L.A. Confrontational Page 4

  And there was the cell phone. I was convinced he intended to call me with the murderer’s name before he collapsed. A dying man doesn’t worry about apologizing for being late for breakfast. What he had learned about Sarah’s disappearance must have gotten him killed.

  I waited in my car with the windows open as the cool morning departed, replaced by the promise of a warm fall afternoon. Visitors paraded up and down the road, stopping in various galleries. I assumed Barb informed Jesse about my return visit. After twenty minutes, a group of three women entered the front door to Barb’s gallery. Jesse appeared around the building corner a few minutes later.

  As she started down the hill, I exited the car and stood by a black metallic fence running parallel to the sidewalk in front of another gallery. As she approached, a wave of recognition rolled across her face. She made no effort to avoid me, which was a good sign.

  “I figured you were still hanging around.” She didn’t bother to stop. I launched off the fence and struggled to keep pace with her long strides aided by the downhill slope.

  “Can I buy you a coffee or something else to drink?” I abandoned any hope of sounding professional.

  “Sure, there’s a nice tapas joint on the next block. We can sit outside.”

  “I’m sure your mom told you, but my name is Arch Caldwell.”

  She stopped for a moment and I stumbled to slow down my momentum. “Yes. I’m Jessica. But my friends call me Jesse.”

  “Can I call you Jesse?”

  “I don’t know. Are you my friend?”

  “Not yet. But I’d like to be.”

  She smiled. “That was a pretty honest answer, although a tad corny.” She continued walking toward the restaurant.

  “Well, I may be corny, but I would never use a colloquial word like ‘tad’.”

  She laughed as we stopped on the sidewalk in front of the cement wall shielding a long patio with Parisian style tables. The sign read “El Farol.” She climbed the short staircase and turned toward me at the top. “Come on, let’s have some lunch.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We sat on stools at one of the roundtop tables and, despite the comfortable temperature, we were the only patrons sitting outside. A waiter emerged from the interior of the restaurant. We ordered iced teas and accepted lunch menus, which featured an assortment of interesting small-plate servings.

  “I’m sorry about the other day. Apparently, I didn’t hurt you.”

  “You felt threatened by me.” I posed it as a statement knowing about her medical condition.

  She looked away toward the street. “Yes, I guess so.”

  “Who did you think I was?” She squinted at me furtively. A long silence followed, as she appeared to be deciding her next step. I waited, nervous as a junkie anticipating a fix.

  “I’m not sure. I was responding to your inquiry about Sarah and reacted badly. We’re all very upset by her disappearance.”

  “Of course.”

  “I have a condition and I don’t always maintain control.”

  I took a deep drink of my iced tea. “Your mother told me about it. A form of narcolepsy.”

  She hesitated. “Cataplexy. I went through years of behavioral therapy and the doctors gave me all kinds of medication. I’m not against all drugs. As a nurse I know the right prescription can occasionally help people with serious illness. But some drugs have side effects worse than the disease.”

  “What did they do to you?”

  “They brought on more irrationality and paranoia. I stopped taking all except the one prescription that works for me. If I don’t remember to take it, I can have a relapse like yesterday. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize again. It’s just something to be aware of since we’re going to become such good friends.”

  “That’s awfully presumptuous, but I like your spirit. She smiled. “Are you hungry?” The server had arrived with our drinks and now stood anticipating our order.

  “Just a tad.”

  Her laugh sounded more like a stifled giggle, but was endearing. “How about splitting some tapas with me? I have to go to work in a few minutes.” She studied the menu and then me. “What do you like?”

  “Whatever. I’m not too picky. Have you eaten here before?”

  “Yes, a couple of times. Everything’s good.”

  “Then I’ll defer to you and assume as a nurse you’ll select something relatively healthy.” My outstretched right hand pointed to the menu as an invitation. “Order away.”

  She smiled. “I don’t always practice what I preach. How about roasted potatoes, cheese polenta, and maybe the salmon to be on the healthy side? You look like you need some Omega-three.”

  “How could you tell? Those are the three dishes I would have chosen.”

  She confirmed our order with the waiter and took a sip of her drink. “Mom said I hit you with a statue. It’s pretty embarrassing.”

  “It was a small one. Luckily, you were in a half-catatonic state otherwise you might have done some damage. You seem to be very athletic.”

  “I played volleyball. I was on the Olympic team briefly.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal.

  “Like your father.”

  “Yes, we have that in common.” She smiled. Her short strawberry-blond hair and bright eyes reminded me of the actress, Jennifer Aniston. Jesse’s toned athletic structure complimented her tall frame, and her face glowed of self-confidence, despite having a severe medical condition as a constant companion in her life.

  Knowing I could get lost in that vision, I peeked out onto the narrow street and directed the conversation back to business. “When was the last time you saw your sister?”

  “Back in April. At Casa Esensio in Albuquerque. I went down there with a guy I was dating. You know the place?”

  “Yeah, not that I hang out there. A bit too upscale for me. Was she alone?”

