The Japanese Masseuse – Chapter 5

        

Ivy Kim (Detective, Austin Police Department)

David and Amy Brosette (Married)

Abby Brosette (Daughter)

         

Craig Alan and Victoria Mooney (Ivy Kim’s ex-husband and her step-daughter)

Kelly Turner Jones (Craig Mooney’s fiancée)

Peter Tung (Forensic photographer)

       

Chad Randlett (Coroner, Austin Police Department)

Leonardo D’Almagro (CEO, D’Almagro Fashion and Talents)

Waltraud Contratto (Housekeeper, Leonardo D’Almagro)

CHAPTER 5

It was close to eight in the evening, and the sun was still up in the cobalt-blue sky. The imposing, wrought-iron gates gradually unfolded in an almost intimidating way. Only people trusted with the right access code were allowed to enter this exclusive neighborhood of West Rim Estates. A solid front door, a private security system, and a personal handgun were simply not considered enough protection from the outside world.

A silver-gray Honda Civic driven by an impatient young woman speeded up as it crossed the border between West Rim Estates and the outside world. Ivy Kim was a striking woman with distinct Korean features. Her deep, brown eyes swiftly scanned the fashionable neighborhood.

Only a few minutes earlier on West Lake Drive, she had passed a man on a bicycle pulling a cart loaded with groceries. His only attire had been a thong. Austin truly lives in harmony with diversity. A smile flitted over her face.

Farther down the street, she spotted a group of people gathered outside a home. This must be it, she concluded and stepped on the gas pedal.

She parked the car across the street from the huge and very expensive home. That anyone could afford to live in such a house was a puzzle to her. This gated community consisted of 35 homes. Not one of them was smaller than 4,000 square feet, and most were closer to 6,000.

For a brief moment Miss Kim took in the beauty of the home she was about to visit. The brilliantly landscaped front yard was as if designed right out of Architecture. Not one single straw of grass seemed to be going against the well-laid-out lawn. Colorful flowers decorated the beds, and the sprinklers were on to ensure the plants got enough water in the extreme Texas heat.

Cars, mostly belonging to people from the police department and SCI, were lined up outside the house. Neighbors had rapidly been gathering as the bad news had spread.

Greeted by a police officer, Ivy was let in behind the yellow band, which in a simple way kept the curious crowd outside the scene of crime. It was the second time in less than four weeks that police had been called out to this particular neighborhood.

They still hadn’t solved the first case, a white woman run over by a car. Not an accident, that was for sure. Hitting a pedestrian five times could under no circumstances be characterized as an accident, she thought, but that was, of course, still to be proven.

No matter how charitable she considered herself, Mrs. Brosette had been known to be somewhat snooty, not treating anybody below her social status with any true kindness or respect. Regularly, she would have illegal immigrants working in her yard, repairing her residence, and cleaning her home. She even had people walk Dexter, a pure-breed Boxer she reluctantly had invited into her home. Her daughter Abby had been pleading for a puppy, and being an honor student had called for some kind of reward.

Some people said Mrs. Brosette treated dogs better than her employees. The truth of the matter was she didn’t treat anybody with respect and she hated dogs.

The entire neighborhood had buzzed like a disrupted beehive. Was it one of the illegal immigrants who had ended the life of this displeasing female? Was it her fed-up husband? Or simply a mad dog?

“That must be Ivy Kim!” a man from the snooping crowd said and pointed at her.

“Wow! Look at that hair color,” a woman uttered. “It’s bright red!” Detective Kim was easily recognized because of her distinctive hair color, something that changed regularly.

The murmur from the spectators was intensifying. Some of them held up their cell phones to snap pictures of the renowned detective.

Some day I’ll get a new face and a regular meatloaf hair color. Kim quickly checked if anyone in particular stood out from the gawking crowd. Amazing how bulky people’s eyes get when they are curious. I wish they could see themselves.

Being successful was nice, but it definitely had its price. Last year, when she once again had been triumphant in solving a murder case, she had in the news been referred to as a remarkable and very unusual woman. She loved her job, even if it often meant late hours that, to an extent, had destroyed her personal life. After eight years of marriage to Craig Mooney, she was now alone and was in many ways married to her job.

