The Long Way Home (17 page)

The police station turned out to be a nondescript brick building with a flat front and large glass doors. Jazzy pulled the car into an empty space near the entrance, next to a parked squad car. After the last two days, Rita found having someone else drive comforting. “Are you ready for this?” Jazzy asked, shifting into park.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Rita pulled her purse tight to her side but made no move to open her door. “You know, seeing Davis again was not what I thought it would be. Somehow I thought it might bring me answers. Or maybe a sense of something? I’m not even sure what that something might be.”

“Closure?” Jazzy’s face was thoughtful.

“No. Not closure.” Rita shook her head. “I can’t tell you how much I hate that word. It’s such a Lifetime movie channel word. There is no closure when you lose a child.” A lump formed in her throat, but she pushed past it. “No closure at all. The pain lessens with time, but the loss is always there.”

“Of course.”

“There’s no getting her back, you know? It’s not that I don’t appreciate all you’ve done, but somehow I wish it could be so much more. And I’m jealous of you too, and I hate that I feel that way.”

“Jealous of me?” Jazzy pulled an elastic off her wrist, lifted her hair up in back, and expertly wound it into a ponytail. “How come?”

“Because you get to feel Melinda’s presence and communicate with her. I’d give anything to see her and talk to her for one minute. Anything.”

“I know. It’s hard. If it makes you feel any better, what I experience isn’t the same as talking to a person.”

“Still.”

“And you know, the times you feel like she’s with you, she is. You don’t need a psychic to feel her love. My grandmother said everyone has the ability to varying degrees. It’s just a matter of developing it.”

“Sometimes I look at the front door expecting her to come through it. Out of nowhere, it happens. I won’t even be thinking about her, and it happens. Even after all this time, I feel like she might come home.”

Jazzy turned off the car and they both sat quietly and stared straight ahead at the building.

“It’s not much of a police station. It almost looks deserted,” Rita said. “Why are we here again?”

“Your daughter wants us to file a report.” Jazzy jangled the keys. “The police lady we’re going to meet is really nice, but she’s kind of a ditz.”

“You saw her being a ditz?”

“No, Melinda told me she was a ditz. Words don’t always come through clearly, but this time there was no mistaking it.”

Now that the car’s air-conditioning was off, the front seat was getting warmer. “I guess we need to do this,” Rita said. “But I’m not sure what we’re reporting. Davis isn’t wanted by the police back home. They questioned him as a person of interest, but he had an alibi for that night. The detective in charge of the case told me that it’s not against the law to move out of the state. Suspicious maybe, but not criminal. I think they thought I was a hysterical mother. But both Glenn and I were sure he killed her.”

“He did,” Jazzy said, opening her car door. “The guilt poured off him in waves.”

The heat of the day radiated off the pavement as they walked toward the building. The first set of glass doors led them to a second set just inside. When they entered the station, a blast of cool air hit them. There was no reception area or cubicle dividers. It was just one large room made up of a few desks and some random chairs. Display cases filled with plaques and framed photos lined one wall. In the back, a hallway led to parts unknown. One lone police officer, a trim man of about thirty, sat at a desk in front. His hair was just long enough to be parted neatly to one side, like a small boy just returned from the barber. When they walked in he was on the phone, but he acknowledged their presence by raising a hand. “I gotta go, Roger,” he said. “A couple of ladies just walked in.” He turned away and lowered his voice, but Rita still heard him. He chuckled in a wicked way, glanced back at them, and said, “One is and one isn’t.” She could imagine what that was all about. “Well, that’s the way it goes,” he continued. “You win some, you lose some.” After he finished the call, he gave them his full attention. “You girls look lost,” he said, with a knowing grin. “And I’m betting you want directions back to the interstate. Am I right, or am I right?”

Jazzy stepped forward and leaned against his desk. “We’re not lost. In fact, we’re as far from lost as we can be. We’re here to talk to a police officer.”