  “She was with this Freddie somebody, who looked like a pimp. He surrounded himself with tough guys who acted like former cops.” Her eyes pierced into me.

  “We’re that obvious, are we?”

  “I’ve dated one or two.” She said it so casually, I couldn’t be sure if being a former cop might be appealing or repelling to her.

  “So, you thought I might be one of this Freddie’s henchmen.”

  “I wasn’t sure. It seems silly, but I don’t always think rationally.” She fixed me with an apologetic grin.

  “Your father thought I could help locate Sarah. I guess he didn’t feel like he could trust Andy Lujan anymore.”

  “Ah, yes. Andy Lujan. My mom told me.”

  “I know he dated your mother.”

  “He hit on me, too.”

  “Sounds like Andy.” I smiled reluctantly. What would he have made of my interest in Jesse? He’d no doubt encourage me to pursue her.

  “He was a friend of yours.” She said it as a statement of fact. She probably figured us male law enforcement types were always conspiring against the opposite sex.

  “Yes, we knew each other for years. Despite what you might think of him, he was a great guy.” I tried to keep any hint of sorrow from my voice, but the sadness must have flashed briefly across my face.

  “I’m really sorry.” A frown appeared on her face and she reached across to touch my hand.

  “Thanks. You’re very insightful.”

  “It comes with the territory. Nursing isn’t much different from being an investigator. Patients don’t always want to tell the truth about what is ailing them and without that information it is more difficult to treat them effectively. So sometimes we have to piece together the medical mystery.”

  “If I were your patient, I would probably spill my guts. I mean that figuratively, of course.” The first serving arrived, which saved Jesse from having to respond, and me from further embarrassment. I asked about her relationship with her father.

  “We have a professional relationship.”

  “What do you mean?”

&nb
sp; “He talks to me like I’m one of his clients, instead of his daughter. Since I’m four years older, he expects me to act differently than Sarah, so he communicates with me more formally. He doesn’t do it intentionally.”

  “It’s funny, but he never even mentioned he had another daughter.”

  “Sounds like my father, the lawyer. He gives you just the ‘need-to-know’. But when I make him feel guilty about something, he usually capitulates and tells me the full details. Something to remember when you want more information….or money from him.”

  We made small talk for a while. After we finished the last plate of marinated salmon, I returned to business. “Can you tell me more about Freddie?”

  “He was flashy.”

  “In what way?”

  “You know, the one hundred dollar haircut and a baggy, chartreuse colored pimp suit. A size too big.”

  “Can you give me a more detailed description?”

  “Dark. Tall. Hispanic. Handsome if you like the type.” I tried to read whether or not that applied to her, but she gave no indication.

  “How was your sister that night?”

  “She was high on something. Her eyes were red and pupils dilated. Not normal. I have enough experience to recognize the symptoms.”

  “You think it was drugs and/or alcohol?”

  “She was drinking, but her physical appearance and anxiety made me suspect cocaine. I tried to talk to her, but it was so loud and Freddie kept close tabs on her. I wanted to take her away, but she didn’t seem willing to leave.”

  I nodded. “Around those people, cocaine would likely be readily available.”

  We chatted a while longer before she glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to run or I’ll be late. I’m due at the hospital for the afternoon shift in about fifteen minutes.” She said it ruefully, not dismissively, as if she actually enjoyed my company. I thought it was a good omen.

  “Well that explains the outfit.” Now the purpose for the lackluster clothing became clear—to mask her sexuality and prevent a heart patient’s demise from cardiac arrest after seeing her sashay into the hospital room.

  “What did you think, I worked at Burger King?”

  “No, nurse would have been my first guess.” I lied. “How about I drive you over?” I left thirty dollars with the bill under one of the glasses and we walked to my car.

  Before starting the car, I reached into the back seat and handed her a small paper bag containing her bra and panties. “This is embarrassing, but I thought I might need these for a DNA test.”

  She peeked inside. “I wondered what happened to these.”

  “Sorry. I’m not a pervert or anything.”

  “We’ll see. Thanks for returning them." She smiled and stuffed the bag into her purse as I pulled out onto Canyon Road.

  Unfortunately, in a small city like Santa Fe, nothing is very far away. We arrived at the Christus St. Vincent Regional Medical Center too soon. She asked about my police career, but I barely had time to begin the saga before we pulled up in front of the Surgical Services Building. She opened the door to get out.

  “Jesse. I may not be the greatest detective in the world, but I’m persistent enough to find your sister.”

  She turned to me. “I’m sure you will. I’m just afraid of what you might discover. Thanks for lunch and the lift.”

  She shut the car door, but I couldn’t bear to just let her walk off. “I may have more questions. Where can I reach you?”

  She leaned in through the window. Like fairy dust, her faint musky perfume drifted over me. “Jessica Minor. You’re a detective. I’m sure you can figure out how to get in touch with me.” Her sarcasm hung in the air as she walked into the hospital. I wanted to kick myself for being such an idiot.

  …

  I called Frank, chewing him out for not telling me about his older daughter.