Even her stepdaughter Victoria had chosen to live with her dad in New York. Victoria knew that it was her only option if she wanted a normal family life. Only two years old, Victoria had lost her biological mother to breast cancer, so she and Craig had been the family until Ivy had been introduced.

Children hadn’t really been part of Ivy’s plans, but Victoria had been part of the package, and Ivy had loved her new role as Victoria’s mom. The age difference between the two wasn’t great, and they had soon built a close relationship. Ivy had secretly cried the day Victoria had asked her permission to call her Mom.

She missed having Victoria and Craig around. She and Craig were still friends; but after he had started dating Kelly Jones, things had changed. Kelly was very young; however, she was sweet and took good care of Victoria, and that was the most important part.

Victoria was turning 15 on Saturday, and Ivy had still not figured out what to surprise her with. Her daughter wanted a horse, but there was no way she could afford that on her salary.

Approaching the front door, the detective overheard a conversation between two middle-aged women.

“It’s cute, but I don’t know about that color,” one of the women stated.

Cute, Ivy noted. That wasn’t exactly the look she wanted associated with her hairstyle. It’s okay. You don’t have to call me beautiful, but cute? Please. She swiftly checked her outfit, which wasn’t glamorous and definitely not cute. Jeans and a simple T-shirt, partly covered by a hip-length leather jacket. It was practical, and so was her hair. She had never been one to spend hours on her appearance.

The front door was wide open, and there was a gaggle of spectators in the home. A photographer walked around sending out flashes of bright light for each picture he snapped. Great. They have done it again. They have sent an army of police officers, all too excited to be of any real help, stepping on each other’s toes and mucking up evidence traces.

There was no doubt that the crime had taken place in the formal living room, leaving it as an abandoned battlefield.

“Jam-bam! What the heck happened here?” The detective looked at the blood-splattered walls. Her nostrils caught the distinct stench of death. “Another butcher is loose?”

The photographer stopped taking pictures. “Well, if it isn’t the famous investigator! Stop! Right there!” He snapped a picture.

“Stop that, Peter. You know I don’t like to see my face between pictures of dead people.”

Peter Tung and the detective had worked together for the last two years. He was a witty guy with a positive attitude who found it amusing to tease his colleagues. Peter returned to his duty.

“Hi, Ivy! You? What a pleasant surprise.” The coroner who had been bending over what appeared to be a corpse sent her a sincere smile. Chad Randlett scratched his dark brown beard while he again looked at the corpse. His masculine-cut face on a well-sculpted skull was perfectly proportioned, like the dot above the i, the whole placed on top of a tall well-trained body.

“How’ve you been?” His eyes sparkled like gemstones.

“Good, and yourself, Doctor Chad?” she teased. He’s always so happy. Happiness right in the middle of murder and sadness. She returned his smile.

“We missed you, Ivy.” He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair. “I was told that you were out of town. We needed you on the last case here in West Rim. You know. That woman who got hit by a car. Actually several times. You should have seen her. Tire tracks all over her body. Nice and clear. And her face…Not nice, not nice…Somebody didn’t like her!”

“So, who didn’t like her?”

“The husband got locked up. They found him in the car, but he claims he doesn’t remember a thing. He sat there with both hands on the steering wheel, staring into space as if in some kind of hypnotic trance.”

“Glad I wasn’t here! It’s so damn hard getting anywhere with people who suffer from amnesia. I was on vacation and a very much overdue one,” she pointed out.

“Vacation?”

“Kind of. I was invited to my ex’s engagement party in New York.”

“Do people still believe in marriage?” Chad asked and looked as if he checked his own answer to that question.

“I guess so.”

“Well, it sounds like you weren’t that bad of an experience since your ex decided to do it again.” Chad’s sparkling blue eyes sent her a wink.

“Thanks. Never looked at it that way. Perhaps there’s still hope for me.”

“Absolutely. Didn’t you see the line outside? They’ve all taken a number.”

“Great. I could use some male influence in my life,” she said and looked curiously around the room. “Nasty!”

“The engagement party?

