Falafel Jones - The Kewpie Killer Read online

  In the kitchen, Eddie worked at the stove. All dressed in a shirt and a tie with his shield and gun on his belt, he looked amused as he watched me drag myself to the table. He laid out two plate settings with coffee and juice. “I guess you’re not a morning person.”

  I sat back, ran my fingers through my hair and asked, “What does it say about a man’s cooking when he has to arm himself to make breakfast?”

  Eddie laughed and shoveled eggs from a pan onto my plate and then onto his. “I hope you like scrambled eggs. I ran out to the store while you were asleep.”

  “Love’em, but what I really need is coffee.” I looked over at him by the sink and saw he had Café Bustelo, my favorite Latin espresso on the counter. “Bustelo? Did you get that for me?”

  “No, why? You like it too?” He poured me a cup.

  “Si, mas fuerte pero muy sabroso.”

  “Yup, stronger but very tasty.”

  “Did you mix it with heated milk?

  “Of course. Do I think I’m a barbarian?”

  “How come you know about Latin coffee?”

  “I went to school in Miami.”

  “Oh.” I realized then how little I knew about Eddie… and how much I wanted to learn more.

  We finished eating and he said, “I’ve got to go to the squad room but need to pick up some things first. I’ll call Robby from the car, give him the scoop on the popcorn delivery. Then, how ‘bout I stop here on my way back and we’ll go downtown together?”

  “Sure, ah, how long before you’re back to pick me up?”

  “Forty five minutes?”

  “I can be ready then.”

  “Good.” Eddie kissed me and left. It felt nice, as if we were playing house. I smiled when I realized how easily I could get used to this.

  He was gone only about ten minutes when his phone rang. I wasn’t sure if I should answer it. After the third ring, his answering machine picked up. When it started recording, I heard a familiar voice say “C’mon. Pick up. You know I don’t like leaving messages.”

  I picked up the phone, “Eddie?”

  “Yeah, who’s this?”

  Thinking that I could be playful too, I said, “The woman who slept over last night.”

  “Then I guess Eddie’s doing better than I thought.”

  “What? Aren’t you Eddie?”

  “Sure I am and so’s my boy. Is he in? I want to hear more about this night he had.”

  “Um, no. He’s out.”

  “Too bad. Tell him Dad called.” Eddie Sr. chortled and hung up.

  Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in the living room watching the TV news when Eddie Jr. returned. I heard his key in the door and got up to greet him. We kissed and I asked, “Get what you needed?”

  “From you? Oh, yeah. From the archives? Who knows?”

  “What were you looking for?”

  “Anything we had on the first couple of murders.”

  “What’d you find?”

  “Two boxes… in the car. You ready?”

  “Sure.”

  Eddie looked over at his answering machine. “Someone called?” He pressed the blinking button.

  “Um, yeah.”

  The machine played back my conversation with Eddie’s Dad. When it finished, he laughed and said, “Thanks. You made Dad’s day.”

  “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be. I’m sure he got a kick out of it.”

  * * *

  It took twenty-minutes to drive from Eddie’s condo to the Achalaca County Police Station. When we arrived, Eddie secured two evidence boxes in a locker. Then he parked me at his desk, brought my popcorn package to the lab and went to see his lieutenant. While I waited, I read the Achalaca News, not a bad paper. I found a story by Eddie’s friend Dennis and discovered he certainly knew how to write. Working there might not be so bad.

  When Eddie came back to the squad room, a woman about my height and build with long black hair approached him. I couldn’t hear what they said, but she had her hands all over him. After a while, they walked to Eddie’s desk.

  “Raquel, this is Jennie O’Donnell, my partner.”

  I stood up to greet her. Jennie showed me beauty pageant teeth, stuck out her chest and offered her hand. “Hi, Raquel, I’m happy to meet you.” She wore a black skirt suit set with a white blouse. It looked like the one I wore to job interviews except her skirt was tighter and shorter… and her blouse fit better. She smiled, put her hand on Eddies back and stage whispered in his ear, “So this is the reason for the New York trip?”

