Black Princess Mystery (4 page)

Into this
confused scene arrived an unmarked police car that pulled up next to the
office. Two men stepped out and surveyed the scene. The driver was in his late
fifties, had a large build, and looked like someone who spent his free time
drinking, smoking, and making poor dietary choices. His hair was ashen brown
and disheveled, his clothes poorly fitting and wrinkled. He was, without
question, a man who cared not what he looked like, but he was attractive in an
odd kind of way, as if he had managed to retain his youthful good looks even
into middle life. With a single glance, Tasheka could tell that even though he
feigned disinterest in everything around him, he was actually acutely aware of
his surroundings. Had she seen this man for the first time on a city street,
she would have known he was a detective, and a crack detective at that.

He
suddenly stared at her through the large window and their eyes met. There was
something unique in his gaze. It was not just intelligence and experience, but
something that spoke of absolute, unflappable determination. Tasheka felt
nervous, as if the detective was watching her like a fish in a bowl. The one
thing that alleviated her discomfort was that he looked at everyone the same
way, as if any of them might hold the key. In contrast, his partner was a
handsome young lion in his late twenties. Blond and virile, with the chiseled
features of a Roman warrior, he had perfect teeth and gorgeous, emerald eyes.
He was gazing at Tasheka, but not in an inquisitorial way. She had seen that
expression many times in her life and it was obvious he was as impressed by her
as she was by him. The attraction was magnetic and she could hardly take her
eyes off of his face.

People
crowded around the detectives and the handsome young man turned away to speak
with them. The older man diplomatically wished them all a good day and his
manner was friendly and accommodating, but it was obvious he was interested
only in speaking with Tasheka. Matt walked out to meet them, then led them
inside and closed the door.

“Hello,
Miss Green,” said the older detective in a kindly, self-effacing voice, his
manner polished over decades of dealing with the public. “I’m Detective Bill
McNab.”

“Ms.
Green,” she corrected.

“Yes,”
said Detective McNab, glancing at his partner and rolling his eyes. “Ms. Green,
this is my partner, Detective Thorston Henry.”

“Hello,”
said the young man, looking even more handsome now that he was standing only a
few feet from her.

Tasheka
smiled at him and he smiled back. But then she saw in the reflection of the
window that Detective McNab was staring at her. She could tell his mind was
racing like a computer, his eyes searching her every expression, her every
furtive glance. He turned away and looked at the others outside, scanning them,
searching their faces, committing to memory everything before him. Then he
turned back to her. Slowly and deliberately, he turned back to her. Something
about her had definitely provoked his imagination.

Tasheka
suddenly looked right at him, her body as stationary as a statue, her eyes
unblinking. Instead of turning away, as strangers do when their eyes meet,
Detective Bill McNab and Tasheka Green stared at each other in an
uncomfortable, awkward way. At that moment, the old garage tomcat sprung from
the little kitchen and cornered a dark mouse that had strayed too far from her
hole. Tasheka and Detective McNab simultaneously turned to the drama and
watched the mouse freeze, knowing full well she could not escape. But,
hopelessly, the mouse frantically ran toward its hole. The cat chased it for a
short time and then clamped its jaws on the animal, puncturing its neck with
one bite. The mouse squealed in pain as the cat carried away its still
struggling treasure.

Detective
McNab and Tasheka looked back at each other. He reminded her of a hunter slowly
stalking the bush, seeking every clue, no matter how small. In this case, the
prey was a murderer and the prey was now being hunted. Hunted by an intense, determined
detective who she suspected was the darling of the force, a man who undoubtedly
lived and breathed his work, a man who would rather die than fail. And Tasheka
knew he was looking at her. But she didn’t like him looking at her. No, she
didn’t like that one bit.

“Could you
show us where the body is, Miss Green?” McNab requested gently, searching her
face for even the slightest twitch of a muscle.

“Ms.
Green,” Tasheka corrected with undisguised irritation.

“I’m
sorry,” he said, shaking his head.

She smiled
falsely. Tasheka knew that McNab, though concealing it, was mentally recording
every subtle nuance of her behavior. There was definitely something about her
that did not sit right with him. She could see it as plain as day. It wasn’t
her body language, because she hardly moved. No, he saw something in her eyes,
something dark, forbidden. Maybe he saw the guilt she felt because of that
night in the fleabag
Paradise Motel
.

As McNab
watched her, Tasheka leaned over and patted Kie. Her coat sleeve slid back and
exposed not only the elegant and soft contour of her hand, but also her wrist.
When she looked up, she saw that both detectives noticed the tattoo that read
Black Sabbath
. McNab glanced at
Thorston. Both men seemed fascinated with the woman before them, but Tasheka
knew it was for vastly different reasons. McNab smelled a rat. Thorston smelled
a woman. Tasheka stared into Thorston’s eyes, letting him know that she was no
plastic doll who spoke only when its cord was pulled.

“You’re a femme fatale,”
the man in the Paradise Motel had
said
. “You can turn a man’s world upside
down, then rip out his heart and hold it, still beating, in front of his face.
Even still, he’ll crawl on his hands and knees, begging for more. But how nice
you smell and how lovely you look.”

“What
about the body on the golf course,” McNab asked, snapping her out of the
recollection of that disgusting night. “Do you think there has been a murder?”

“I can
show you where his body is,” Tasheka returned.

Tasheka
and Matt walked Kie into another room at the back of garage, looking grimly at
each other. Tasheka followed the detectives to the car.

Thorston
looked at McNab as he opened the back door. “What do you think, Bill?”

“My spidey
sense is tingling,” McNab said thoughtfully.