He held out his hands. “You came to the right place, miss.”

“Another police officer. A lady with brown hair. Older than you. Very nice. A kind face.” She glanced up at the back of the room toward the hallway. “Is she here?”

He tapped a pencil against his desktop. “Officer Dietz is out right now, and I’m not sure when she’ll be back. I can help you though.”

A voice popped into Jazzy’s head.
No!
“We’ll wait for her to return,” Jazzy said.

“Look,” he said impatiently, “there’s nothing she can do that I can’t.”

“I very much doubt that,” said Rita, put off by his condescending tone. “We’ll wait.”

“It could be an hour or more,” he said, irritated. “I’m telling you, I’m more than qualified to handle any problem you might have.” He waved away a fly circling his head before staring at them intently, his close-set eyes narrowing in disapproval.

“Where can we wait?” Rita asked, and when he gestured to some chairs off to the side, she went to take a seat.

Jazzy, however, held her ground. “Would you mind calling Officer Dietz and telling her we’re waiting to speak to her?” She smiled sweetly, putting one hand on her hip. “I’d really appreciate it.”

“Well,” he said, softening. “I’m pretty busy today, but just because I’m a really nice guy, I’ll help you out.”

“I’d be so grateful, Officer…?”

“Mahoney.” He reached over the desk and awkwardly shook her hand. “Bruce Mahoney.”

“Thanks, Bruce. That would be great.” Jazzy gave him a big smile and sashayed over to where Rita sat.

“Oh brother,” Rita said under her breath. “You are unbelievable, missy.”

“My grandmother used to say you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” She fluttered her fingertips in Officer Mahoney’s direction and he smiled back.

“Mine used to say that there’s a sucker born every minute.”

“Maybe so, but look, he’s calling right now.”

And so he was. Jazzy shifted on the vinyl padded chair until one leg was tucked underneath her. Officer Mahoney lowered his voice, but in the quiet of the room they could hear him describing them as mother and daughter. He turned away when he saw them looking, but Rita caught the words, “cute blonde.” She was sure his description of her wouldn’t be nearly as flattering, not that she cared. She had a sudden thought and nudged Jazzy. “The woman we’ll be talking to is Officer Dietz.”

“Yes.”

“Her last name is Dietz.” Rita stretched out her legs and rested her hands on her knees.

“I know, I heard him.”

“No, I mean she’s not a
ditz.
That’s her name:
Dietz
.”

“Ahhh,” Jazzy said. “You’re right. I guess I misunderstood.” Then she added, almost apologetically, “It’s not an exact science, you understand.”

On the other side of the room, Officer Mahoney finished his phone conversation and called out to them, “She’s on her way. Be here in a jiffy,” and Rita thought how odd it was that he used that expression: in a jiffy. It sounded like something an older person would say.

“Thank you kindly,” Jazzy said.

Rita could have sworn Jazzy had picked up a Southern accent somewhere along the way. “You are really something,” she said, giving the girl’s arm a squeeze.

In a jiffy turned out to be about fifteen minutes. When Officer Dietz finally came into the building, Rita and Jazzy stood waiting.

Officer Dietz turned out to be the opposite of her younger, male coworker. Less prickly and more welcoming. Just as Jazzy had described, she was in her forties with shoulder-length brown hair laced with strands of gray. She needed to lose a few pounds, but on her it looked more solid than fat. Officer Dietz had a trustworthy air about her. Rita had felt a rush of dread at the thought of having to tell the story of Melinda’s death all over again, but this woman had a warm smile, which made it easier. She ushered them over to her desk, which was covered in paperwork, framed family photos, and a houseplant Rita recognized as an African violet. A mahogany nameplate identified her as “Judy Dietz.” Rita thought she looked like a Judy, down-to-earth and no-nonsense.

They sat across from her. After the introductions, Officer Dietz said, “What can I help you with today?” On the other side of the room, Officer Mahoney shifted in his chair. Even without looking, Rita knew his ears were poised like antennas to hear what this was all about.

