| General Fiction posted July 14, 2024 | Chapters: |
...10 11 -12- 13... 
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The Investifation
A chapter in the book Unfinished Brushstrokes
Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 12
by Begin Again
Detective Donatelli swung his car into the mansion driveway. The flashing lights of numerous squad cars cast shadows across the expansive lawn. He glanced at the clock on his dashboard — just past midnight. He sighed heavily, thinking of the warm king-size bed he'd left behind. It was going to be a long night.
Detective Olivia Esposito waited on the sidewalk as Donatelli exited his car. "Glad you could make it, Boss."
He couldn't understand how she could arrive at a crime scene and be totally upbeat regardless of the time of day. He shook his head and snarled, "Don't start."
"What? Your lead detective can't say she's happy to see you?" Olivia grinned.
Donatelli surveyed the chaos — Channel 23 News Media and Amy Lockwood had set up camp at the end of the circle drive, drunken teenagers stumbled everywhere, parents clamored at the gate for their children, and officers were trying to restore some semblance of order. He frowned, his irritation mounting.
"Alright, listen up," he barked. "I want this area secured. No one can leave until we thoroughly question them. None of this I've got your name, and I'll call you later." He looked around. "Now, will someone get me coffee?"
Once again, Olivia's smiling face appeared. "Got it!" She shoved a sizeable thermal cup into his hand.
"How do you do that?" Donatelli shook his head. "You're like the Energizer Bunny. You just keep going."
"It's a job requirement, especially since I'm shooting for the stars." She paused. "Meaning your job."
"Many more nights like this one, and you can have it," Donatelli said, starting toward the house. "What's the story?"
"The home belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Jose Rodrigues. They are currently at their winter home in Florida, and their nephew, Nick Rodrigues, is house-sitting."
"It's more like the house is destructing." Michael couldn't believe the mess—turned-over flower planters, plastic cups and beer bottles everywhere, and barfing teenagers hanging their heads over the railings. "What about the girl?"
"Megan Ashley. She was a last-minute invite, according to Nick. They were enjoying the moonlight when someone hit him on the head and grabbed the girl."
"Ashley. That name is familiar." Donatelli strained his tired brain.
"Her mother is Margaret Ashley — Eleanor Bennett's sister."
"You got to be kidding me. First, we find out that a renowned artist didn't die of natural causes, and now her niece is missing."
"Kidnapped." Olivia corrected him.
"We don't have evidence to say that yet. She could be another rich brat who found a sneaky way to run away for a few days."
"A little extreme clobbering the host over the head, don't you think?"
'How do I know what goes through these kids' heads?" He stood in the foyer, observing the destruction — shattered glass, spilled drinks, and more drunken teenagers. "Let's get this over with. Where's this Nick guy?
"Paramedics have him on a stretcher on the terrace." She pointed toward the open doors.
Both detectives headed for the terrace leading to the crime scene. Donatelli approached the paramedics. "What happened to him?"
"Apparently, he was found unconscious out here. No signs of a struggle or any serious injury. He's starting to come around, though."
Nick groaned as he opened his eyes. Donatelli leaned in. "Nick, can you hear me? I need to ask you a few questions."
Nick blinked and rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah — yeah — I can hear you."
"Can you tell me what happened? Did you see anything before you were knocked out?"
"No — nothing. One moment, I was enjoying the moonlight with this girl, and the next — everything went black."
"You didn't see or hear anything unusual?"
Nick shook his head and winced. "No, nothing! We danced, and then we came out on the terrace. We kissed — and then it was lights out."
"This girl — was she a friend? How long have you known her?"
Nick swallowed hard. "I just met her and her friend at the salon today. I was making a delivery."
"You always walk up to girls you don't know and ask them to a party?"
"It wasn't like that. Gracie, who owns the salon, introduced me. I could see the girls were kind of into me, so I gave them the address and said to stop by if they wanted to party."
"Just like that?"
"Yeah, just like that. Maybe you waited around in your day, but nowadays, if you see something you like, you have to go for it."
"My day — you talking Fred Flintstones and the dinosaurs?" Donatelli's face was turning red.
Seeing an explosion in the making, Olivia called out to her boss. "Hey, Donatelli, got something for you to see."
Nick's eyes shifted to the woman detective, and he tried to get off the gurney. Donatelli pointed his finger at Nick. "Stay put! I'll be right back."
