Afterward, she ran her errands for the day. Some days, it was the grocery store, the drug store. She went tanning one or two days a week; she said it was her light therapy to keep the winter blues away."
"I can relate," Allie said. "Did she have depression?"
"She was treated when she was younger, but after therapy and lifestyle changes, she was doing well. So, no, I wouldn't say she was depressed. I think she didn't like being pale," he laughed a little.
"Please continue," Dean said.
"She was always home by 8, regardless of what she had to do. She had to feed her cat, Frank, at the same time every day. He had to take some medication. She would cook or get DoorDash, and occasionally, she would pick something up on the way home. She would stay home on Saturdays and clean her place, do laundry, then end the day with a night out with friends. She would come over on Sundays, and we would go to Mass and spend the day together. That's why I started to worry when she didn't show up on that Sunday morning. So that's when I called my contact at the FBI."
He circled the block twice. He watched a car pull up, and she got inside. She was gone for the night off to meet her friends, Sandy and Karen. They met at the same place every Saturday night. She would always have pizza, cranberry with vodka, and finish it with a chocolate lava cake. They would play pool and dance with some of the regulars, and at 1:30, she would get in an Uber and head home. He knew when she would be home. She had a bad habit of not locking her patio door. He didn't look out of place in the neighborhood. He walked up to her patio door like he owned the place.
He slid the door open and stepped into the kitchen. The place smelled like sandalwood. It was immaculate. She kept a lovely house. Impressive for such a young girl. He went to her fridge and looked at all the takeout containers and leftovers. It seems like she never finished a meal. He dug around and pulled out a Chinese takeout container. His favorite is Lo Mein. He took a bowl out of the cabinet and heated the food. He slowly ate the food as he walked around the townhouse.
He saw a picture of her with her father in front of a blue Mercedes. She looked young, maybe 17. Next to it was a photograph of her in a bikini on a beach with Sandy and Karen.
He took the framed photo with him. He found his way to her bedroom. He put the bowl on her dresser. He looked into her closet. He then went to her dresser. He opened each drawer and shuffled through the clothes. He did that to every drawer in her room until he found what he sought. He pulled out the little deep pink bikini from the photo. It smelled like coconut tanning lotion. He took it and laid it on the bed. He lay next to it and began to run his fingers over the silky material. He stroked the tiny triangles of the top where he imagined her nipple would be. He envisioned her large, firm breasts with her pink nipples. He started running his finger up and down the crotch of the tiny pink bottoms. They were so small that she had to be waxed smooth and clean for them to look elegant on the body. He could almost feel his finger running back and forth, up and down; her slit wetness was starting to seep through the material.
He was becoming erect. He took his pants off and took the bottoms. He wrapped them around his penis, looked intently at the photo, and began to stroke himself. It didn't take long for him to release; he had been building tension for the last three weeks. He ejaculated into the fabric of the bikini. He balled up the bathing suit and put it back in her drawer, wet and sticky. He pushed it into the back.
Her bathroom was just off the bedroom. He stripped off the rest of his clothes. He looked around the bathroom. He was opening medicine cabinets and drawers. She had numerous hair products. The expensive brands you would find are available only in posh salons. He smelled each one, wondering which one might be her favorite. He chose the one that was the closest to being empty.
He stepped into the shower and ran the water till it was hot. He didn't like the cold. He stood under the hot water. He wasn't a fit man, but he wasn't what you would call overweight. He washed his hair with the shampoo. He used it to wash his entire body. He wanted to smell as much like her as possible. He pleasured himself one more time in the shower. He was rubbing himself with the slickness of the shampoo to reach climax. It stuck the glass shower door and slithered down.
He stepped out of the shower and picked the towel off the floor. It was still damp from when she had used it. Under the towel was a pair of white cotton panties. He picked them up and inhaled deeply. He shuddered.
He dressed and put the bowl in the sink. He put the photo back in place.
"I'll see you later, Frank," he said.
He slid the patio door closed, leaving Frank on the other side. He walked down the steps and started down the street, passing her as she got out of the Uber.
"Hello," he said as he passed.
"Hi," she said, not even looking in his direction.
I'll be seeing you next Saturday. I would love some pizza and beer, he thought.
Dean and Allie rose to their feet. Crawford followed them to the door.
"Thank you for your time. This will help us start to piece the events together and get a better understanding and timeline of what happened to your Melody." Dean said.
He shook both of their hands. "Agent. Detective. Thank you." he said. "If you have any more questions I can help with, call me. Marcus will put you right through."
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