The Gardens of Digby Green: Jessup's Number - Heidi Kortman

The Gardens of Digby Green: Jessup’s Number

When Detective Marquez’s phone emitted the obnoxious noise he’d chosen as a voice mail alert, he thumbed the screen. Sheriff Jessup in Alabama. Marquez put the phone on speaker, and made a right turn, merging into traffic.

“We found a body. Female, aged somewhere between forty and seventy. Skull pretty much pulverized, but there were teeth we’ve sent for DNA analysis and a dental records check. Also parts of a probable murder weapon, but prints from those are unlikely.”

Marquez phoned back. “Thanks for the message, Jessup. Where was the body?”

“Under some witch hazel shrubs, why?”

Taking a deep breath, Marquez explained where his department had recently discovered two murder victims. “What do you think? I suspect that somehow these cases are related.”

“Did your victims die of similar causes?”

Marquez changed lanes, but too late to cross the intersection. His car headed the line at the traffic light. “No, one had her throat cut, and the other corpse showed a massive amount of chemical contamination. A combination fungicide and mite-killer.”

“Since the methods are different, I’m not so sure. When we get a positive identification, I’ll let you know.”

“Well, I’m in Roseland, with two victims buried under roses, and named Rose and Rosalie. That can’t be mere coincidence.”

“I’ll agree that it’s strange.”

Marquez sighed. Should he alert the FBI already, or wait and hope for a more developed, convincing argument? “Thanks, Jessup. I’ll talk to you later.”

He pulled into the first empty spot in the department lot and shut off the engine. Stepping out of the car, Marquez slipped between other parked vehicles, shielding his eyes from chrome glare until he reached the edge of shade cast by the building’s walls.

At his desk, the detective swiped a handful of paper clips from its top into the central shallow drawer. Next he put his personal phone into the lower left locking drawer. The desk sergeant arrived at his office door with a scowling man who wore a navy blue windbreaker.

“This guy wants to report a theft,” the sergeant said, and left.

“Come in,” Marquez gestured to the empty chair. His visitor pulled a couple of papers from his pocket.

“I bought new license plates for my truck two weeks ago,” the man said. “This is the receipt.” He held it out, and Marquez glanced at it. “Fifteen minutes ago,” he continued, “I was pulled over by a cop who said I was driving with expired plates from a state I’ve never visited.”

“What state was that?”

“Alabama.”

“Right,” Marquez muttered, and opened a form on his computer. He took the details about the switched plates, and made note of his visitor’s vehicle make and model. When all the fields were filled, and the complainant had gone, Marquez dialed Jessup’s number. “I need to know to whom this license plate was issued.”

The Gardens of Digby Green is a serialized story that posts on Fridays.

Next week, part fifty-two, In Sight.

Find a link to purchase Heartland Treasures anthology here.