As he walked toward Olivia, he sensed rather than saw Nick's eyes following him. Something about the kid made him feel uneasy.
"What you got?"
"Over here in the bushes, just on the other side of this short wall, one of the officers found footprints and cigarette butts. Odd, don't you think? Everything else is manicured except this spot."
"Get forensics on it. I'd say our perp was waiting."
Another officer approached the two detectives and handed Donatelli a cell phone. He said, "I found it near the back of the house. It looks like a car, leaking oil, was parked there not too long ago. The valet says they parked all cars but didn't know about any car out back."
Donatelli smiled. "Good work." He handed Olivia the cell phone. "See what you can tell me about this phone. If anyone needs me, I'm headed to Margaret Ashley's house."
*****
Margaret paced the living room, her hands trembling. The phone call about Megan's disappearance had thrown her into a state of panic, and having John in the bedroom made things more complicated. She glanced at the door for the fourth time. He was getting dressed.
When the door opened, she hurried to his side. "Oh, John, I'm so glad you are here."
He sidestepped her. "Margaret, I've got to leave."
"What? No, I need you, John."
He straightened his tie, then walked away, separating them. "I can't be here when the police arrive."
Margaret's eyes filled with tears. "But what if they ask where I was? You need to tell them we were here together."
John grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Margaret, you have to lie. You cannot mention our affair. I wasn't here."
"Affair? You make it sound so dirty. I thought you loved me and would leave your wife."
"Listen to me. If they learn about us before I run for office, I — we could be ruined. You have to promise me you won't tell them I was here unless — well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
Margaret nodded, her heart pounding. "So, what do I say?"
"Tell them you were with Lydia. She'll cover for you."
Margaret fought back her tears. She wanted — no, she'd foolishly expected — him to stay with her. Now, he was walking away, leaving her to face it alone. "What if they don't believe me?"
"If you stick to your story, it will be fine. You had nothing to do with Megan's disappearance. Be the distraught mother and don't tell them our secret." He opened the door, kissed her forehead, and turned to leave. "Margaret, just think of being the wife of a Supreme Court Judge. I can't have my reputation destroyed."
Margaret watched him go, her mind racing. As the door closed, his words echoed in her ears. His reputation was important. He wasn't even upset about Megan.
Ten minutes later, she heard a knock at the door. She took a deep breath and opened it to find Detective Donatelli standing there. "Mrs. Ashley, I'm Detective Michael Donatelli."
"Yes, I remember you from — when we were gathered at Eleanor's house. Please come in."
*****
Margaret sat on the couch, her face pale and tear-streaked. She clutched a tissue in one hand and wrung it nervously.
"Mrs. Ashley —"
"Please call me Margaret."
"Okay. Margaret, I know this is difficult, but I must ask some questions about Megan."
Margaret nodded, her hands trembling. "Anything — anything to bring my daughter back home."
The detective sat across from her, his eyes steady and compassionate. "When was the last time you saw Megan?"
"Tonight, around six. Sasha and Megan had spent the afternoon by the pool. I had plans for the evening, so I thought I should check with the girls before I left."
"And did she mention where she was going?"
"No, but I did hear them talking about a party/ It sounded like it was somewhere in the hills."
Donatelli nodded. "We know she was at that party. What time did you realize your daughter was missing?"
Margaret looked away, her face flushing with shame. It was — umm, late. I got the call around midnight."
"Who called you?"
"It was her friend — Sasha. She said Megan was missing."
"Do you think your daughter might have run away?"
"Never! You need to know my daughter to know she lives a cushy life. She would never be able to live on the streets, and none of her friends could provide her with the life she demands."
"Were you at home when you received the call?"
Margaret's breath hitched, and she looked down at her hands. "I was — I was here." Her voice was barely a whisper. "In bed."
"In bed?" Donatelli repeated her answer, sensing there was more to her story.
Margaret nodded, her face flushed with guilt. "Yes, I was with — with a friend."
Donatelli raised an eyebrow, noting her hesitation. "Who was this friend? We must know who was here when you got the call."
Margaret's eyes darted around the room, and she took a deep breath. It was — it was Lydia, my friend. She lives next door. We were having a late-night girls' chat."
"Lydia?" Donatelli repeated, writing down the name. "We'll need to speak with her to confirm this."
"Yes, of course. She'll confirm everything with you."
