Spider's Web (6 page)

The four men stared at each other for a moment as confusion settled around them. There was nothing to say or do that would make sense of this peculiar encounter. Finally, Jacob strode forward, shouldering his clone on the way out of the office, almost as if he was offended by the entire thing.

Mitchell quickly followed him. As he closed the door, he heard Kuperman say “Gentleman! Do you want some coffee? Tea? Something stronger? Should I give you the short pitch, or the long pitch? Think
When Harry Met Sally
, but with vampires…”

Chapter Five

They decided to interview Debbie, the only girl who seemed to have talked to Kendele on a regular basis, according to Kendele’s phone. They called her on the way back from Boston, and she answered her phone almost immediately. She had trouble hearing the conversation because of the background noise. She was on her way to work, she explained, and there was road construction. Mitchell said that they were detectives and they wanted to ask her some questions. He had to repeat this sentence several times, and by the end he was practically hollering into the phone, with Jacob flinching visibly as he listened. Well, she was about to start her shift, so they could meet her at work, she suggested. She worked at Paulie’s Peppery Poultry. Mitchell asked her to repeat the place’s name once more, just to be sure he heard right.

They reached Paulie’s Peppery Poultry, a fast food restaurant on Sun Valley Boulevard, just after noon. The exterior of the restaurant was painted in clashing yellow and red stripes, and on the roof just above the double glass doors was a huge oval sign with a picture of a manic, grinning duck and the letters PPP painted in a garish green.

They were surprised to find that the place was packed. Apparently a lot of people loved peppery poultry, at least when Paulie was involved. Each table was occupied, covered with red trays brimming with unattractive oily chicken bits. The walls were decorated by photos of meals that were not, in Mitchell’s opinion, even distant family members of the things he could see on the customers’ trays. On each picture the same psychotic-looking duck from the sign outside smiled at the meal.

Three young women stood behind the counter at the far end of the restaurant, taking orders from customers. They all wore the same uniform, its white and red colors matching the colors of the restaurant’s mascot, and each wore a hat that looked like the top half of the duck’s face. It was the worst branding Mitchell had ever seen, and he was amazed at the place’s apparent success. Perhaps the food, despite its appearance, was really good.

The detectives approached the counter.

“Excuse me,” Mitchell said to one of the cashiers. “Can you tell me who Debbie is?”

“I’m sorry, but there’s a line,” An overweight woman clutching the hand of a toddler told him in a shocked and offended tone. “I was clearly here before you.”

Mitchell flipped his badge quickly hoping this would calm her down.

“Oh!” the woman said, shaking her head in indignation. “So this is what we’ve come to? Can the police just cut the line because they have a badge and a gun?”

“We’re here on official business, ma’am,” Mitchell said, his eyes following her quivering cheeks in fascination.

“I am also on official business,” the woman said loudly, looking around her, clearly expecting the support of the other customers in the line. They, in turn, looked the other way. “There is a line!” Lines were obviously a big deal to her.

“I’m Debbie,” interrupted one of the cashiers. She was a young girl, nineteen or twenty. She had deep brown skin and dark, alert eyes. She was the only one of the three cashiers who didn’t look as if the job had completely sucked out her soul and left an empty, living husk.

“I’m Detective Mitchell Lonnie, and this is my partner, Detective Jacob Cooper,” Mitchell said. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

“What about?” she asked, her eyes shifting left and right. She seemed scared, but people often did when they talked to the cops.

“It’s better if we talk about it sitting down,” Mitchell said.

“Well, I can’t right now, it’s really busy,” she said. “But I have a break at two thirty, if that’s okay.”

“It’s an important matter,” Mitchell said. “We really need to talk right now.”

“Hang on,” she said. She called the manager, a thin man whose facial expression was that of constant hysteria. There was a short whispered discussion, and finally she turned toward Mitchell and said, “It’s really the busiest time of day. I can take a break at a quarter to one. Would that be okay?” Her eyes were begging him, and Mitchell had a feeling that her job was on the line. He sighed and nodded, and she breathed in relief.

“Would you like to order anything while you wait?” she asked.