Tasheka got
into the back seat and rode with them to the golf course, the police cruiser
directly behind, its lights flashing. Once at the golf course, Tasheka felt
hesitant to get out, but Thorston spoke gently and assured her she would not
need to walk right to the scene. Tasheka took a deep breath, lowered her head,
and stepped out into the parking lot. McNab watched her every move, to the
point of it making Tasheka feel uncomfortable. She glared at him and he put on
his sunglasses, probably, she thought, so he could secretly study her.

“This
way,” she said, lowering her head and starting to walk.

The
uniformed police officer took up a position in the parking lot while McNab and
Thorston walked with Tasheka toward the eighteenth fairway. A parade of
slow-moving cars drove past on the Lakeside Road, the occupants craning their
heads.

As they
approached the frozen and snow-covered lake, Tasheka’s heart fluttered.
“There,” she said, pointing at a tree. “It’s over there, by Dead Man’s Oak.”

“Wait
here,” McNab said to her and Thorston. Though he smiled, it was obvious his
mind was in high gear. “I’ll be right back.”

McNab
carefully walked in the steps Tasheka had made. When he was about twenty feet
from where she had finally stopped, he stared at the spot where the bloody hand
protruded from the snow. He surveyed the landscape in meticulous detail, noting
every conceivable entry and exit, the lay of the land, the proximity of the
houses and cover. He then slowly moved through the unbroken snow toward the
hedge and walked to within a couple feet of the hand. McNab leaned over and
knocked snow from some branches, peering into their tangled mess like a cat
hunting a mouse. For a split second he froze, then turned back and looked at
Thorston. The second their eyes met, Tasheka knew they were now investigating a
murder. And it must have been gruesome because McNab, the grizzled veteran,
looked to be deeply impacted by the sight. He turned away with a pained
expression, seemed almost on the point of being sick, took a deep breath, and
then hurried back to Thorston and Tasheka.

“I want
this area cordoned off,” McNab said to the policeman. “No one is to enter this
golf course within six hundred yards of the scene. I’m calling headquarters and
having them send over the whole team.”

Thorston
took a few steps forward, placing his feet in the tracks Tasheka had made and
McNab had used, eventually walking as far as he did. He scanned the bushes for
several seconds, moved his head, and then suddenly saw the hand. The starkness
of the frozen, claw-like appendage seemed to strike him. A great crowd of
people had assembled in the parking lot on a nearby hill, all staring. Tasheka
could feel a dark spirit in the air, as if the murderer was admiring his work
from close by. Tasheka noticed one man in particular seemed to catch Thorston’s
eye. She saw where he was looking and noticed Mike Power, a huge fellow, well
over six feet tall, more than three hundred pounds, and completely bald. For
some unknown reason, Mike seemed highly agitated, moving back and forth through
the line, trying to view the scene from every possible vantage point. When he
noticed the detective looking at him, Tasheka saw Mike immediately step back
and move out of view. Thorston screwed up his lips, stared at the spot where Mike
had been for a few more seconds, then rejoined McNab.

“What were
you doing here?” McNab asked Tasheka.

Tasheka
stared at Thorston for a moment longer and then turned to McNab. “Taking my dog
for a walk.”

McNab
shook his head. “A woman walking alone in a deserted place like this seems
rather odd, don’t you think?”

Tasheka
fixed her gaze onto his. “I went for a walk with my dog, sir. People walk here
all the time. It was eight-thirty in the morning and there was no reason for me
not to be enjoying the day. When we approached the tree, Kie started barking
and I saw the hand. I ran back to the garage and called the police. That’s it.”
She assumed a sarcastic expression. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you
didn’t do anything wrong,” McNab said. “In fact, you were a great help because
what were the chances of someone else finding the body by sheer chance on a
golf course this size?”

“Let me
guess,” Tasheka said, staring into his eyes. “Because I found the body that
makes me a suspect. You think I understand this, but by reporting it, you think
I’m making myself so obvious that I’m playing psychology with you. Either I’m a
murderer delighting in my own genius, or I’m a fool who should have let this
afternoon’s impending snowfall bury the evidence until spring.”

“You have
a very active imagination,” McNab said, apparently more interested in Tasheka
with every passing minute. “I’m not accusing you of being a fool, and I
certainly never said you were a genius. I think you took your dog for a walk
and discovered the body. That’s what happened, right?”

“Maybe I
did kill him,” Tasheka said with a total lack of emotion. “Maybe I threw him
over my shoulder, carried him through the village this morning, and then buried
him under the snow.”

McNab held
out his hands. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Miss Green.”

“Ms.
Green,” she said with aggravation.

“Is there
something you’d like to tell me?” McNab queried with a challenging look.

“Fuck
off!” Tasheka suddenly exclaimed with such force that the two men literally
jerked backward.

“Enough!”
McNab barked in a no-nonsense way, his face contorted with anger. “I know
you’re upset, but this is an official police investigation and I have a job to
do.” He suspiciously stared at her. “There is a dead body here and I owe it to
that person’s memory and to that person’s friends and family to make sure I act
in the most professional manner possible. I expect the same from everyone I
deal with. Is that understood?”

Tasheka
stared into his eyes like a gunfighter ready to draw. McNab, a large, strapping
man who was the type that was scared by nothing, actually seemed unnerved by
Tasheka, a woman literally half his size.

“All you
saw was the hand?” McNab asked her.

“And?” she
said.

“How did
you know the victim was a man, Ms. Green, if all you saw was a hand?”

Tasheka
said nothing.

“How did
you know the victim was a man?” McNab repeated, watching her like a hawk.

Tasheka
said nothing.

“Did you
see anyone else on the golf course?” Thorston asked her in a gentle tone.

“No.”

“Did you
see any unfamiliar cars around here this morning or last night?” McNab
questioned.

“Last
night I didn’t go out because I was tired and this morning traffic was very
light. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”