1 Twisted Perception Read online

  With that the conversation seemed to falter and when the food arrived they ate a quiet lunch and left the restaurant. Once outside, Elliot walked Molly to her car. For a moment they stood silently, then she pressed against Elliot and he felt her lips touch his. “I could easily love you,” she said.

  “But you don’t.”

  She frowned. “Kenny, sometimes I think you’re the most decent man I’ve ever met, but other times you scare me. Why are you so distant, so hard to know?”

  “I thought women liked that sort of thing, a bit of mystery.”

  She released her grip and started to pull away, but Elliot gently brought her back. “I do care about you, Molly. Don’t give up on us, not yet.” He pulled her closer, but before they could embrace in another kiss, the sound of his cell phone ringing jarred them back to reality. Elliot took a step back and brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

  After a brief silence, a soft feminine voice said, “This is Rachael Johnson. You left a message for me.”

  5

  Elliot left Molly standing beside her car. She’d said she understood, but Elliot wasn’t so sure, and as he wove his car through the streets of Tulsa, he began to wonder where his nearly five years as a cop had gone; good times and bad times, all just as lost. He guessed living each day like it was no different than the one before carried that kind of price.

  Rachael Johnson had agreed to a meeting. He hadn’t told her much. He wanted to see the look on her face when he gave her the information.

  Elliot wheeled the car to a stop at a hamburger stand near 15th and Peoria where Rachael Johnson told him she worked. She’d said her supervisor didn’t like employees having visitors while they worked and didn’t think he would be receptive to Elliot showing up. However, when Elliot walked in and showed his badge, the manager nodded and pointed him toward the kitchen. The blonde with the trapped look on her face turned out to be Rachael Johnson.

  Giving the manager a look somewhere between I dare you to say anything, and please help me, she left the kitchen and came into the lobby.

  Elliot opened the restaurant door and held it. “Would you mind stepping outside for a moment?” he asked.

  He’d left the car parked beneath the canopy of a large oak tree that overshadowed the lot, and he and Ms. Johnson stood in its shade. “What’s this all about?” she asked.

  Elliot stepped off a small rock ledge and onto a grassy area beside the sidewalk. Rachael followed. She was rather ordinary in appearance, wearing a greasy smock over jeans and a faded blue shirt. Her blonde hair was twisted into a bun with strands hanging, rather disheveled, on either side of her face. Elliot had to admit she wasn’t what he’d expected. The victim’s taste in clothing and jewelry had been top notch. It seemed odd that she would have friends so far outside her social status. “Do you know Lagayle Zimmerman?” he asked.

  A flicker of worry crossed her face. “Yes, I do.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  Again, her expression communicated concern. “It was just last night.”

  “Could you tell me where you were and approximately what time that was?”

  “She stopped by the house, around ten o’clock, I think.”

  “Does she come by often?”

  “Not really. In fact, she surprised me. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of weeks.”

  “How long did she stay?”

  She shrugged. “Just a few minutes. What’s this all about, anyway?”

  The restaurant manager pushed open the door to his business and stuck his head out. He didn’t say anything, but lingered for a moment before ducking back inside. Rachael looked away briefly, and it was then that Elliot realized he was a bit mesmerized by her. It was her eyes. They were deep, and though he’d never considered blue eyes mysterious, something about hers certainly was. When she turned back, he said, “Lagayle Zimmerman is dead. She was found in her car this morning.”

  Rachael Johnson looked ill. She backed against the tree then slid to the ground. “Oh, God,” she said. “How?”

  Elliot hesitated for a moment before answering. “Her throat was cut.”

  Rachael covered her mouth with her hand. “She’d been fighting with her husband. I asked her to stay, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “Was she going home when she left you?”

  “She said she was.”

  “Did you hear from her again after she left?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you think her husband had something to do with her death?”

  Rachael took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before speaking. “I don’t know. I don’t like him, and I didn’t want her to marry him. He’s powerful and domineering.”

  Elliot thought of the tall man with the hollow face he’d met earlier. He could think of a lot of words to describe Harrison Zimmerman, but powerful and domineering were not among them.

  “But whether he’s capable of something like murder,” she continued, “I’m not sure. He just gives me the creeps, that’s all.”

  Elliot made a notation. Creeps he could go with. “Is it possible she went someplace other than her home?”

  “I don’t know, I guess so.”

  “How long had you known her?”

  Ms. Johnson paused. Elliot couldn’t determine if she was thinking over her answer, or if the death of her friend was closing in on her. He leaned toward the latter.

  “Not long really. About a year, I guess. She used to work here until she got married.”

  “Do you know how she met Harrison Zimmerman?”

  “She said she met him at a party. It was only three months ago: they got married right away.”

  Elliot jotted down the address and contact information for Rachael then handed her one of his cards. “Thanks for your help. If you think of anything else, would you call me?”

