Lemons 02 A Touch of Danger (9 page)

“Fine. Tell me.”

“Okay, so Anderson filled me in on all the details of the case. I don’t know how he got it and I don’t care, all I know is that the police had solid proof that she was at the Jackson’s house the night of the murder, which she admits to, but what they did not have was a weapon. The knife that was used is long gone, never to be seen again. It was one of those large Martha Stewart looking knives and it was taken from the kitchen.”

“So, are you thinking that if she went to kill her, why would she not bring her own weapon? Why chance it by trying to find one in the home?”

“Yeah, kind of, but that’s not even the main thing. That can be dismissed for any number of reasons. That bothered me before we went to the house and before we met Ms. Ricks, now I’ve moved on to something else.

“Anderson said they had definite proof that she was on the property the night of the murder, not only from the eyewitness but from foot prints found near the house. They knew the footprints were fresh because that same morning, the gardening crew came and raked everything, even the dirt around the bushes in the front yard, near the windows. They pulled two solid footprints that matched Ms. Rick’s shoes absolutely. So, her fresh footprints from the scene of the crime on the day of the crime all but closed the case for her, especially adding in all the threats and restraining order. It was an open and shut case, apparently.”

“But?”

“But! There were no other footprints or marks anywhere else around the house. Everything was still perfectly landscaped from earlier in the day.”

“Okay…?”

“Did you see her hands today?”

“Yes, they were damaged badly.”

“Yeah, from arthritis which she has had for years, long before the murder.”

“But she said they already proved she could hold the knife and commit the murder.”

“Yes, they did. But her shitty defense overlooked one glaringly obvious problem.”

“And what is that?”

“How did she get in to the backyard in the first place?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this, E. They have footprints out front, right? Whoopty-fuckin-do. We know she was there spying, so throw that evidence out. Where does that leave us now? With nothing.”

“The eyewitness.”

“I’ll get to her later. Right now, we need to figure out how Emma Ricks pulled herself up over that big block wall that surrounds the entire back portion of the property. There is no way, with her disgusting freak hands, she could have pulled her body weight up over the wall. No way. And it’s not like a wooden fence where she could have used cross pieces to help. Its solid block. And there were no other markings around the property. So even in the unlikely event she would have the foresight to bring a ladder, there were no depression marks found anywhere near the wall. And really, why go through the hassle to bring a ladder when she could have just as easily broken a front window to get in?”

“Holy crap. What about a gate?”

“There is only one gate door but it is solid, and right by the housekeepers house out back. She would have the same problem getting over it and the gardeners are positive they locked it when they left, according to the police report. Besides, why take the risk of the housekeeper seeing you, going in so close to her living area? It makes no sense, and, like I said, my proof is not rock solid, but it’s good enough for me for right now.”

“Me too.”

“Ms. Ricks said Brad was hanging out with a buddy one night when him and his wife got into a fight of some sort and she stormed out. This same guy shows up at court and gives Emma a smirk. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like anyone.”

“True. But, I REALLY don’t like this guy. We need to find him.”

“And how do we do that?”

“Courtroom photos and video. He’ll be in the crowd. Someone will have to know who he is.”

“Let’s get on that, then. Call Detectives Anderson and Enzite and tell them what you told me.”

“Will do. After that, I think we need to keep a close eye on Mr. Hunky Vampire. You down for a little sneakiness tonight?”

“I’m always down.”

***

That evening, after hanging up the phone from the Pismo Police Department and so easily getting the name of the man who appears to be obsessed with him, Brad Jackson began flipping through the phone book and calling every motel in the area, requesting to be patched through to a Mr. Archie Lemons’ room.

16.

I had called and told Anderson everything I had and he said he would try to get pictures or video of the trail. Just something we could go on. I would really like to talk to that mystery man.

After ending the call, Elise and I made a quick trip to the local Wal-Mart and picked up two small pairs of binoculars for our little stake out tonight, and once the sun set, we took off down the hill towards the cliffs where we could keep an eye on Mr. Jackson. We really needed to do some snooping around in that house, but we would have to wait until he was gone. Hopefully we would luck out.

