12 Days Read online

  The cameraman chimed in.

  “That’s not French. French would be abruti.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Milt,” Lisa scolded.

  Jim hesitated before he spoke.

  “Bury the tape; I’ll give you as much as I can. Now get the camera out of here until we get that body down.”

  Lisa smiled.

  “Okay, Milt. We’ll set up over there by the tree.”

  Milt grumbled as he walked slowly towards the tree, the camera at his side. It was obvious he did not like Officer Jovian. He leaned against the sycamore and watched as the coroner’s assistant on a painter’s ladder struggled with the rope that held the dead Kris Kringle. When the knot was loosened, two large policemen stood below to catch the body. Santa was laid on a gurney, face up with eyes bulging hideously. Milt signaled to Officer Jovian who appeared to be having a quiet conversation with Lisa.

  “We good, Officer?” asked Milt

  Officer Jovian waved, “Go ahead.”

  Lisa left Jim and approached Milt. They stood over the body. Lisa turned to her cameraman.

  “We need footage of the body, the tree, the neighborhood, anything interesting you can get. I tried to get the good Officer Jovian to consent to an interview but he politely declined.”

  She waved at Jim who was standing a good twenty feet away. He did not wave or smile, just turned away and walked towards his car.

  “I like that guy. He’s a bit of a hardass, but I think he will be very useful to us.”

  The sound of tires screeching to a halt drew everyone’s attention. Two rival news crews had arrived, reporters and cameramen scrambling. The party was about to begin, and Officer Jim Jovian had his hands full.

  Chapter Two: Catching Turtles

  Day One: 11:30 a.m.

  Janette McDermott was enjoying a beautiful Christmas day with her family. Her four children, all below the age of nine, had torn through the myriad presents that had overpowered the living room for the past two weeks and were busy assembling, playing, and breaking any gift no longer in it’s wrapping. Janette and her husband Bill had been very fortunate. Although they both came from a bit of money, their company McDermott Realty had ridden the southern California real estate wave as far as it could go and had reaped enormous financial gains that included their home, a seven thousand foot, half acre mansion in Pasadena overlooking the Rose Bowl. The McDermotts had become very influential in local Republican politics and each had been recognized for philanthropic work; Bill for saving the environment and Janette, the Pacific tortoise. She had recently spearheaded a fundraiser that brought in $465,000 for the Los Angeles Zoo, drawing praise from many influential donors for her organizational skills and passion.

  As she sat on the living room couch and looked at her family, she reflected on her tree, her family, and her life, which made her smile. All of her dreams were coming true and the future seemed to have no limits. Satisfied with her visions of bliss, it was time to gather the troops. Dreams didn’t come true for those who sat around; the future waited for no one.

  “Let’s go guys; we leave for church in a half an hour.”

  Janette ignored the groans that arose from the four corners of her house, including a complaint from Bill. The color in her face rose from soft white to hot pink. Her lips tightened as she went from loving mother of four to Christian drill sergeant. She cleared her throat.

  “It is Christmas Day and we are going to church!”

  The troops knew better than to incur the wrath of Mom, particularly on Christmas Day.

  Day One: 12:00 p.m.

  Officer Roy Winston had the day shift on Christmas. A twelve-year veteran of the West Covina Police Department, he had grown weary of the job and looked forward to pursuing his real dream of becoming a chef and opening his own restaurant. It would be Pan-Asian California fusion style, with lots of little paper lanterns and short-skirted waitresses. Intimate, but big enough to pack them in for movie premieres. Roy was daydreaming when he spotted Jim Jovian across the squad room, typing slowly and occasionally rubbing his eyes.

  “Burning it at both ends?” Roy asked.

  “If I start drooling on the keys, smack me, will ya,” Jovian yawned his response.

  “Pretty fucked up, hanging Santa. What kind of sick bastard would do that? Any leads?”

  “Yeah, the two Jacks.”

  Roy thought on this.

  “Two Jacks?”

  “Yeah, Jack Mehoff and Jack Shit.”

  Roy had a genuine belly laugh every time he heard Jack Mehoff, which this time turned into a coughing fit. He caught his breath when the phone in front of him rang. He grabbed it.

  “West Covina police, this is Officer Winston.”

  Roy’s eyes went to Jim.

  “Officer Jovian is busy right now, can I be of service? Hold on.”

  Roy put the caller on hold and called to Jim.

  “Hey man, some chick named Klein on the phone. You here?”

  “Christ, here we go.”

  Jim stopped typing and picked up the phone.

  “Jovian.”

  “Officer Jovian, Lisa Klein. We met this morning.”

  “Ah yes, the witness/extortionist. Stumble across another dead body?”

  “Actually that’s what I was calling about. Did you identify the body yet?”

  “Not yet, we’re still running the prints.”

  “You’ll let me know when you find something, won’t you?”

  “You are my first call,” Jim replied sarcastically.