Donatelli stood up. "Alright. We'll do everything we can to find your daughter. Please stay close to your phone in case anyone — the kidnappers or Megan — tries to contact you. Call me immediately if you remember anything else, no matter how small."
Margaret nodded and followed him to the door. "Thank you, Detective. Please find her."
"Yes, ma'am. That's the plan."
As soon as the door closed, Margaret rushed to get her phone. She was trembling so hard she struggled to dial Lydia's number.
As Donatelli walked back to his car, one of the officers staked out in front of Margaret's house, climbed out of his cruiser, and called out to the detective.
"Sir, this might be nothing, but I just feel I need to mention it."
"What's that?"
"Well, you know how the judicial cars have a blue emblem on the doors."
"Yeah, of course. What's that got to do with anything?" Donatelli was tired, stressed, and needed to find his bed.
"Well, as I was arriving, I saw a car pulling out of the parking lot — the gated one, right over there. When it passed under the streetlight, I saw the emblem. Just thought it was strange that a government vehicle would be in a private parking area."
"Did you get a look at the driver?"
Well, it was dark, but I would have sworn it was Judge Doyle."
"Doyle?"
"Yes, sir. I thought he had a big house up in the hills somewhere."
"Thanks for the info. Keep an eye on the house, okay?"
As Donatelli drove away, his thoughts turned to Margaret and Judge John Doyle. He had a hunch that the judge and Margaret were involved, and Margaret wasn't willing to reveal the affair. He hated to admit it, but maybe the Cowboy knew more about the judge than he'd been willing to admit.
Detective Donatelli swung his car into the mansion driveway. The flashing lights of numerous squad cars cast shadows across the expansive lawn. He glanced at the clock on his dashboard — just past midnight. He sighed heavily, thinking of the warm king-size bed he'd left behind. It was going to be a long night.
Detective Olivia Esposito waited on the sidewalk as Donatelli exited his car. "Glad you could make it, Boss."
He couldn't understand how she could arrive at a crime scene and be totally upbeat regardless of the time of day. He shook his head and snarled, "Don't start."
"What? Your lead detective can't say she's happy to see you?" Olivia grinned.
Donatelli surveyed the chaos — Channel 23 News Media and Amy Lockwood had set up camp at the end of the circle drive, drunken teenagers stumbled everywhere, parents clamored at the gate for their children, and officers were trying to restore some semblance of order. He frowned, his irritation mounting.
"Alright, listen up," he barked. "I want this area secured. No one can leave until we thoroughly question them. None of this I've got your name, and I'll call you later." He looked around. "Now, will someone get me coffee?"
Once again, Olivia's smiling face appeared. "Got it!" She shoved a sizeable thermal cup into his hand.
"How do you do that?" Donatelli shook his head. "You're like the Energizer Bunny. You just keep going."
"It's a job requirement, especially since I'm shooting for the stars." She paused. "Meaning your job."
"Many more nights like this one, and you can have it," Donatelli said, starting toward the house. "What's the story?"
"The home belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Jose Rodrigues. They are currently at their winter home in Florida, and their nephew, Nick Rodrigues, is house-sitting."
"It's more like the house is destructing." Michael couldn't believe the mess—turned-over flower planters, plastic cups and beer bottles everywhere, and barfing teenagers hanging their heads over the railings. "What about the girl?"
"Megan Ashley. She was a last-minute invite, according to Nick. They were enjoying the moonlight when someone hit him on the head and grabbed the girl."
"Ashley. That name is familiar." Donatelli strained his tired brain.
"Her mother is Margaret Ashley — Eleanor Bennett's sister."
"You got to be kidding me. First, we find out that a renowned artist didn't die of natural causes, and now her niece is missing."
"Kidnapped." Olivia corrected him.
"We don't have evidence to say that yet. She could be another rich brat who found a sneaky way to run away for a few days."
"A little extreme clobbering the host over the head, don't you think?"
'How do I know what goes through these kids' heads?" He stood in the foyer, observing the destruction — shattered glass, spilled drinks, and more drunken teenagers. "Let's get this over with. Where's this Nick guy?
"Paramedics have him on a stretcher on the terrace." She pointed toward the open doors.
Both detectives headed for the terrace leading to the crime scene. Donatelli approached the paramedics. "What happened to him?"
"Apparently, he was found unconscious out here. No signs of a struggle or any serious injury. He's starting to come around, though."
