For Want of a Memory Read online

  He went across the wide alley and up to the crime scene. The responding patrol had already put up yellow crime scene tape and he had to duck to get into the room. His eyes went to the broken window in one wall and the shards of glass on the floor. He surveyed the room, ignoring the cop standing behind a huddled captive, who was sitting on the floor. They must have gotten there quickly indeed, because he could see no evidence that things had been rifled through.

  There wasn't much visible that was of obvious value, though there was a collection of art and art objects that might be worth something. It was hard to tell, these days. People would pay thousands of dollars for art that was created by a monkey or even an elephant. They looked like kid's drawings to Jim, but were sometimes worth more than a month of his pay.

  "I'm not a thief!" exclaimed the burglar loudly.

  Jim looked down and was surprised to see it was a woman. She was blonde and good looking in a slightly trashy kind of way. She was dressed all in black and there was a black stocking mask on the floor, where the patrolman had dropped it, probably after he wrestled the subject into cuffs and removed it. Harper couldn't keep a smile off his face. He already knew this was going to be an interesting case, if he was dealing with a burglar who wore that kind of outfit in daylight hours and then proclaimed loudly she wasn't a burglar.

  "No," he said calmly. "You're not a thief. You're an attempted thief."

  "No!" shouted the woman. "This is all a mistake!"

  "So you mistakenly broke the window and climbed into an apartment you don't rent," he said, still smiling. "I can't wait to see the judge's face when you tell him that."

  "No, you don't understand!" wailed the burglar. "I tried to tell this stupid flat foot, but he wouldn't listen. This is my boyfriend's apartment. I have every right to be here!"

  "Is that a fact?" said Harper drolly. "Well, now, I suppose your boyfriend will have to be the one to verify your claim. Where might I find him Miss ... ?"

  "Henderson," she said. "Lola Henderson. And I don't know where you can find him. That's the problem. That's why I came here."

  Harper looked at the beat cop, who was standing placidly, not really interested in anything but making sure his captive didn't get away.

  "Did you clear the apartment?"

  The cop looked pained and nodded. "Of course. There's nobody else here."

  Harper looked back at the woman. "I'd like to hear what you have to say, but I need to get the scene processed first. We'll talk later, Lola. Okay?" He looked back at the patrolman. "Take her downtown and book her in for B&E. Advise her of her rights on the way."

  "Noooooooooooo," wailed Lola. "You can't arrest meeeeee. I can't go to jail! I'll be raped!"

  Jim looked down at her. Tears were rolling down her face. Her makeup wasn't waterproof and she was starting to look like a zombie already.

  "We'll put you in with only women, Lola."

  "That w-w-won't mat-t-t-er," sobbed the woman. "Women g-g-go for me, t-t-too," she moaned.

  "We'll tell them all to behave themselves," said Harper, trying not to laugh. "Just keep your legs closed. You'll be fine."

  She cried and moaned all the way out of the apartment, but didn't give the patrolman any real trouble. It was pretty obvious she'd never been involved in anything like this before. Her appearance and her reaction to being arrested suggested that everything she knew about crime and justice had been learned from TV.

  Processing the scene took almost no time. Whoever lived in this apartment kept things tidy. The only thing that appeared to have been disturbed was the desk. The computer had been turned on and all the drawers were open. Papers were scattered all over the desktop.

  He took a few minutes to play with the computer, but it was securely passworded and the few tricks he knew didn't get him in. All the mail he found was addressed to Kristoff Farmingham. The postmarks on all of it were at least a month old, which seemed odd. He looked around for a phone, but didn't find one. It was getting rare to find an actual landline these days. Maybe Lola, if she actually knew Farmingham, would know his phone number, too. Jim would tell her that could be mitigating evidence, showing that she really did know the man. He wouldn't tell her that it would also establish probable cause that she knew whose apartment she was breaking into, which meant she knew it wasn't her own, which was one of the elements of proof for the offense of breaking and entering.

  The crime scene tech arrived and Jim told him to collect the glass fragments, and process the desk for prints. He told him to collect all the papers that the subject might have touched, so they could be processed for prints as well, should it be needed. Jim didn't think that would have to happen. When they're caught red-handed, there's almost always a plea deal.

  * * *

  Jim sat, looking calmly at Lola Henderson, who was still a mess. He didn't care about that. All he cared about was what she'd said. He'd gotten a full and complete confession to the B&E. That she hadn't intended to steal anything, he actually believed. She was just another example of a scorned woman, who couldn't accept the fact that her boyfriend got tired of her and stopped contacting her. What he wasn't so sure about was her wild tale that Farmingham was an author who had disappeared off into the ozone while he wrote another book. Her tale there was disjointed enough that it sounded like she believed it. That didn't make it true, of course. The landlord had confirmed that the rent had been paid six months in advance, but that didn't prove anything either. Maybe Farmingham went to visit his mother, figuring to stay long enough that his girlfriend would get the message and move on. Who knew? At any rate, she seemed to believe he was gone, writing a book, and that supported her claim that she'd only been trying to figure out where he'd gone by searching his desk and computer.