“No. The party was glamorous, not like the one Craig and I had. Lots of people with lots of money. I believe I was the only one with a normal life and a simple income. Well, they paid for everything. Who would turn down a week’s stay in New York, even when it’s your ex-husband getting engaged?”

Dr. Randlett, who was busy checking bloodstains on a black leather couch, flashed a stunned face in the detective’s direction. “What? Could you repeat that? A simple income perhaps, but come on. A normal life? Just look at this chaos in front of you. Tell me this is normal!”

Ivy edged closer, watching her step since the floor represented more potential evidence than she had seen in a long time.  “You’re right! You should have heard the questions I was asked at the party. They really made me feel like a loony—Don’t you get sick when you see all that blood, Detective? How many dead people have you seen? What is the worst murder you have investigated?” She paused, then shook her head. “I tell you, Chad, they want blood! Lots of blood. As long as it isn’t their own. But you know something? I love my job!”

With a nod, Chad acknowledged her statement.

“Now, what do we have here?” The young woman bent down to look at what once was a living human being. It was hard to tell the body parts from each other.

The way the body lay reminded her of her first murder case years back. She had been sick and vomited right there on top of the corpse, and next she had cried hysterically for the longest time. Nobody, least of all she herself, had thought she would end up as one of the toughest investigators in Texas.

“Poor guy. He’s chopped up like ground beef.” For a brief moment she felt nauseous.

Chad rubbed his beard a few times with the back of his gloved hand. “Male, somewhere between thirty 35 and 45. Stabbed…or rather slashed to death with at least 15 wounds. Been dead no more than three hours. A mess! The perpetrator must have been pretty determined to end this guy’s life.”

“Whoever did this must be soaked in blood.” Ivy searched around. “So how come no bloody footprints?”

“You tell me. What I can tell you is that the first cut must have decapitated him.”

“I see that! Pretty upsetting.”

The coroner turned over the corpse to reveal several deep, bloody cuts on its back.

Ivy looked as if she had eaten something she didn’t like. “I’ll never understand how people can do a thing like that. How can you plan such a scenario and then follow through with it? Any normal human being would get sick to their stomach just imagining it.”

“The killer apparently didn’t. He didn’t even fear someone would show up and surprise him. He took the time to shower after the assault.” Chad turned the body back over again.

The eyes were still wide open, and Ivy uncomfortably felt they were looking at her. “It must have been cold water.”

“Sure, the best way to get rid of blood,” Chad confirmed as the expert who constantly dealt with bodily fluids. “We haven’t found any blood-splattered clothes. If he changed, then it looks like he took everything with him. It all seems too well-organized to me.”

“We’ll do a search in the area…” She paused. “Him? Any indications that the perp’s a he?”

“Nothing conclusive, but you gotta be pretty strong or very skilled to butcher a person the way this was done.” Chad pointed to the body on the floor. “Go ahead. Have a look for yourself.” The coroner had already done his initial exam. He was good at it. Many years in his profession had taught him what to look for.

“Who found him?”

“The housekeeper, Mrs. Contratto. She’s waiting in the kitchen. Very upset. She might need a doctor to prescribe her something calming.” Chad was aware of Ivy’s lack of patience when it came to interviewing upset people.

“And the murder weapon?”

“Right there next to the body.” He pointed to a long and rather unusual dagger.

Ivy looked it over, frowned, wrinkling her forehead in a funny way. “It looks old and foreign. Asian perhaps. Was the owner of the house a collector?” She looked around in search of similar items but found nothing except contemporary furniture and art.

“Yes, he collected money,” Chad said flatly, his broad grin giving away his opinion of his own cleverness.

“Do we know who he is?” She moved from side to side to get a better look at the man on the floor, which was just about impossible with all the blood and the awkward way he was situated. “He looks awful.”

“Well, he hasn’t been identified for certain yet, but we believe it’s the owner of this mansion. Mr. Leonardo D’Almagro. The owner of D’Almagro Fashion and Talents. Design, fashion, models, actors. Lot of money. You know how that works.”

“No, I don’t!” she snapped, unpleasantly having her memory jogged regarding her current slow cash flow. “I wish I knew what it felt like.”