Nick groaned as he opened his eyes. Donatelli leaned in. "Nick, can you hear me? I need to ask you a few questions."
Nick blinked and rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah — yeah — I can hear you."
"Can you tell me what happened? Did you see anything before you were knocked out?"
"No — nothing. One moment, I was enjoying the moonlight with this girl, and the next — everything went black."
"You didn't see or hear anything unusual?"
Nick shook his head and winced. "No, nothing! We danced, and then we came out on the terrace. We kissed — and then it was lights out."
"This girl — was she a friend? How long have you known her?"
Nick swallowed hard. "I just met her and her friend at the salon today. I was making a delivery."
"You always walk up to girls you don't know and ask them to a party?"
"It wasn't like that. Gracie, who owns the salon, introduced me. I could see the girls were kind of into me, so I gave them the address and said to stop by if they wanted to party."
"Just like that?"
"Yeah, just like that. Maybe you waited around in your day, but nowadays, if you see something you like, you have to go for it."
"My day — you talking Fred Flintstones and the dinosaurs?" Donatelli's face was turning red.
Seeing an explosion in the making, Olivia called out to her boss. "Hey, Donatelli, got something for you to see."
Nick's eyes shifted to the woman detective, and he tried to get off the gurney. Donatelli pointed his finger at Nick. "Stay put! I'll be right back."
As he walked toward Olivia, he sensed rather than saw Nick's eyes following him. Something about the kid made him feel uneasy.
"What you got?"
"Over here in the bushes, just on the other side of this short wall, one of the officers found footprints and cigarette butts. Odd, don't you think? Everything else is manicured except this spot."
"Get forensics on it. I'd say our perp was waiting."
Another officer approached the two detectives and handed Donatelli a cell phone. He said, "I found it near the back of the house. It looks like a car, leaking oil, was parked there not too long ago. The valet says they parked all cars but didn't know about any car out back."
Donatelli smiled. "Good work." He handed Olivia the cell phone. "See what you can tell me about this phone. If anyone needs me, I'm headed to Margaret Ashley's house."
*****
Margaret paced the living room, her hands trembling. The phone call about Megan's disappearance had thrown her into a state of panic, and having John in the bedroom made things more complicated. She glanced at the door for the fourth time. He was getting dressed.
When the door opened, she hurried to his side. "Oh, John, I'm so glad you are here."
He sidestepped her. "Margaret, I've got to leave."
"What? No, I need you, John."
He straightened his tie, then walked away, separating them. "I can't be here when the police arrive."
Margaret's eyes filled with tears. "But what if they ask where I was? You need to tell them we were here together."
John grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Margaret, you have to lie. You cannot mention our affair. I wasn't here."
"Affair? You make it sound so dirty. I thought you loved me and would leave your wife."
"Listen to me. If they learn about us before I run for office, I — we could be ruined. You have to promise me you won't tell them I was here unless — well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
Margaret nodded, her heart pounding. "So, what do I say?"
"Tell them you were with Lydia. She'll cover for you."
Margaret fought back her tears. She wanted — no, she'd foolishly expected — him to stay with her. Now, he was walking away, leaving her to face it alone. "What if they don't believe me?"
"If you stick to your story, it will be fine. You had nothing to do with Megan's disappearance. Be the distraught mother and don't tell them our secret." He opened the door, kissed her forehead, and turned to leave. "Margaret, just think of being the wife of a Supreme Court Judge. I can't have my reputation destroyed."
Margaret watched him go, her mind racing. As the door closed, his words echoed in her ears. His reputation was important. He wasn't even upset about Megan.
Ten minutes later, she heard a knock at the door. She took a deep breath and opened it to find Detective Donatelli standing there. "Mrs. Ashley, I'm Detective Michael Donatelli."
"Yes, I remember you from — when we were gathered at Eleanor's house. Please come in."
*****
Margaret sat on the couch, her face pale and tear-streaked. She clutched a tissue in one hand and wrung it nervously.
"Mrs. Ashley —"
"Please call me Margaret."
"Okay. Margaret, I know this is difficult, but I must ask some questions about Megan."
Margaret nodded, her hands trembling. "Anything — anything to bring my daughter back home."
The detective sat across from her, his eyes steady and compassionate. "When was the last time you saw Megan?"