We picked out a spot near the edge of the cliff that would partially hide us from any casual observer. We took a seat and focused our binoculars on Brad’s house. There was a light on in, what I guessed, was the main living room, and I am pretty sure I could make out the slightest bit of movement in the house. I was almost positive he was home.

Now we had to wait. I had an idea about what I was looking for but I needed to get close to the house to check on it. Something I would not be doing as long as Mr. Douche was home.

We sat in the evening air, the sun setting behind us, and waited.

“Man, you know what I hate?” I ask Elise.

“Everything?”

“Yeah, but besides that?”

“The abbreviation of ID4 for the movie Independence Day?”

“Yeah, I do hate that. Like, it sounds like it’s the fourth movie of a series titled ID. It made no sense. But that’s not what I was talking about. Besides that.”

“Oh. Watching people eat cereal? Old people? Temple of the Dog? Grunge music in general? The Kings Speech? Reality shows? The Kardashians? Football? Basketball? The names Josh and Matt? Movie remakes? The royal family? Family Guy? Benjamin Button? Shall I go on?”

“Okay, okay. Point taken. But no, what I hate is the Shania Twain song That Don’t Impress Me Much.”

“Where in the hell did that come from?”

“I dunno. Oh, the whole Brad Pitt thing. Guess it just reminded me. It is so fucking retarded though when she names off the things that ‘don’t impress her. And that’s another thing. It’s DOESN’T, not DON’T, ya dumb country bumpkin!’

“Geez.”

“Well, it’s retarded. She starts off saying ‘So you’re a rocket scientist.’ But hold on, that don’t impress her even though it pretty well goddamn should. Then she says ‘So you’re Brad Pitt,’ which also doesn’t, sorry DON’T impress her much, and it kinda should since he’s a big star. He may not be as impressive as a rocket scientist but still, it’s not every day you meet Brad Pitt…But then, the last one is, ‘So you’ve got a car!’ A fucking car! Whoopty-goddamn-do, a car! Fucking children have cars, but man, that DON’T impress Shania Twain! She goes from Rocket Scientist, to Brad Pitt to any po-dunk hillbilly with a goddamn car!”

“Calm down there, Tiger. It’s just a song.”

“Yeah, well, it’s stupid.”

Elise rolled her eyes at me and went back to looking through her binoculars.

“Hold on there, Cowboy” she said to me. “I think he’s haulin” out!

“Oh great. Let’s get ready to go.”

We saw a car back out of the driveway, one of those fancy-ass BMWs or Mercedes, I couldn’t tell from this far away. When he was out of sight, we stood up and headed towards the house.

“Maybe instead of playing the Guess What Archie Hates Game, we should have come up with a plan,” Elise says as we reach the house.

“Yeah, well, shoulda coulda woulda. Let’s go.” I took out my lock pick kit and once again opened his locked gate and let us onto the property. What kind of tool locks the gate around his house? How does he expect to have visitors if no one can even reach the door? Seems fishy.

“Archie,” Elise calls out to me. “There is another door over here by the garage.”

Oh. Oops.

I walk over to her, since my main point of business here is, in fact, with the garage. I give a good once over and am dismayed to see there aren’t any windows I can peak in to.

“What are you doing?” Elise asks me.

“I had a thought. Okay, the lady I saw killed was obviously visiting here, since apparently Brad lives here alone, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, where is her car?”

“She could have walked.”

“You’re right, she could have. But she also could have driven and it’s worth a shot.”

“Right on.”

“I’m thinking the easiest thing for him to have done to get that car out of sight was to just pull it into his garage for hiding. So, seeing as he is out with one car right now, I find it rather unlikely there should be another car in that garage. And, if there is, it’s definitely worth following through on.”

“So what do we do?”

“Here,” I said and I bent over and grabbed the bottom of the garage door. “Help me with this.”

Elise bent down and we both tried to pull the garage door open so one of us could peak in. No luck though, it wouldn’t budge more than an inch or so.