“Oh, that’s true. I forgot,” he chuckled. “You know…if you spend a few more minutes in front of the mirror before you leave your home in the morning, you’ll have a pretty good chance of getting a moneymaker on the hook. You’re a pretty good catch, Ivy; don’t pretend you don’t know that.”

Chad flashed a huge boyish smile in an attempt to cover his own attraction for her. More than once she had been part of his dreams. His eyes followed her, and they enjoyed what they saw. She looked younger than her age, sporty and well-trained.

“Sure, I know D’Almagro Fashion and Talents,” she continued, ignoring his suggestions for introducing a more careful makeup procedure, something her ex-husband in vain had suggested more than once. “Married?”

“No, gay.”

“How do you know?” she asked, looking straight in Chad’s direction. “And for your record, gay people do get married, too.”

“I guess. Still find it awkward, though, but okay.”

“Of course it’s okay! It’s love. If love can’t make this world a better place, what can?”

“I’m all for love. I’ll support you in that any time.”

Ivy noticed his flickering eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The heavy stench from the body fluid had started to bother her more, and she unconsciously squeezed her nose. What would we do without air conditioners? I can just imagine the impact the 90-degree heat outside would have on a crime scene like this.

“So how do you know he’s gay?”

“Everybody knows,” Chad answered.

“Wrong!”

“Okay then. Let’s say I found him in the closet, and he jumped out with a big cardboard sign.”

“Not funny!” she continued. “A partner? Lover?” She bent down to examine the gory dagger. She pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and a clean napkin. Slipping the gloves on, carefully she picked the weapon up with the napkin, turned it a few times to examine it.

“None of my bags will fit that bastard,” she sputtered.

Immediately, a young police officer who silently had been going through some drawers handed her a bigger paper bag.

“Lover.”

“What did you call me?” She had already forgotten her own question.

Chad shook his head and smiled. His eyes were big and brown like a loyal Golden Retriever’s.

“He had a lover. According to the grapevine, he enjoyed every bit of his life and never made any commitment to anybody. Except once to a woman. So he was married once…but he didn’t marry again…even I do know that gay people marry, too.” A slight trembling of his lips told her he was about to laugh.

“He was known to be a regular at The Rain Bar downtown. It’s not that I care much about rumors, but my next-door neighbor happens to think it’s her job to put her nose in everything and most of all to inform everybody of her findings. I’m sure you can learn more at the club about his whereabouts.”

“I’m sure I’ll fit right into the crowd without being recognized as a woman with a new hairstyle,” she taunted, hoping to avoid any more comments by bringing it up herself.

“I like it. It’s cute.” Chad said and awaited his reward for his compliment.

“Cute? Of all things! Why do people think I look cute?” she almost yelled.

“Okay, okay. Sorry, sure you can fit in…if it wasn’t for your…well, you know…your…boobs.”

Ivy returned the dagger to its original spot and stood, showing a proud, slim body. She gave a hollow laugh, and their conversation suddenly got attention from everybody in hearing distance, which was almost the entire investigation team.

“My boobs? Did I hear you right, Chad? Did you really mention my boobs? Oh my, that is so funny! I’m all worried that my hairdo won’t fit in, and you’re all concerned about my boobs.”

She turned and called out, addressing everybody around her who all happened to be males, “Hey, guys! Is that true that nobody will be noticing my hair in The Rain Bar, but will only be looking at my boobs?”

An almost girlish giggling shimmered around the room, followed by a few statements.

“Yep, only boobs.”

“First boobs, then hairdo.”

“Always boobs!”

“Fine! You’re all the same! Men! When will you ever change?” She shook her head, not knowing why she was reacting so strongly. “I need to talk this housekeeper. What’s her name again?”

“Mrs. Waltraud Contratto,” Peter Tung replied and looked proud that he actually remembered her name.

“What kind of name is that? How do you even spell it?” Ivy was about to write down the name in her small notebook but decided to wait so the housekeeper could spell it for her.

“Boobs!” she snapped and headed towards the kitchen.

“I didn’t want to upset you!” Chad called right before she opened the door. “You know, it doesn’t matter how hard you try. You’ll never be taken for a man.”

“Apology accepted,” Ivy muttered before she closed the kitchen door behind her.