  I heard Frank groan. “Oh no. Sorry. So you met Jesse?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

  “I was going to. It’s a bit embarrassing, so we don’t speak about it much. She has a type of narcolepsy.”

  “I know.”

  “She’s had it since childhood. We didn’t know what it was at first. She didn’t even speak much as a child. One day, Barbara had her in a shopping cart at the grocery store and some woman bumped into the cart. Suddenly Jesse told the woman to fuck off and nailed her in the head with a box of cereal.”

  “Perhaps the woman deserved it.” Frank ignored my crude attempt at humor. Of course, the situation probably wasn’t funny from the father’s perspective.

  “She will lash out both physically and verbally when she feels threatened. She takes medication, which seems to moderate the effects.”

  “Okay, I’ll let it slide. Any other vital information you want to tell me?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would run into her this quickly.”

  “Can you tell me about some of Sarah’s friends? I’ll need to talk to them.”

  “Her closest friend is Pamela Simmons. Her info is on the contact sheet I gave you. You might catch her at Santa Fe High School. Sarah didn’t have a lot of friends, at least those we knew of.”

  “It will be a good place to start.” I disconnected and pulled out Frank’s summary wondering what other important details he might have excluded. Andy had probably already talked to Pamela, but his death forced me to re-trace his now cold footprints.

  Chapter 6

  After several wrong turns, I located Santa Fe High School, perched on a hill and protected by a tall black iron security fence. A young guard, decked out in his navy blue uniform, greeted me at a small wood shack protecting the school entrance. He advised me to check in at the student services desk and directed me into a parking lot.

  Leaving the parking lot, I passed below a cement façade noting that the school was founded in 1899. The new brick and mortar exterior suggested that the school had received a recent facelift. Several more guards mingled outside with the students, enjoying the mild fall weather.

  The receptionist on the second floor of the administrative building stared at me suspiciously as I approached the oval Formica fortress surrounding her. “Yes sir. How can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see a student.” I fumbled for my credentials and handed them over. “I’m investigating the disappearance of one of her friends.”

  “You’ll need to meet with the principal. Just a moment.” She picked up the phone and punched in a four-digit number. After a short conversation she turned back to me.

  “Someone will be down to escort you to the Principal’s office.”

  I thanked her and waited five minutes before a young female student with pink braces, a nose ring, a double-pierced ear, ripped jeans, and a long blonde ponytail, arrived to escort me down the hall to the Principal’s office. She frowned and stared down at the floor the entire trip past multiple offices.

  We stopped outside a recessed doorway. A pudgy middle-aged man with dark thinning hair wearing a bland gray business suit emerged from the open door to greet me. The girl disappeared as I shook the hand of Principal Griffith. He gestured for me to sit across from him after we retreated to his office and he settled behind his desk.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Caldwell?”

  “I’m investigating the disappearance of Sarah Minor. I was hired by her father.” I handed him my private detective certificate.

  He scanned it and handed it back. “Ah, yes. Sarah. I’m certainly aware of the case. Her parents have been worried sick. I hope you find her. How can I help?”

  “She has a friend named Pamela Simmons. I was hoping to ask her a few questions.”

  He seemed to think about that for a moment. “I’ll need to verify you’re working for the Minors.”

  “Of course. Here’s Frank’s card with his cell phone number.”

  Principal Griffith accepted the card. “Thanks, but I’ll use the contact information in my computer.” He tapped the keyboard befor
e dialing a number. A short conversation with an intermediary ensued until Frank got to the phone. “Mr. Minor, this is Principal Griffith. I have a…” He glanced at my card. “Arch Caldwell here who says he’s investigating Sarah’s disappearance.”

  The principal listened, nodding with the conversation. “Thank you, Mr. Minor. Of course, we will help in any way we can to find Sarah.”

  He hung up and smiled. “I’m also required to obtain permission from Pamela’s parents.” He consulted his computer screen again and dialed a number without success. He re-checked the screen and dialed again. This time he connected, and after consulting with someone, appeared to get the necessary permission. He hung up and nodded to me. “I’ll have someone retrieve Pamela from class. It will be a few minutes. You’ll have to conduct the interview here in my presence.”

  I nodded and relaxed as he made another call to someone responsible for tracking down Pamela Simmons. Based on the information provided by the family, she appeared to be one of Sarah’s few friends. It was surprising such a pretty senior didn’t have numerous girlfriends, or at least attract more attention from the boys.

  My thoughts had turned to my daughter, Josie, and what she might be like in high school, when a tall thin girl came to the door. Beneath her long, coal black hair she wore a short brown leather skirt and green sweater. Principal Griffith rose from his chair and invited her in. “Mr. Caldwell. This is Pamela Simmons.”

  I shook her hand, offered her my chair, sliding over to its companion.

  Principal Griffith pre-empted my introduction. “Mr. Caldwell was hired by Sarah Minor’s parents to find her. He wants to ask you a few questions.”

  She nodded and peered straight at me.

  “I’m sorry to have to pull you from your class, but this won’t take long.”

  She shrugged. “It’s no problem. Another guy like you came to my house and asked about Sarah.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “No, but he was a detective like you.”