  “Sure,” she said. She got to her feet, tucked the card away inside the pocket of her smock and started toward the restaurant. Before going inside, she turned back. “You know, I probably shouldn’t say this, but I always thought there was something a little strange about Lagayle.”

  “Like what?” Elliot asked.

  “I don’t know. It was one of those things you can’t quite put your finger on. She was just different. Sometimes being around her made me uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know any other way to describe it. But she was a wonderful person. I really liked her.”

  After that, Rachael turned away and disappeared into the restaurant. The address she’d given Elliot was less than three blocks from where the body had been found. He decided to drive by and check it out.

  6

  Rachael Johnson’s house, a rather large and badly maintained two-story wood-frame, sat on the corner, fronted by a numbered street running east and west, with a named street going north and south on the side. It was part of a mature neighborhood that had managed to survive intact. One of the neighbors, an elderly gentleman wearing khaki pants with a matching shirt, stood in his front yard watching as Elliot approached Rachael’s place. Several concrete steps led from the sidewalk to the property level. The house, like many others in the area, had been constructed on a hill; a pile of dirt raising the property a few feet above street level. Elliot climbed the stairs, traversed a short sidewalk and went up a couple more steps that led to a wooden porch. Reaching the door, he knocked, wondering if anyone else did, in fact, live there. It was then that the neighbor spoke up.

  “She won’t come to the door, not with Rachael being gone.”

  Elliot stepped down from the porch then walked to the chain link fence separating the properties. He showed his badge. “Who might that be?”

  The man cautiously inspected Elliot’s credentials. “Mrs. Johnson, of course. Rachael’s mother.”

  “What about her father?”

  The man shrugged and shook his head.

  Elliot tucked his badge inside his jacket. “I wonder
if I might get some information from you Mr. …”

  “Eagon,” the man said, “John Eagon. Don’t know much, but you’re welcome to try.”

  “Did you happen to see or hear anything unusual around here last night?”

  John Eagon rubbed his chin. “Well, if I lived a little further southeast, I’d have to say yes, but since I don’t, I guess the answer would have to be not really.”

  Elliot smiled. The man was a crusty old sort. “Would you mind telling me exactly what you did see?”

  He nodded, leaning closer. “Rachael’s fancy little friend came to see her.”

  “Driving a Mercedes?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “That she was, and crying too.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yeah. I heard her. You asked me what I heard.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She didn’t stay long,” he said. “Came trotting out about ten minutes after she got here. That’s when her boyfriend showed up.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Looked that way to me. Jumped in her car with her, started kissing her.”

  “How did he get here? Did he drive up after she did?”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t see any other cars. He just sort of showed up. It’s not unusual. There’s no shortage of strange goings-on around here anymore. Wasn’t always like that though.”

  “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “Nah. It was kind of dark.”

  “Was he tall, short, thin, heavyset?”

  John Eagon scratched his head. “He wasn’t what I would call big…about my height, and kind of slender.”

  Elliot immediately thought of Bill Morton. The description fit. And his story had seemed less than honest. But there was a problem with that theory. Why would Lagayle Zimmerman hang around with someone like Morton? He wasn’t the boyfriend type, unless you happened to be a bottle of wine.

  “What happened after that?” Elliot asked.

  Eagon shook his head. “Looked like they were getting ready to get serious, if you know what I mean. So I went inside. I peeked out a few minutes later and the car was gone.”

  “What time was that?”

  “About ten thirty, I guess.”

  Elliot wrote down what Eagon told him. It appeared as though Lagayle had known her killer, if indeed that was who John Eagon saw. On the other hand, with the park being nearby, anyone could easily have come from there.

  After questioning John Eagon, Elliot called the medical examiner’s office and spoke to Donald Carter. Carter thought it best that Elliot come and see for himself what had been discovered during the autopsy.

  The examiner’s office was on the west side of the river, so it took Elliot a few minutes to get there. When he arrived, he entered the building and made his way to the area where Donald Carter worked. When he got there he saw the body of Lagayle Zimmerman lying on the worktable, her red hair spilling over the sides. As Elliot walked over, Carter looked up from his work and grinned. “Hey, Elliot.”

  “You have something to show me?”

  “Sure do,” he said. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.” He raised the sheet covering the body. “Your victim. He’s not a she.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Carter took a piece of rubber tubing and snipped it in half with a pair of surgical scissors. “He had a sex change.”

  Unable to resist, Elliot looked the body over, noticing the breasts, the feminine shape. “She looks real enough.”

  Carter shrugged. “Implants and hormone treatments. You see it all down here.”

  “How long ago was it done?”

  Carter thought for a moment. “The scars are well healed. At least a year, maybe more.”

  Near a metal table that held various pieces of medical equipment, as well as Carter’s half-eaten sandwich, Elliot found a chair and sat. The day was quickly turning into one that would be remembered because forgetting it wouldn’t be easy. “Anything else?”

  “There were no signs of molestation, and no semen. Her alcohol level was pretty high. She’d been drinking.”