  He'd had her go over it three times. There was a singular lack of changes to her story, which usually meant he was getting the truth, or at least what the interviewee believed was the truth. It was sad, in a way. He'd already run her through the system and she'd never gotten so much as a jaywalking ticket. She was obviously not a pro. Love ... or what passed for love ... had gotten her into trouble and now she was going to suffer for it. He was quite sure she'd just get probation and have to pay for the repairs to the window. The landlord was already loudly demanding compensation.

  He stood up. Lola looked up at him tearfully. It was sad, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

  He turned and left the interview room.

  * * *

  Mitch settled into the booth across from Kris.

  "Morning," he said.

  "This is getting to be a regular thing," said Kris.

  "Not much else to do this time of the day," said Mitch airily. "You're here every morning. Why can't I be?"

  "I'm not complaining," said Kris. "I was just making an observation, that's all."

  Mitch shrugged. "Nobody believes they can be friends with a cop. It's really sad. I mean we're just like anybody else. The only difference is that I put on a badge and gun, while you boot up a computer and pound the keyboard. We're both just making a living, but for some reason people always think a cop is trying to get something on them. They can't believe he could just be a plain old friend."

  "Well," said Kris. "You said yourself that you were going to watch me. What else am I supposed to think?"

  "I have been watching you," said Mitch, shrugging. "You're interesting, but you don't set off any of my cop alarms. I still want to know who shot you, and why, and how you ended up running off the road in my jurisdiction, but I no longer think you're a danger to society. I could be wrong."

  "Thanks for that," said Kris, dryly.

  "And anyway, Lulu likes you. I respect her judgment a lot."

  "I told her you said that," said Kris.

  Mitch looked wary. He turned to look for Lulu, but she was busy at the other end of the diner. She'd acknowledged his arrival, but that was all.

  "How'd she react?" he asked.

  "She kissed me," said Kris.

 
Mitch grinned. "Can I call 'em or what?"

  "She said you were being nosey."

  "No law against being nosey," said Mitch, still grinning.

  "You still want to know what Jessica was wearing at the party?"

  Mitch looked wary, again. "I thought you were sworn to secrecy."

  "I am," said Kris. "But you got me kissed. I feel like I owe you something."

  "You're willing to chance the wrath of Jessica and Lulu, just to pay me back?"

  "Well, I was kind of thinking that, since I'm an author and all, but since I also can't remember being an author ... maybe I could give you an example of how I might describe something ... say a woman wearing some lingerie, for example ... and get your reaction to whether it's a good description or not."

  "I see," said Mitch, grinning again. "I like the way you think. I'm all ears. I've done some reading, and I know what I liked and didn't like."

  Kris leaned forward and lowered his voice.

  "I didn't know anyone would be there when I walked into the room. She obviously wasn't expecting me, based on the way she was dressed. I don't know who she was expecting ... but it wasn't me. She was a tall woman, with the milk chocolate skin that announces a mixture of races. Even if she'd been dressed normally, her figure would have shouted to be appreciated."

  Mitch closed his eyes and rested his chin on the heels of both hands, his elbows on the table in front of him.

  "It was what she was wearing that screamed at me, just then. It could only be called 'the naughty nurse outfit.' It was all white, except for red crosses in places a man would look anyway, but which drew the gaze. White high heels held stocking clad feet. The stockings went to her thighs, where the white gave way to that chocolate skin. The thin straps of a garter belt connected the stockings to her waist, but did nothing to conceal the lacy, translucent white panties she wore. Just a triangle of filmy white with a red cross on the front, they seemed to be held on by thread, that went up and over her hips. I expected to see black through the panties ... the bulge made by fluffy hair, but instead I saw only that thin cloth, drawn up between two puffy lines between her legs."

  Mitch groaned.

  "My eyes flicked up to find her big, brown ones staring at me. Her mouth was open, forming a small 'O' of surprise. My brain told me I'd missed something and my gaze dropped to the bikini bra that was tenderly cupping swollen breasts that made my mouth water. That bra was translucent too, even the red crosses that covered the tips. There were two dark spots showing through that I knew were her stiff nipples, jutting out towards me, begging for attention.

  Mitch groaned again and sagged back against the back of the seat, his eyes still closed.

  "Her hat completed the outfit, a white nurse's cap with a red cross on it, and I suddenly knew that if I were ever injured, I wanted this nurse to take care of me."

  It was quiet for fifteen seconds before Mitch opened his eyes.

  "So ... what do you think?" asked Kris.