They had been awake since four a.m. They were starving. Usually Mitchell wouldn’t have been caught dead eating in a place like this, but now he found himself ordering the
Paradisiacal Poultry
meal. Jacob ordered a
Peppery Perfect Potato
and a small
Pineapple Pork
in barbecue sauce. The woman from the line moaned noisily as they placed their orders, and Mitchell smiled apologetically at her.

Their meals arrived quickly, which was the only thing that could be mentioned in their favor. The food was awful. Oil invaded everywhere, making Mitchell feel as if his tongue and palate were victims of the BP Gulf spill. Soon, he thought, video clips of the insides of his mouth would be shown on TV, seagulls and fish covered in barbecue sauce dying between his teeth. He looked around the restaurant in amazement, searching for the tortured eyes of the customers around him, but they were all happy with their food, eating with gusto as if they had been served the most exquisite French cuisine. He turned to Jacob, who was eating a morsel of pineapple pork. Jacob clearly looked as if he was chewing death.

“How is this place so successful?” Mitchell asked.

“Maybe it’s an acquired taste,” Jacob suggested, swallowing hard.

“Why would anyone try to acquire it?” Mitchell asked, but Jacob had no answer.

By the time Debbie joined them at their table, they had both managed to eat half their meals, and left the other half untouched. Mitchell’s appetite was gone, and he wasn’t sure it would ever return.

Debbie looked at their trays. “Didn’t like the food?” she asked.

“It’s ghastly,” Mitchell said, his usual politeness gone in the face of this culinary atrocity.

“Yeah.” Debbie nodded. “It is.”

“Miss, could you please tell us how you know Kendele Byers?” Jacob asked.

“She’s my friend,” Debbie said, her eyes widening. “She used to work here. Is she okay?”

“When was the last time you saw Kendele?” Mitchell asked.

“About a month ago,” Debbie said. “We went out. Then she stopped answering my texts and calls. Please, Detective, where is she? What happened to her?”

“I’m afraid Kendele is dead,” Mitchell said softly.

“Oh,” Debbie said weakly, slumping in her chair. Her eyes filled with tears, and one spilled over and trickled slowly along her cheek. She paid it no mind, turning to stare out of one of the windows.

“Was it one of her… customers?” she finally asked.

“We don’t know,” Mitchell said.

“She said that some of them were kind of creepy.”

“Did she mention any names?” he asked. “Anyone in particular?”

“Nah.” Debbie sniffed, and turned to look at Mitchell. “She didn’t like to talk about it.”

“But she did tell you about… her business.” Mitchell said.

“Yeah. I mean, she told me all about it when she quit this place.”

“And she never mentioned anyone specific who bothered her?” he pressed. “Someone she was worried about?”

“No, she just said there were one or two creepy guys, and that she wasn’t selling them anything anymore.”

“Debbie,” Jacob said. “Did Kendele have a relationship? Did she go out with anyone?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” he said.

“Yeah, I’m sure. It was her number one complaint. That guys always wanted to fuck her, but no one wanted to stay the night.”

“What guys?”

“Just random guys,” Debbie shrugged and wiped her eyes. “You know how she looked.”

“No,” Mitchell said, “Not really.”

Debbie blinked. “Then how do you know—”

“We don’t really know how she looked when she was alive,” Mitchell explained delicately.

Debbie pulled her phone from her pocket, fiddled with it, and showed the screen to the detectives. It was a selfie, taken by Debbie, of herself hugging another girl in a place that looked like a pub. The girl had long, smooth red hair, and a beautiful face. She smiled happily at the camera, exposing small, perfect white teeth.

“You can’t see her body here but, trust me, it was gorgeous,” Debbie said. “Guys were falling over each other trying to flirt with her. I never bought my own drink when I was with her, I can tell you that.”

“So did she see a lot of men?” Jacob asked.

“Detective, are you trying to ask me if she fucked a lot of guys?” Debbie asked, turning to look at him.

“I meant what I said,” Jacob said, unwavering.

“Fine, whatever. Nah, as far as I know only one or two. And like I said, they never stayed around afterward.”

“Do you happen to know why her brother thought she lived in San Francisco?” Mitchell asked.

“Sure,” Debbie said. “She didn’t want him to tell their asshole of a father where she lived.”