  “I look forward to hearing from you. Ciao.”

  “Ciao.”

  Jim hung up the phone, dumbstruck. He had never used the word “Ciao” before.

  Day One: 1:00 p.m.

  The High Definition image of the hanging Santa glowed from the video monitor in the darkened KVTM News edit bay. Milt Adams was hard at work, sifting through his early morning shots. The hanging Santa mesmerized him; it was really creepy. He couldn’t understand why Lisa agreed not to show it. What information could that cop give her that would trump these clips? Milt didn’t get it. He continued to stare at the dead man and found his finger gravitating towards the record button. It hovered for a second and then, in an instant, Milt had made himself a copy of everything. No harm, just something for his portfolio. He wasn’t planning on staying at KVTM forever anyway, and the tape was like… well, money in the bank.

  Day One: 1:10 p.m.

  This was the most alive he had felt in his entire life. He was becoming something greater than himself. He stood before the mirror and straightened his tie. He hated anything around his neck, but today he had a part to play and the tie was needed to complete his costume. He practiced his lines aloud.

  “Buon giorno, come sta?”

  He was pleased with the inflection of his voice. He would wear the shoe with the biggest lift today to minimize the limp, and accessorize his appearance with the hand-carved ivory cane that his father gave him for his eighteenth birthday so many years ago. The tie was bothering him. In a flash, it was undone. He couldn’t have that thing around his neck. Then he smiled. I wonder, he thought, if the queer from last night felt the same way. No, that was different. That was the end of that stupid man’s story, but for me, this is just the beginning.

  He let the tie hang unfurled about his neck, giving him an air of European insouciance; over-sized Gucci knockoff sunglasses made the look complete. There now, confident and successful. He smiled. Showtime!

  Day One: 1:30 p.m.

  Janette McDermott, looking like the first lady of Pasadena in a sharp green dress with tasteful pearls, exited the steps of St. Ignatius Loyola church after the 12:30 Christmas mass, with her picture perfect family in line. It was a pleasant experience even though Father Rogan, who presided, was getting a little long in the tooth for the Eucharistic miracle. The good father would celebrate mass in an odd half-English, half-Latin variant that left everyone in the congregation confused. But not even Father Logan could ruin this gl
orious day. Janette and Bill had taken two cars to church that morning, as she had to stop by the office to meet a potential client before returning home for Christmas dinner. Despite the family’s protestations, she reminded them that they owed their current good fortune to Pasadena real estate and that she had a big one on the hook. An Italian gentleman wanted to see only the high-end stuff and she was not about to turn down the possibility of a six-figure commission. Bill had volunteered to take the client, but Janette demurred. She always took the rich old men and Bill would get the women; a little flirting went a long way in the sales business. She waved to her kids as they piled into the Hummer and kissed Bill before he drove away. Janette started her Lexus and began the drive to her office. She looked forward to her encounter with the Italian professor.

  Day One: 1:45 p.m.

  Lisa entered the editor’s room with two very large frappacinos from the Seattle coffee chain that seemed to have a store on every block in Hollywood. The studio was quiet during the early afternoon hours most days and especially so today. Lisa produced the “Ten O’clock News Hour” and most of the staff didn’t show until three in the afternoon. That meant she and Milt had the run of the studio for another hour.

  She handed Milt his coffee.

  “Drink this,”

  “Thanks, boss lady.”

  She glanced at the monitor.

  “Anything good?”

  “Pretty routine stuff. Sycamore tree, police tape, concerned neighbors. Oh wait, we have exclusive footage of a dead Santa silhouetted against the rising sun, swinging from a tree on Christmas morning. But we can’t use that, because you made a deal with Officer Jovial.”

  “Jovian,” Lisa corrected.

  “Who cares? I can’t believe you cut that deal. This is amazing; I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”

  “Milt…”

  “What?”

  Lisa smiled.

  “We’ve worked together a long time. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, Lisa.”

  “Do I not always have a plan?”

  “Yes, Lisa, you do.”

  “Then let’s take a look at the footage and leave Officer Jovian to me.”

  Lisa patted Milt on the head playfully.

  “Okay,” Milt agreed reluctantly.

  “What have we got?”

  Milt turned to his keyboard.

  “We can start with the body bag being loaded into the coroner’s wagon and then show some shots of the tree. Look, you can see where the branch almost broke. And then I thought we could add an interview with the jogger who spotted him…”

  Lisa was looking at the video while Milt talked, half–listening, when she spotted something on the sycamore.

  “Stop there,” she said.

  “Lisa, we have to interview you…”

  “No, the frame. Go back to the tree.”

  Milt rolled back the dial and the tape jumped in compliance. “Okay, where…”

  “Right there.”

  She pointed to a spot on the east-facing trunk of the tree. “What is that?”

  “What is what?” Milt asked.

  “That. That right there.”