  "I am firmly convinced that you are, in fact, an author," said Mitch. "That I can't find evidence of that only leads me to believe that you write books of the kind found in adult book stores, which are not often advertised to the general public." He leaned forward again. "How much of that was ... um ... made up for your ... book?"

  "Well," said Kris softly. "I suppose that a real outfit like that might not be quite as see-through as I made it. And, in the real world, if a man found himself in that situation, he might not get quite as good a look at things as I described. But this is for a fictional account, so I decided I could take a little license."

  "Man!" sighed Mitch. "You can take license any time you want, as far as I'm concerned. Is that how you're writing this pirate book of yours?"

  "Pretty much," said Kris. "Except, of course, there aren't any naughty nurses in it."

  "What about naughty nurses?" came a voice from the end of the table that made both men jump. They looked up to see Lou Anne standing there, coffee pot in hand.

  "Oh, nothing," said Kris, blushing. "I was just tossing something around with Mitch that I was thinking about putting into a book I'm thinking about writing."

  "You're already writing a book," said Lou Anne sweetly.

  "I'll have to write another one after that, won't I?" asked Kris.

  "I suppose so," she said. "I'll get you boys something to eat. The usual?"

  "Surprise me," said Kris.

  "Anything," said Mitch. He was fidgeting in his seat.

  "okay," she said brightly.

  She moved to her right, which put her behind Mitch. She looked over her shoulder at Kris. Her eyes flicked past him, then right and left, before coming back to his. She winked and pursed her lips in what was obviously a kiss, then went on to the end of the counter and behind it, to tell Hank what to cook them. Kris turned around to look behind him. There were a couple of customers there, but none were paying attention to him.

  "Did you see anything else?" asked Mitch, leaning forward again. "In this fictional account you're thinking about, I mean?"

  "A little reality crept in at that point," said Kris smiling. "Seeing as how I wasn't supposed to be there ... in the plot, I mean ... I left."

  "Too bad," sighed Mitch.

  "Oh, I almost forgot," said Kris. "I remembered something."

  "What?"

  "It's not much, but I had a girlfriend named Lola. I mean I have a girlfriend named Lola, I guess. She's blonde."

  "Last name?" asked Mitch.

  Kris shook his head. "Didn't get that. It was funny ... I knew she was my girlfriend, but it was like I wanted to break up with her. She didn't feel like a girlfriend in my mind, you know?"

  "Oddly enough, I do understand," said Mitch. Carla and I have been on an off half a dozen times. I think we stay together just because we're both too lazy to go out and find somebody else."

  "Is that why you flirt so much?" asked Kris.

  "I do not flirt, sir!" said Mitch. "I merely pay attention to people, women included. I may make the odd observation about the beauty of a woman on occasion, but it's purely platonic."

  "I bet you're going to flirt with Jess the next time you see her," said Kris, smiling.

  "I'm going to have to wear two jockstraps from now on, just in case I bump into her, thanks to you," sighed Mitch.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jim Harper faced the district attorney, who happened to be a short heavy woman with the temperament of a short heavy woman. That was to say she was surly. Whether that had to do with the lack of male interest in her as a woman, or the case Harper had just briefed her on, was a thing for supposition.

  "I can't do anything without a victim," said the DA.

  "He's off writing a novel somewhere," said Harper. "Paid his rent in advance and didn't tell anybody where he was going. I have no idea where he is."

  "I'm not taking her before a judge without a victim there to say she had no right to enter that apartment," said the woman. "The judge would toss me out on my ear. Besides, if it turns out she does have permission to go into his apartment, the only crime there will be is destruction of private property. You think the judge is going to look kindly on me for bringing him a case with a total value of maybe fifty bucks? I'm not crazy, Harper. Find me a victim."

  Harper wanted to curse. He had enough on his plate already, he didn't need this wild goose chase. But he knew she was right. He turned to leave.

  "And Harper!" she barked. He turned back. "You have ninety days before the speedy trial rule kicks in and I have to drop the charges."

  "Can't you get a continuance?"

  "Even her pimply faced public defender knows about speedy trial," said the DA. "He says he's ready to go to trial tomorrow, and that all she was doing was trying to recover some of her own property that she left there before her boyfriend up and vanished. I'm not even going to file until I know we have a victim. Got it?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  * * *

  It was Kris' night off and it happened to co
incide with Lou Anne's night off. There was another part time waitress at The Early Girl and, because neither of them wanted to work the same days all the time and both wanted to have every day of the week off, occasionally, they agreed to shift the schedule around sometimes. Hank didn't care, as long as somebody was there to take care of the customers.

  It was just habit by now for Kris to go and write at her place. He valued Lulu's opinions on what was already written and it went better when they were both there while she did her editing. If she found a problem, they could talk about it and Kris could make the needed changes right then and there. And, since he had a habit of skipping around in the outline, writing whatever scene or chapter seemed to be calling to him, she was aware of where he was working within the manuscript and could keep up.