  Eddie turned red and asked. “Don’t you have to be in court?”

  She said, “I got some time yet.” Eddie put his hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “…but maybe I should get going. Lotta traffic this time of day.”

  After she left, I asked, “How come you don’t have to go with her?”

  “Jennie’s from Vice. That case is from her last assignment.”

  I felt vaguely uncomfortable as I watched her leave. Eddie pulled out his desk chair for me and I sat. He retrieved the evidence boxes and removed from one, a plastic bag containing a small gold shoe. “You know how Police found gold jewelry where the Farmer and the banker died? This one’s from the Clown’s murder, Bert Connelly.”

  “What’s it mean?”

  “At the time Connelly died, the shoe looked like a personal effect, maybe a good luck charm? We thought nothing of it.”

  “And now?”

  “Now? Could be something…” he tilted his head, “…but I don’t know what.”

  “Wonder if they found jewelry on Breaker Burke?”

  Eddie reached for his desk phone, punched the speaker button and then dialed. “Robby might know.”

  “Detective Carlyle.”

  “Franklin and I’ve got Raquel here. You’re on speaker.”

  “Hang on. I’ve got Crystal on the other line.” The phone clicked, then a moment later, clicked again. “OK, If you’re calling about the financials, all I’ve got since we spoke last is Medici’s never filed bankruptcy…”

  “Nah, Something else.”

  “UPS? as far as the box goes, nada. Nobody knows nothing about the sender. Seems someone got a kid off the street to ship it at one of those UPS Stores. Paid cash. Clerk can’t describe him.”

  “Thanks, I’m not surprised but I’m calling ‘bout something else.”

  “Achalaca’s going pay me for doing all your work for you?”

  “Ha, ha.” Eddie asked about jewelry and Robby went to get Breaker’s file. When Robby came back on the line, he said, “Yeah. A pair of gold dice fused together. Cavanaugh thought it was Burke’s earring. I’ll email you photos of the stuff we found in the New York murders. You can print them out.”

  After he hung up, Eddie looked at the emailed pictures and said, “Finding these gold pieces can’t be coincidence. It makes no sense to find a pendant, a lapel pin, a good luck charm and an earring, too random.”

  Chapter Seventeen – Jewels

  A voice behind me bellowed, “O’Donnell. O’Donnell, answer when I call you.” Then, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder whirl me around in Eddie’s swivel chair. “What? Where’s O’Donn…”

  The man looked down at me with his mouth open and Eddie said, “Jennie’s left for court, Lou.”

  The man mumbled, “Then, who’s… never mind…s’cuse me,” went into the office marked “Lieutenant Haskell” and shut the door.

  Eddie looked up from the computer screen. “I’m sorry, Raquel. The Lieutenant lacks social skills… or so say his first three wives.”

  “He thought I was Jennie.”

  “Guess so.”

  “Do you think we look alike?”

  Eddie reached over to his printer for Robby’s photos. “Dunno.”

  “You’re a detective and you don’t know if your partner and a woman you’ve been seeing look alike?”

  “Yeah. OK. I guess you do, both have long black hair… ‘bout the same age�
�”

  “And that’s all?”

  “Well, maybe you do look a bit like each other.”

  “Is that why you’re seeing me? I remind you of Jennie?”

  “No, Raquel, nothing like that.”

  “What’s it like then?”

  “I like you. Am I attracted to tall, slim, good looking, women with dark hair? Sure. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “You think I’m slim and good looking?”

  “Sure. I’m too shallow to chase after you if you weren’t.”

  “… And it’s not just because you think I look like Jennie?”

  “Yeah, but for the record, you don’t look like her. First, you’re prettier. Second, she’s really a red-head.”

  “She dies her hair black?”

  “Yeah, last gig was undercover. Redheads stand out. Not a good thing when you want to have a low profile.”

  “But she doesn’t work there anymore.”

