Mystery of the 19th Hole (Taylor Kelsey, Mystery 1) (2 page)

             
“I’m Larry Mahoney, by the way,” said the owner.

             
Jeff nodded.  “I’m Officer Jeff Arterman.  Call me Jeff.”  He stepped inside, gun pointed toward the floor and finger on the trigger guard to be safe, and approached a set of double-doors.  Larry Mahoney followed behind him. 

             
“What’s through the doors?” asked Jeff.

             
“The main room.  It harbors many of our exhibits, including our well known 70 by 100 foot painting.”

             
Jeff spun to the left and the right, keeping his gun low.  “Yeah, I’ve heard of that painting.  Is it a painting of mountains or something?”

             
“Mountains, valleys, horses, prairie dogs, grain fields—all of those things in one large and beautiful painting.  Not to mention expensive.”

             
“I would imagine.”  Jeff stepped up to the set of double doors that led to the main room and motioned Mr. Mahoney to stay where he was.  Grabbing the door handle, Jeff yanked it open and plunged his gun through, still aimed down.  From Mr. Mahoney’s point of view, he watched Jeff step all the way through the double doors.  Then his voice came.  “Uh…  Mr. Mahoney.  About that painting...”

             
Mr. Mahoney stepped through the double doors and gasped.  “It’s gone!  How could someone steal a painting that large?  It was 70 feet by 100 feet for crying out loud!”

             
“This is more of a ‘who’ question, Mr. Mahoney.  And it was almost undeniably that semi that ran me off the road.”

             
After a pause.  “Just tell me one thing, Arterman: can it be found?”

             
“Call me Jeff.  Well, I’m not going to lie, Mr. Mahoney.  Probably not.  It would take one heck of a detective to find these guys.  Let me just tell you, there’s been a lot of large robberies lately.  The MO fits this place.  And we haven’t been able to find the guys.  We have no leads.”

             
Mr. Mahoney frustratingly ran his hand through his hair.

Two Months Later

             
Lieutenant Jeff Arterman pulled up to the café on Balsam Street—called the Balsam Café, respectively—and dropped a pair of shades on his nose before stepping out of his black Dodge Charger.

             
It was a sunny day, thus the glasses.  Arterman started toward the café but clumsily tripped over a curb and hit the ground with his shoulder.  He quickly stood up and looked around to make sure no one had seen his clumsy mistake. 

             
A familiar voice startled him.  “Lieutenant, what were you doing on the floor?”

             
It was Police Captain Hamell.  Tony Hamell.  “Uh…” the Lieutenant mumbled a bit.  “I was…  I don’t really know.”

             
The captain just laughed.  “Come inside.  Take a look at the crime scene.”

             
Jeff adjusted his pants, which had twisted around his waist during the fall, and followed the captain inside.  Suddenly, fifty or more confused faces, all of which were probably having a pleasant morning until the police showed up and locked the place down, watched him follow the captain across the room and into a small hallway that led to the bathrooms.  Jeff brushed past a forensics technician in a white suit as he stepped into the men’s bathroom.

             
And that’s when he saw it.  A man’s body, dead, lying supine in the middle of the bathroom floor.  A bloodstained chest.  Jeff felt like throwing up.  “What happened?”

             
“Knife stab,” said the captain.  “Stabbed three times by the pocket knife variety.  He was discovered this way fifteen minutes ago by one of the waitresses.”

             
“What was a waitress doing in the men’s bathroom?”

             
“You’ll have to ask her yourself.  She’s in the kitchen, still at work.”

             
“I will.”

             
“There’s another thing,” said the captain, “the medical examiner says the time of death was five hours ago.”

             
“And no one saw it until just fifteen minutes ago?”

             
“Another good question.”

             
“Looks like I got my work cut out for me.”

             
The captain nodded.  “And hurry.  We’re detaining everyone in the café, but we can only keep them for a ‘reasonable’ amount of time.  And different people, including the district attorney, have different opinions on that word ‘reasonable.’”

             
“I understand,” said Jeff.  “I’m on it.  But let me get this straight.  That man was killed in this bathroom by three pocket knife stabs five hours ago.”  The captain was nodding.  “And the waitress discovered the body fifteen minutes ago and it hasn’t been touched since.  And everyone has been detained since the finding of the body.”

             
“Exactly.  Well, one frustrated lawyer did leave.  But we can check him out later if need be.”

             
“Got it.”  Jeff walked into the café and all the faces were on him again.  “Hello, everyone.  I’m Lieutenant Jeff Arterman.  Everything is all right.  It’s just a dead body.”  Everyone in the café gasped, and Jeff knew he’d chosen the wrong words.  “Well, the murderer isn’t murdering anyone else because we’re here, so that’s good.”

             
A man in the café asked, “Is the murderer here, do you think?”

             
“It’s entirely possible.”  Everyone gasped again.  “But, that’s better than the murderer being
out there
.  Because if he’s
out there
he can murder more people.  And that’s bad.  So, we’re just asking for a little bit of everyone’s time; I just have a few questions.”

             
Jeff looked into everyone’s eyes for effect before continuing.  “Okay, so the first question is this: does anyone know the victim?”

             
A woman responded, “How can we know if we know; we
just
found out someone was murdered?  What’s the guy’s name?”

             
“His name is…”  There was an awkward pause.  Jeff slowly walked backward down the hall, keeping his eyes on the people in the café.  “Pssst,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, “what’s the guy’s name?”  The logbook officer who was standing just inside the bathroom door was oblivious.