  Her fingertip rested just above a specific spot on the screen.

  “Can you get a close up?”

  “Hold on.”

  Milt pressed a few keys and the tree filled the frame. He and Lisa peered intently at the screen. Milt spoke first.

  “It looks like someone carved something in the tree. Some kind of straight line.”

  Lisa was silent. She pulled her iPhone from her purse, checked the battery level, and replaced it. She turned to Milt.

  “Put the piece together and I’ll look at it when I get back.”

  Milt asked, “Where are you going?”

  “West Covina. I need to get another look at that tree.”

  Day One: 2:00 p.m.

  Jim sat on his favorite chair in front of a 42” flat screen TV, a bottle of beer in his right hand and the remote in his left. He had been home for well over an hour and by rights, he should have been asleep, but he could not close his eyes. There was something wrong at the crime scene, he could feel it. His cop sense was burning and he just couldn’t shake the feeling. It would all flash in his mind for a brief moment; Santa, the rope, the branch and then, just as quickly, poof, it would disappear. Even more disturbing was that he could not get Lisa Klein out of his mind. He could have confiscated the camera, the Captain would have understood. He certainly did not need to make a deal for her cooperation, but he’d wanted to. It was as if her feeble attempt at extortion had turned him on.

  I’ll play along for a little while, he thought. What harm could it do? Then, another flash hit him, but this time, it was not about the hanging corpse. What did I miss? Something about the tree? He needed some sleep. Trying again to doze off, he failed and rose from his chair, finished his beer, and shut off the television. Dressing quickly, Jim grabbed his keys and left the house. That was it. There was something about that damned tree and he had to check it.

  Day One: 2:05 p.m.

  He did not like guns. He preferred knives. Knives made no sound, but he needed the gun today to control his prey. He needed the intimidation factor. She had beautiful hair, very rich in both texture and color. It offered a nice contrast to the slate gray hue of the Luger that was pressed firmly against her skull. The parking lot of McDermott Realty was empty on Christmas day, so no one was around to watch as he led Janette McDermott to his flatbed truck and told her to lie down in the back. Although she was reluctant, the pistol convinced Janette to do as she was told. Once she was lying in the bed of the truck, he secured the hardtop cover over the opening, putting her completely out of sight.

  Day One: 2:18 p.m.

  Jim parked his car in a spot three houses down from the crime scene. The sun was starting its afternoon descent, but it was still warm outside. When he arrived at #2347, Jim lifted the yellow police tape that formed a fifty-foot barrier around the sycamore. He nodded to Officer Stanley Kramer, who was interviewing some of the neighbors. Officer Kramer ended his conversation when he saw Jim. He had a puzzled look on his face.

  “Hey super-cop. Aren’t you off the clock?”

  “Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

  Jim replied with a slight yawn.

  “How are you doing with the neighbors?’

  “Getting there.”

  Kramer glanced at his notes.

  “Nobody saw anything. That crazy old lady around the corner said she saw some drunk in a Santa outfit set off her car alarm late last night but by the time she got downstairs, he was gone.”

  “I took that call. But that wasn’t on Pear, It was…” Jim tried to think.

  “Peach…”offered Kramer.

  “Peach, that’s right. Alice Edwards. Her Honda Civic got bumped.”

  “You are correct, sir.”

  Kramer did his best Ed McMahon.

  Jim thought it over. What if she was legit? Crazy Alice Edwards called the cops for every public infraction, real or imagined, and was a royal pain in the ass. He wasn’t going to leave the station in the middle of the night for a car alarm. But she’d mentioned a Santa outfit, hadn’t she?

  He shrugged at Kramer.

  “I blew her off.”

  “So what, we all do.”

  Jim looked over at the tree.

  “I got a bad feeling,”

  “About what?”

  “Alice and her Santa and the dead guy in the tree. I hope it’s just a coincidence.”

  Kramer saw where Jim was headed.

  “Come on, man. What are the chances she’s suddenly legit?”

  “With my luck, better than even.”

  “You think it’s the same guy?”

  “I fucking hope not or I’m going to be in for a world of hurt. See if you can get forensics to print the Civic; find out if they can match that Santa to our Santa.”

  Jim looked away.

  “Fuck me. I probably shoul
d have checked it out.”

  Kramer shook his head.

  “Water under the bridge, my friend, water under the bridge.”

  “Look, I need to check the scene again.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Kramer saw one of the forensic guys putting numbered markers on the floor.

  “I’ll grab one of the jumpsuits and we’ll print her Civic. Catch you later.”

  As Kramer turned to walk away, Jim Jovian walked toward the tree. What had he missed? He stared up into the branches. You could see where the rope had dug into the bark, where the branch had almost been torn from the trunk. There was nothing there. He walked around the tree slowly, looking at the roots and making his eyes peer intently over every inch from base to branch. Then he stopped. There it was, at eye level. How the hell did no one see it?