"Tonight, around six. Sasha and Megan had spent the afternoon by the pool. I had plans for the evening, so I thought I should check with the girls before I left."
"And did she mention where she was going?"
"No, but I did hear them talking about a party/ It sounded like it was somewhere in the hills."
Donatelli nodded. "We know she was at that party. What time did you realize your daughter was missing?"
Margaret looked away, her face flushing with shame. It was — umm, late. I got the call around midnight."
"Who called you?"
"It was her friend — Sasha. She said Megan was missing."
"Do you think your daughter might have run away?"
"Never! You need to know my daughter to know she lives a cushy life. She would never be able to live on the streets, and none of her friends could provide her with the life she demands."
"Were you at home when you received the call?"
Margaret's breath hitched, and she looked down at her hands. "I was — I was here." Her voice was barely a whisper. "In bed."
"In bed?" Donatelli repeated her answer, sensing there was more to her story.
Margaret nodded, her face flushed with guilt. "Yes, I was with — with a friend."
Donatelli raised an eyebrow, noting her hesitation. "Who was this friend? We must know who was here when you got the call."
Margaret's eyes darted around the room, and she took a deep breath. It was — it was Lydia, my friend. She lives next door. We were having a late-night girls' chat."
"Lydia?" Donatelli repeated, writing down the name. "We'll need to speak with her to confirm this."
"Yes, of course. She'll confirm everything with you."
Donatelli stood up. "Alright. We'll do everything we can to find your daughter. Please stay close to your phone in case anyone — the kidnappers or Megan — tries to contact you. Call me immediately if you remember anything else, no matter how small."
Margaret nodded and followed him to the door. "Thank you, Detective. Please find her."
"Yes, ma'am. That's the plan."
As soon as the door closed, Margaret rushed to get her phone. She was trembling so hard she struggled to dial Lydia's number.
As Donatelli walked back to his car, one of the officers staked out in front of Margaret's house, climbed out of his cruiser, and called out to the detective.
"Sir, this might be nothing, but I just feel I need to mention it."
"What's that?"
"Well, you know how the judicial cars have a blue emblem on the doors."
"Yeah, of course. What's that got to do with anything?" Donatelli was tired, stressed, and needed to find his bed.
"Well, as I was arriving, I saw a car pulling out of the parking lot — the gated one, right over there. When it passed under the streetlight, I saw the emblem. Just thought it was strange that a government vehicle would be in a private parking area."
"Did you get a look at the driver?"
Well, it was dark, but I would have sworn it was Judge Doyle."
"Doyle?"
"Yes, sir. I thought he had a big house up in the hills somewhere."
"Thanks for the info. Keep an eye on the house, okay?"
As Donatelli drove away, his thoughts turned to Margaret and Judge John Doyle. He had a hunch that the judge and Margaret were involved, and Margaret wasn't willing to reveal the affair. He hated to admit it, but maybe the Cowboy knew more about the judge than he'd been willing to admit.
As Donatelli drove away, his thoughts turned to Margaret and Judge John Doyle. He had a hunch that the judge and Margaret were involved, and Margaret wasn't willing to reveal the affair. He hated to admit it, but maybe the Cowboy knew more about the judge than he'd been willing to admit.
Eleanor Bennett alias (CJ Grey) - a woman of mystery
Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Fenton Dawson - court-apointed lawyer
Mr. Donovan - the backstreet jeweler
Sasha - Megan's best friend
Nick - the charming guy at the party
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Margaret Ashley - Eleanor's sister
Megan Ashley - Margaret's daughter
Trevor Ashley - Margaret's son
Jonathon Williams - Eleanor's brother
Audrey and Jackson Mayfield - Art Gallery Owners
Craig Winslow - Attorney
Matthew Donatelli - Detective
Olivia Esposito - Female detective with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent -
Tango and Poppa - FBI Agents and Garth's sidekicks
Jenna Bradford - neighbor/friend and confidanct of Eleanor Bennett
Danny Veraci - casino owner and crime boss
Charles Weldon - A reknown artist and a memory from the past
Dylan Weldon - Charle's nephew and protege
Charlie (Charlotte) Morgan - Inspector Metropolitan Police. England
Jose Martinez - detective
Judge John Doyle - a prominent member of the judicial court and a crook
Fenton Dawson - court-apointed lawyer
Mr. Donovan - the backstreet jeweler
Sasha - Megan's best friend
Nick - the charming guy at the party
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