Jazzy looked to Rita, who drew in a deep breath before beginning. “My daughter, Melinda, was murdered ten years ago in Wisconsin, where we live. It happened in December, right before Christmastime. She was twenty-three.” Her voice cracked a little, but still she kept going. “A beautiful girl and such a good daughter. Everyone loved her. She was our only child.”

“I’m sorry,” Officer Dietz murmured, her forehead creased in concern. She opened a drawer in her desk, pulled out a box of Kleenex, and offered it to Rita, who gratefully took a tissue.

“Her live-in boyfriend had an alibi, but my husband and I always believed he did it. He didn’t go to the funeral, and he disappeared right after that. We never knew where he went. His own family had no idea where he was,” Rita said.

“I can certainly understand why you would think that.” Officer Dietz took out a pen and flipped open a small spiral-bound notebook. “And what brings you to Colorado?”

“I’m…” This was a question she wasn’t expecting. “We’re…”

She glanced at Jazzy, who jumped in to help. “We’re on a road trip,” Jazzy said. “A group of us are driving to Las Vegas to help a friend meet up with her stepson.”

“Oh,” Officer Dietz said and jotted something down on her pad.

Rita took a deep breath. “We stopped here because we had some car trouble. And while we were eating lunch at Preston Place, I saw my daughter’s fiancé.”

“Rita talked to him and he acted defensive and guilty,” Jazzy said. “And his car had Colorado license plates, so we figured he must live here now.”

Rita had been too upset to notice the plates. Good thing Jazzy never missed a thing.

“I’m sympathetic,” Officer Dietz said, “but legally there’s not much I can do if he doesn’t have any outstanding warrants. I can certainly check and see.” She glanced down at her paper. “What’s his name?”

“Davis Diamontopoulos.”

Officer Dietz’s pen dropped from between her fingers. “
Davis Diamontopoulos
?” Her voice was incredulous.

“Yes,” Rita said. “Do you know him?” Clearly she did.

“You think Davis Diamontopoulos killed your daughter?”

“I know he did it.” Rita’s throat had a heavy feeling that radiated down to her chest. Something was happening here, but she didn’t know what. Judging from Jazzy’s expression she was equally clueless.

Officer Dietz said softly, “How did you daughter die?”

“She was found sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, strangled by her own scarf. The car was parked a few blocks from her apartment. There were no witnesses, and the murder was never solved.” Rita had said these words many times, but it never got any easier.

“And why are you so convinced it was him? Just because he didn’t go to the funeral? People grieve differently. He may have found it too difficult. And leaving town without a forwarding address isn’t a crime either.” Her voice was still soft, but not as sympathetic.

“I understand that,” Rita said. “But the thing is, his alibi didn’t hold up. He said he and his brother were out drinking and he crashed on his brother’s couch until morning. But the brother told a friend of Melinda’s that they actually parted ways around midnight.”

Judy Dietz tapped her pen thoughtfully against the desk. “I’ve found that people who’ve been drinking aren’t always clear on their facts.”

“His brother was pretty definite,” Rita said. “He said Melinda kept calling Davis at the bar and Davis was furious when he left.”

“Did you tell the police this?”

“The brother stuck to his original story when the police questioned him. And then, a few weeks after Melinda’s death, some of her other friends came to us. They said she was going to break up with him, that he was too moody and difficult. She was tired of his jealousy.” Rita looked down at her hands. “I was close to my daughter, I thought, but she never told me any of this. I would have stepped in and helped her if I had known.”

Jazzy placed a hand on her arm. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

Rita looked up at Officer Dietz. “I never had a clue. Davis was always wonderful when he was around us. Like part of the family. He helped Glenn grill and offered to help with the dishes. He loved to look through our old photo albums and see pictures of Melinda when she was a little girl. He’d say, ‘You know I’m addicted to your daughter.’”