             
“I’ll be back in just a minute,” Jeff told everyone.  He walked into the bathroom.  “Captain, what’s the victim’s name?” 

             
“Brad Ringer.”

             
Jeff gave the body a look over just in case anyone asked how Brad looked.  The most distinctive features were his long sloppy black hair and his bloodstained chest (Jeff made a mental note to leave that part out).

             
Then the lieutenant walked back into the center of the café.  “The victim’s name is Brad Ringer.  Does anyone know him?”

             
“Brad Ringer!” a cry let out from the kitchen.  “That was my boyfriend!”  The waitress was sobbing now.  Jeff told the customers he’d be back as he walked into the kitchen.

             
He found the crying girl just inside the door.  “He was your boyfriend?”  She nodded and sniffled.  “Aren’t you the one that found the body?”  She nodded again.  “And you didn’t notice who it was?  And why were you in the men’s bathroom in the first place?”

             
She withered under the questions.  “The door was cracked open.  I pushed it open to let it close by itself, and that’s when I saw the body.  The body was lying face down.  I felt the pulse, but I didn’t really look at it because it was so shocking…  I just wish Jack was here…”

             
“Do you have any idea who might have murdered Brad?”

             
She thought for a moment.  “Yeah.  Oh my gosh!  Yeah.  Aaron.  Aaron Cadell.”

             
“Who is that?”

             
She looked through the open bar area and pointed at one of the customers.  “Him.”

             
Jeff followed her finger.  The man was wearing a zipped up light brown jacket.  He was also wearing a black beanie.  Other than the beanie, he looked nice.  Probably in his twenties like Brad Ringer.  “Why him?” Jeff asked.

             
“Because he liked me.  He asked me out like five times.”

             
“And?”

             
The waitress just stared at Jeff in confusion.  Then asked, “You’re a lieutenant?”

             
Jeff just looked at her funny.  “Yes.  Of course.  I became a lieutenant in just two months, faster than anyone in the history of the police department of Formstaw.  I solved some crimes and caught some bad guys, the captain saw my potential, and here I am.”

             
The waitress could care less.  “Well, aren’t you going to talk to Aaron?  He has
motive
.”

             
“Yeah.  But I need to get your name while I’m here.”  Jeff flipped open a notepad.

             
“Chelsea Sie—”

             
“That’s all I need,” Jeff interjected.  Under her name, he scribbled “
black hair.”

             
Then Jeff started out the kitchen door.  Stopped.  Back pedaled.  “Chelsea, why do you think Aaron did it?”

             
“Because Brad Ringer was my boyfriend.  Aaron Cadell was jealous of Brad.”

             
“Ahh!  Motive!”  Satisfied, Jeff stepped back into the serenely lit café and traversed to Aaron.  Took a seat across from him.  “I heard you have motive.”

             
“Maybe.”

             
“Listen buddy, you’re going to talk if it’s the last thing I do.”  Clenching a fist, Jeff reiterated, “You’re going to talk.”

             
Aaron smiled.  “I’m talking.  And I think you need to choose your words better.  You said that ‘
I’m
going to talk if it’s the last thing
you
do.’  That doesn’t make any sense.”

             
“Whatever.”  Then Jeff got quieter and looked around.  Most everyone was chatting amongst each other now.  “I’m going to be straight.  Aaron Cadell, did you kill Brad Ringer?”

             
“No.”

             
“Did you go in the bathroom since you got here?”

             
“Yes.  About twenty to twenty-five minutes ago.  Is that a problem?”

             
Jeff softly laughed.  “For you it is.”  Then, noticing something, Jeff poked the man’s jacket.  “What’s that?”  Poking it some more, Jeff ventured, “Do you have something in your inside jacket pocket?”

             
Aaron’s face contorted.  “Not that I know of.”  He zipped down his jacket, reached into his inside pocket, and pulled out a pocketknife.  It was bloody.

             
Lieutenant Jeff Arterman didn’t waste any time.  He forcefully pushed Aaron out of his chair, whipped out handcuffs, and cuffed the man while he was on the floor.  The café fell silent.  All eyes were on them.  The captain emerged from the bathroom to see about the commotion.  “He’s the guy?”

             
Jeff nodded.  Aaron was squirming.  When he finally managed to roll onto his back, everyone could see his bright crimson face.  “I didn’t do it!  I didn’t do it!  I don’t even have a pocketknife.  I haven’t unzipped my jacket since I put it on this morning.  And there was no one in the bathroom when I used it!  I didn’t do it!”

             
“Shut up,” yelled the captain.

             
Jeff leaned in.  “I’m going to tell you what I’ve told five people in the last month.  To prove you didn’t do it, you’re going to need a heck of a good detective.”

             
“Don’t you mean lawyer?”

             
“Whatever!”

             
Taylor Kelsey sat on the edge of the couch cushion, leaning over the coffee table and poring over newspaper cutouts.  She had a highlighter in one hand and a TV remote in the other.  Her thick blond hair, which was currently crimped after testing a new hair curler, drooped over her shoulders, and her deep green eyes were holding article headlines as she thought.

             
Across the room, the eight o’clock news’ intro was playing, for it had just come back on after commercials.  Taylor pealed her eyes from the newspapers and turned up the TV volume.  Then, straightening out her blue silk pajamas, she sat back comfortably.