  “She’s keeping it black till she’s done testifying. That’s why the Lieutenant confused you. We good?”

  “Yeah… you really think I’m slim and pretty?”

  “The slimmest and prettiest.”

  “Stop flirting with me and get to work.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Eddie held the bag containing the gold shoe up to the light. “Maybe there’s something to these pieces we’re just not seeing.”

  “Like what?”

  “If I knew, I’d probably see it.”

  “Let’s go shopping.”

  “Now?”

  “I think it’s time to visit a jeweler.”

  “Umm. Am I buying a peace offering?”

  “No, it means we need a professional opinion.”

  “OK. I know a guy.”

  “Hmm, been shopping for jewelry?”

  “Nah, I caught the creep that robbed him. Recovered everything the guy took.” Eddie secured the evidence boxes in the locker near his desk and put Robby’s photos in his pocket. “Let’s go, it’s nice outside and it’s walking distance.”

  * * *

  The sign in the window read Golden Memories. Eddie pressed the doorbell and somebody buzzed us into the store. Eddie pointed his thumb at himself and said, “I suggested the camera and buzzer system after the theft.”

  “How can you tell by looking at someone if they’re going to rob you?”

  “Sometimes you see someone who doesn’t look kosher, like the junkie that robbed Manny. Other times, you can’t tell, but if you can’t see their face, you don’t let them in. Besides, if you can see’em then you’ve got them on tape so we get a photo. Added bonus, we’ve got a chance of prints on the button and maybe the door.”

  When we entered, a man in a dark suit behind the counter looked up. He put down something he was holding and slid the loupe off his glasses.

  “Detective Franklin, good to see you.” The man came around the counter with his hand extended. “How you like the new security?”

  “Very nice, Manny.” Eddie shook his hand and then waved towards me. “This is Raquel Flanagan.”

  Manny shook my hand. “My pleasure. What can I show you two? Special price on rings for you.”

  “Unh,” Eddie said, “We’re not here for rings.”

  “Anything you want, special pricing.” Manny said, and then looked up at me to ask, “Did Detective Franklin tell you how he caught the man that robbed me and recovered everything he took?”

  “He’s too modest. I’ll have to ask him about it.”

  Eddie said, “Manny, I’d like to show you something,” and laid photos on the glass counter.

  Manny picked them up, one by one and asked “Stolen merchandise?”

  “No, evidence found at murder scenes.”

  Manny shuddered. “Murder?

  “Murders, plural. We need to know what these items have in common. What ties these pieces together?”

  Manny said, “I haven’t sold one of these in years but at one time, they were very popular. Notice how each piece is a size disproportionate to real life. For example, the shoe is as big as the tractor, but” Manny held up a finger, “each piece is about the same size because they all hung together. See the little holes in the tops. Each of these came from a charm bracelet.”

  I said, “When I was a girl, my Mom had one. She had little gold charms to mark things that were important in her life. She got upset when she caught me playing with it. It meant a lot to her.”

  Manny said, “Most of the bracelets now come with a single charm. Back then, customers would buy just a bracelet and add charms as time went on. The jewelry became an archive of key events in the wearer’s life. Sweet 16, Graduation… Folks may have stopped wearing them like that, but I’ll bet you they’re still in the bottom of many jewelry boxes.”

  We thanked him and strolled back to the station where we found a yellow sticky note on Eddie’s phone. He picked it up. “Figures. Lab called. Feast and famine. Too many prints on the outside of the package and no prints on the popcorn box except yours and mine.”

  “I’m disappointed.”

  “I’m sorry, Raquel. Scared?”

  “A little, yeah, but we have other leads don’t we? What about these charms?”

  Eddie said, “Well… if all these gold pieces came from the same bracelet… and a killer is sprinkling them at murder scenes… Why would someone do that?”

  “Maybe they were gifts? Maybe the killer is returning them?”

  “If that’s the case, why?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just an idea.”

  “Think the killer’s a woman?”