Mitchell nodded, waiting.

“Look, Kendele’s dad beat her, okay? She was seriously abused as a kid. Eventually she ran away. Found a place to stay, with some friends. Then her dad went looking for her. Told her brother that he wanted Kendele to come back home. That he had seen the error of his ways, blah blah blah, he would never lay a hand on her again. So her idiot brother told him where she was staying, and what do you know, her dad barged in and beat her to a pulp. She ran away again, ended up here. But she didn’t tell her brother where she was really staying because she didn’t trust him anymore.” She leaned back, folded her arms. “Now that she’s dead, you guys finally take an interest.”

“You think her father killed her?” Mitchell asked.

“How the hell should I know? All I can tell you is that the list of nice people that Kendele knew was really short.”

“Do you know if Kendele used to jog regularly?” Jacob asked.

“Sure. Four times a week, at five in the morning, like clockwork. She loved running.”

“Why so early?” Jacob asked.

“She liked running while the city was still sleeping,” Debbie said. “She said that everything was beautiful when there weren’t people in it.”

“Did she always jog in the same place?”

“I think so. She jogged in a park. Not sure where.”

“I see.” Jacob nodded.

She stood up. “Gotta go back to work. Those chickens aren’t going to serve themselves,” she said.

Jacob handed her a card. “If you think of anything, let us know,” he said.

She nodded and walked away.

The sun was beginning to set as Mitchell pulled the black Dodge Charger in and parked by Buttermere Park. He and Jacob got out and started walking down the trail.

They had spent a few frustrating hours running up against dead ends. Jacob had talked to Kendele’s parents on the phone. They’d been notified by Leon about their daughter’s death. They were quite cooperative until the matter of abuse came up. Then they promptly hung up the phone, after telling Jacob he could talk to their lawyer if he needed anything else.

Meanwhile, Mitchell had started calling the men on Kendele’s client list, Or at least the ones where he managed to find a phone number to match their address. There were a lot of calls with claims of total ignorance, offended threats, and hysterical denials. People hung up on him a lot as well. Only a few managed to supply an alibi for the relevant dates. That suspect list was not getting slimmer anytime soon.

Eventually Jacob suggested they take a break, drive by the crime scene, and look around a bit. Mitchell suspected Jacob simply wanted a walk in the park, but seeing as his own ear was beginning to hurt, he wasn’t about to argue with his partner.

As they got closer to the patch of trees where Kendele Byers had been found, Mitchell found himself imagining that morning. Kendele running down that very trail, the park completely silent, just the way she loved it. According to Matt, she had been wearing black running shorts and a purple sports bra.

She probably ran fast, to overcome the chilliness of the early morning. And then… what? Had she seen someone down the trail? Had he been waiting for her? Perhaps a familiar face? Or did he hide behind a tree and grab her when she was close enough? Had she struggled?

They reached the trees, and Jacob went over to the grave where Kendele had been buried. Mitchell stared at the pond, and a strange feeling of déjà vu struck him. He had been here many times before, but… There was something else about that pond. A thought or a memory was trying to emerge… As he tried to force it out, it dissipated; it left him frustrated, like he had been about to say something and then forgot what it was.

The water rippled in the slight afternoon wind, the surface shimmering under the setting sun’s rays of light. How had the water looked that day? Mitchell tried to picture it: the man dragging Kendele to the pond, plunging her head beneath the surface. Why? Why do it like that? It seemed so unnecessarily complicated.

He walked over to Jacob.

“Doesn’t this murder feel weird?” he said.

Jacob nodded.

“Why here?” Mitchell said. “Why like this? Why not strangle her, or stab her, or shoot her?”

“He planned this carefully,” Jacob said.

“How do you know?”

“He knew her. Knew she ran here regularly early in the morning. He was stalking her,” Jacob said. He pointed at the grave. “He didn’t dig this entire grave after he killed her. If he had, it would have taken too long, people would have started walking around. Someone would have seen him. No. He got here during the night, dug up the grave and waited. She showed up, just like she always did, just like he knew she would. He grabbed her when she was close enough, drowned her in the pond, then threw her into the grave and covered her up.”