  “Where would a person go to have such an operation?”

  Carter grinned and shook his head. “Forget it, Elliot. You’d make an ugly broad.”

  “Is it easy to arrange?”

  Carter walked over and picked up his sandwich. “Not really,” he said, taking a bite. “The candidate would have to undergo a psychological evaluation, get it approved.”

  “Are there any particular clinics in town that cater to that sort of thing?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. But I’ve never had cause to research the matter. You might try the American Medical Association or the County Health Department. They’d be good places to start.”

  Elliot left the medical examiner’s office with a lot more on his mind than he’d come in with, and he’d already had enough to think about. He had some ground to cover, and there was one certain stop that he shoved to the head of the list. He needed to pay Harrison Zimmerman another visit. Perhaps he hadn’t been lying, but at the very least he’d been withholding information. Either way, Elliot didn’t appreciate it. However, he had only taken a few steps when he ran into Rachael Johnson.

  “Detective Elliot. I was just at your office. The receptionist said I might find you here.”

  Elliot wondered why she’d come in person instead of calling. It must have showed in his expression because she answered his unspoken question.

  “I had an appointment downtown,” she said. “And since I was here anyway…”

  Rachael was dressed differently too, wearing a wool suit and perfume. “What can I do for you?” Elliot asked.

  “After we talked,” she said. “I did remember something. Something Lagayle told me. It didn’t seem like anything at the time. I guess that’s why I forgot about it.” She paused, fussing with her purse. “Mind if I smoke?”

  Before Elliot could answer, she lit up, tilting her head to blow the smoke away while her eyes rolled to look at him. “She said she thought someone was following her.”

  That caught Elliot’s attention. “Did she have any idea who it might be?”

  Rachael shook her head. “She thought she was being stalked, if you know what I mean. I guess she was right, huh?”

  Elliot decided not to tell Rachael that her instincts about Lagayle being different had been right. “We haven’t determined that,” he said.

  Rachael nodded. “I have to be going or I’ll be late. Call me if you have any more questions.”

  With that she walked away, trailing a faint smell of perfume mixed with cigarette smoke.

  Elliot watched her for a moment, then found his car and drove to Zimmerman’s house. When he arrived and began ringing the bell, he imagined a refined man in butler attire asking him if he was expected, but Zimmerman answered the door himself.

  Upon seeing Elliot, his face soured. “Detective. I thought we’d taken care of everything.”

  “I’m sure you hoped as much,” Elliot said. “Unfortunately a few things are left unanswered. May I come in?”

  Zimmerman sighed and stepped aside. “If you must.”

  Elliot followed him into the house and through a high-ceilinged foyer, then up a small staircase to a room lined with shelves. Zimmerman called it the library. They sat more or less across from one another in wingback chairs of green leather placed at angles beside a heavy table. In front of them, a medieval-style fireplace dominated the room. After a moment, Zimmerman raised his eyebrows, as if in question.

  “When we talked earlier,” Elliot said, “you left out a few details. Some pretty important ones, I’d say.” After his words had settled, Elliot added, “That doesn’t look good, Mr. Zimmerman.”

  Zimmerman put his hands together in the shape of a steeple. “I take it you are referring to…”

  “The sex operation,” Elliot finished.

  Zimmerman look
ed at the floor, nodding his bowed head.

  “I need some answers.”

  Taking a deep breath, Zimmerman straightened in his chair. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why you didn’t tell us, for starters.”

  “I suppose I’d simply hoped it would just go away,” Zimmerman said. “Wishful thinking, I’m sure. But try to understand, something like this can be quite embarrassing to someone in my position.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t know about it when you married her?”

  “I’m an old man, Detective. When I met Lagayle, I was looking for companionship. We slept in separate bedrooms.”

  “What was it that tipped you off?”

  “She started staying out late, making excuses. I thought she was having an affair.”

  “So you confronted her with it and the truth came out, she told you everything?”

  The expression on Zimmerman’s face said it all. He was hiding something, and he suspected Elliot could tell. “Not exactly,” he said.

  Elliot then recalled what Rachael Johnson had said about Lagayle being followed, and it all fell into place.

  “You hired a private investigator to tail her, didn’t you?”

  He said nothing.

  “I will find out, one way or the other,” Elliot said. “It would be better if I heard it from you.”

  Zimmerman frowned. “Very well then. Yes. Yes, I did.”

  Elliot picked up an antique-looking figurine from the table beside his chair and began to examine it. He found it an area of focus to control his anger. Zimmerman, it seemed, had withheld quite a bit. He sat the figurine back on the table. “Do suppose your PI would have any information concerning the murder of your wife?”

  “I don’t see how,” Zimmerman said. “He only worked on it for a few days. Then he dropped off some pictures, told me what he knew, and said he was finished. He seemed quite agitated. Said he wanted no further part of it. Perhaps he was threatened or something.”