“We’ve got to go in through the house,” Elise said.

“Are you insane? You think this asshole doesn’t have a security system?”

“Well, I don’t see any signs for it out front if he does.”

“He doesn’t need a sign. His giant house is sign enough. And the fact that he is a celebrity. AND his wife was murdered.”

“Well, this isn’t Los Angeles, it’s a small beach community and it’s at least worth a shot. Follow me.”

Elise walked around to the side door near the garage and gave it a tug. No luck. She opened up the gate that I picked and walked up to the other door, the one I had knocked on when pretending to look for my dog. I followed.

Elise gave the knob a slow turn, and low and behold, it actually opened.

“See?”

“Are you kidding me, Elise?! This asshole doesn’t even lock his door. What kind of psychopath does that?”

“Come on, let’s go.”

She opened the door slowly and peaked her head in. We listening for an alarm warning but heard nothing. Elise calls out Hello to make sure no one is there. When she gets no response, she goes inside. Once again, I follow her. This was not the first time I have had to break in to someone’s house for a case, but this is the first time I’ve had this bad of feeling about it.

Lights were still on in the house, which made my bad feeling worse. Usually when people didn’t kill any lights, they weren’t going to be gone long. We needed to move fast.

We headed straight for the door leading to the garage. I gave the knob a turn and was dismayed to find that it was locked. With the deadbolt.

Why would someone exit his house through this door leading in to the garage, deadbolt it from the outside AND close the actual garage door, all while leaving the front door unlocked? Peculiar.

I needed in to the garage. We cut through the house until we found a sliding glass door that would lead up to the north side lawn. From there, hopefully, there would be another entrance into the garage. We got lucky. The outside door was only locked with the knob and it took me all of six seconds to pick it. Once inside, we found what we were looking for.

The car was one of those New Bugs from Volkswagen, bright green. A hideous embarrassment to all who drive them and, even though I didn’t know this Brad Jackson cat, I was willing to bet this was most definitely NOT his car. This thing screamed SISSYPANTS.

Elise and I made our way over to the Vagina On Wheels and took a peek inside. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I took my phone out and snapped a quick picture of the license plate. This might come in handy. I would need to run a check on the plates, and then hopefully, I would find my murdered woman. Well, that was the plan at least.

I told Elise I was satisfied with our findings and that we should get out of here. She agreed. We left the garage through the door we came in and entered back into the house through the sliding glass door. Once back inside, I did a quick check of everything to make sure we didn’t leave any evidence of us being there. I shuffled through some papers that were on his kitchen counter but found nothing of interest. I opened the lid to the trashcan nearby and checked inside. There was no way in hell I was sticking my hand in someone else trash can, but I could at least check the top layer. No real luck there either. Just the normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill trash. An empty Hungry Man box, a crushed pack of Clove cigarettes and some crumpled up napkins and paper towels. That was as deep as I was going to go though, especially with time being of the essence. I closed the lid and took one last look around the kitchen.

I made my way into the large living room area and went to check out Brad Jackson’s entertainment center. I was pleased to see that, even though it was just a vacation home, I still had a much better TV than him. His may have been bigger, but it wasn’t nearly as slim and badass as my television back home. This thing was such a fossil, it even had room for him to set the remote controls on TOP of the TV! We’re talking, this thing had to have been at LEAST three years old! How embarrassing. I grabbed one of the remotes from the top of the TV and hit the power button. I was really curious as to what the Hollywood elite watch in their free time. I expected to find the news or an entertainment channel, what I found was Nickelodeon and an episode of that annoying little prick Sponge Bob.

Elise came running over to me. “What the hell are you doing? We have to get out of here.”

I stifled a little laugh. “Hey Elise, you believe this asshole. Millions of dollars and he sits here and watches children’s cartoons. What an idiot.”

“How do you know he wasn’t watching Nick @ Nite last night and just hadn’t turned his TV back on since then? Because it seems like I also know a certain idiot who watches this very same channel at night.”

Ouch. Burn! Faced! Check and mate, my good madam.