  “Who knows? Let’s take a look at the rest of the stuff in the boxes.”

  Eddie retrieved the boxes, removed a folder from one and dropped it on the desk. “Someone murdered Connelly 18 years after Medici killed his wife. When I worked this case, what, two years ago, there was no connection to the Medici’s or anything else.”

  “But Connelly worked for Medici.”

  “Sure, some eighteen years before. There was no reason to look back that far. Even if we, um, I did, Medici was already dead. He wouldn’t have been a suspect.”

  “So now that we know more, what’ve you got?”

  “About the clown?”

  I nodded.

  “Drunk and dead in a field just outside of the carny grounds, same as the Farmer. Looks like same m.o. Also, check this out.”

  From the first box, he pulled out a plastic bag containing a Kewpie. Dressed like a clown, the Plaster of Paris doll sported what looked to be old dull paint. The doll’s edges were well-worn indicating use and age.

  “… and this is from the Medici murder suicide.” He took two plastic wrapped dolls and a folder from the second box. The Medici dolls were dressed like a bride and a groom. The paint on these dolls was dull and the Plaster of Paris edges were smooth. They made googly eyes at me with cherubic faces but they just plain creeped me out.

  I tore my gaze from the grinning dolls. “These look like the ones in New York. These Kewpies look older, but all they seem to be from the same manufacturer.”

  “They’re not commercially made.”

  “The style, the size, the materials… then these must have been made by the same person.”

  “You’re right. When we couldn’t find any name on these, we checked around and found the name of the company that made the molds. They sold to hobbyists and carnivals and the customers used their own choice of paints. There’s fading here but the coloring matches and the lab says so do the brushes and paints.”

  “Did the mold company give you a client list?”

  “No. They went belly-up years ago. If it wasn’t for somebody selling old stock on eBay we probably wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

  I picked up the bags containing the Medici dolls. “This is so sad. What happened?”

  “Newspaper said Medici had mood swings but could almost pass for normal if he stayed on his medications. Now and then, he’d get particularly depressed and drink. Of course,
the alcohol just messed everything up. We don’t know what set him off but one day, she’s got a throwing knife in her chest and he’s overdosed on his meds. Police answering a call about a noisy fight found them both dead along alongside these Kewpies with the dolls heads broken off.”

  “Newspaper?”

  Eddie turned over an empty box. “Yeah. All we had in evidence were the dolls.”

  “How come?”

  “Twenty year old case? Murderer’s already dead, who knows? That’s all we got… oh and this.” He handed me the folder. “After you called about the Kewpie connection, I pulled these.”

  I put down the bags and opened the folder. It contained a newspaper clipping and death certificates for the Medicis; Orazio and Agnese.

  Eddie asked, “Not much to work with, huh?”

  “Who’s this ‘Business Associate, Timothy Mooney’? The paper quotes him saying, ‘This is a great loss to the entertainment business and a terrible personal tragedy.’”

  Eddie reached for the paper and then sat down with it in front of his computer. “Guess he’d be at least in his late thirties by now.” He typed a bit and then said, “Three Tim Mooneys over 35 in the County but only one lived here twenty years ago.” Eddie looked at the computer monitor and wrote something on his pad. Then he put the contents from the evidence boxes into his desk, locked it and said, “Let’s follow the Mooney.”

  I hit him in the arm as hard as I could.

  * * *

  We sat in his waiting room, sipping his coffee while Timothy Mooney, CFA, CFP, CLU finished with a client. Eddie thumbed through a Forbes magazine and I read a Fortune article about new technologies in foreign countries. The seats were so comfy and the coffee so good, I almost didn’t mind the wait.

  I heard voices and then watched an elderly couple walk hand in hand down the hall. The receptionist came from behind her counter, gave them a warm goodbye and took Eddie and me to see Mr. Mooney.

  He stood at his desk to greet us, and then gestured to a sofa and two chairs. “Hi, I’m Tim Mooney. Please, have a seat.”