The Kyra Daniels Case Files: An Old Score, Settled

“Linda, I don’t see how this could be a murder,” Captain O’Halloran tells a distraught woman, not much older than myself.

“My mother,” Linda says, contempt in her voice, “was this station’s best detectives. Do you know how many perps she put away?”

“One-hundred-seventy-three,” I chime in.

Linda gives me a strange look and then turns back to O’Halloran.

“Thank you, Daniels,” O’Halloran says, annoyed. “Linda, the nursing home doesn’t bother with autopsies because the cause of death is usually related to their age.”

“Mom was fine yesterday,” she argues. “And she’s been being threatened for weeks.”

“As much as I hate to say it, Linda, Lois was paranoid and delusional towards the end.”

“Still on the ‘Junkie’ case? He WAS the killer.”

“It doesn’t excuse what happened.”

“My mother put scumbags like that in jail every day for thirty-seven years. Are you telling me that there isn’t a single person who’d want revenge bad enough to kill her?”

“I could investigate, O’Halloran,” I chime in. “Least I could do.”

O’Halloran leans back in her chair. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head.

“Fine. Take Hayes with you.”

I smile politely and lead Linda out of O’Halloran’s office.

“Daniels?” O’Halloran warns. “Don’t let your personal feelings get in the way.”

I nod to him. His concern is appreciated and not un-founded. After all, I’m going to investigate the possible murder of my mentor.

-

“Where’s the body?” Jeff asks as we arrive in Carlisle’s old room.

“The funeral home,” a passing nurse tells us. “My name is Grenda, I’m the RN here. Can I be of assistance?”

“What do you mean when you say, ‘funeral home?’”

“Traditionally, the recently deceased are taken to a funeral home, where they can be grieved for and buried, or cremated.”

“Perfect way to dispose of the body,” I mutter to myself.

“What was that?”

“Let’s start again. My name is Detective Kyra Daniels, this is my partner, Detective Jeffrey Hayes. We’re looking into the potential murder of Mrs. Lois Carlisle.”

“Murder?” she asks, incredulous. “Have you been talking with Linda?”

“Why?” Jeff asks.

“That woman was harassing one of my TMAs. Kept saying that Anita was going to hurt her.”

“Anita?” Jeff asks.

“Yes. Anita Howard. Poor girl. She’d never lost a patient before. She had to take a few days off.”

“Lost a patient?” I ask.

“Anita was the last person with Lois before she passed. Tina had to take over the girl was so distraught.”

“Where can we find her?”

-

As we walk up to Anita’s door, I’m expecting to see a young woman who is barely holding herself together. I’m expecting this to end no where. I’m hoping that this case if just the result of old age.

Jeff seems to catch my thought.

“Is this just a wild goose chase?” he asks.

“Most likely,” I reply. “Nevertheless, it’ll bring Linda peace.”

Before I can knock on her door, I notice the door handle.

“Hayes. Do you see this?” I ask, pointing towards it.

“The door is open?” he replies.

“Looks like forced entry.” I say, pointing to the damage next to the handle. Splintered wood, damaged paint, and the handle is falling off.

Jeff and I grab our guns and point them, fingers off the trigger.

“Anita Howard?” I shout.

There is no answer.

I open the door further.

I can see clear into the living room. Sitting on the couch is Anita’s corpse, with a syringe in her arm.

“Anita?” I shout again. I rush over to the body and check her pulse.

I hear Jeff call for an ambulance as I begin performing CPR.

In my heart, I know it will do no good.

She’s already gone.

-

There’s something familiar about this scene.

Even Anita looks familiar.

Anderson’s camera flashes, capturing the entry wound on Anita, as well as multiple bruises. Jeff is busy talking to the neighbors, while forensics starts canvasing the area.

O’Halloran arrives at the scene, apparently also taking a personal interest in the case. But I don’t have good news for her.

“We may need to bring Linda in for questioning,” I exhale.

“Why?” she replies.

“The nursing home said that Linda had problems with Anita, and now she’s dead, just after her mom died.”

“That’s… ridiculous.”

“Captain, we can’t let our personal feelings get in the way.”

“You think Linda could’ve done this? There are dozens of other possibilities. Maybe this girl was an addict, and this was an accident.”

“Or maybe Linda killed her just like the Junkie.”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

“There’s no harm in asking.”

“Except upsetting the daughter of a good friend.”

“Unless she’s a murderer.”

-

“HOW CAN YOU THINK THAT? AFTER EVERYTHING WE’VE BEEN THROUGH?” Linda screams again. I might have to re-consider that ear appointment if she keeps this up.

“Linda,” O’Halloran sighs. “You have motive.”

“Mom constantly told me about Anita. It was her. I know it.”

“We can’t prove that, now that she’s dead.”

Linda is fuming. She turns to me, eyes burning fire, and I have half a mind to run and hide.

“You. I tell you to find my mother’s killer and you’re accusing me of killing that person.”

“We’re not accusing you of anything,” I retort. “You have a motive and a pre-existing grudge with the victim. You know, better than most, that we have to do due diligence.”

“Then, check with my father!” Linda replies. “Any moment I’m not wasting here with your lunacy, I’m spending consoling him.”

“Thank you, Linda,” O’Halloran says calmly. “You may go.”

Linda leaves in a huff. As she does, I take note of her hands. Perfect.

O’Halloran sighs.

“That went well.”

“Better than you think,” I mutter as I walk out of the office.

-

“It was a moment that you can only dream of,” Lindsay gloats as she hands me the autopsy on Lois. “Imagine it: working on your idol.”

“Kind of creepy, Lindsay,” I retort.

“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me that you didn’t get a feeling when you got to investigate.”

Her and I exchange a glance. Lindsay nods knowingly.

“What about Anita?” I ask.

“Unsurprisingly, it was a morphine over-dose. Same as Lois.”

“Fitting, I suppose.”

“And your suspicions were right. She did try to fight. These bruises are consistent with a struggle. And this needle hole in the neck is where the killer injected her with a paralytic.”

“Poor girl.”

“Yeah, but that’s not even the weird thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I went to look over Anita’s records. They didn’t exist until about two years ago.”

-

I return to my desk, puzzled. Anita has begun to look better as the prime candidate for murdering Lois, but Linda doesn’t look good as Anita’s killer. So who did?

I don’t have long to muse, however. Sitting on my desk, plain as day, no card, no name or anything is a small box, covered in brown paper. I’m no fool. I will not take any chances. I reach into my pocket and dial a number.

“This is Detective Kyra Daniels and I need the bomb squad.”

-

“This is just not your week,” Jeff says as he grabs me a coffee.

“No, Hayes,” I retort. “It isn’t.”

The bomb squad has already arrived and they’re working on the package.

Meanwhile, I have to talk to Anderson about the rest of the case.

“If Lois and Anita were both poisoned, that would indicate a serial killer, right?” Jeff asks.

“Doesn’t match, though,” I reply. “There was visible bruising on Anita, and she’s a young woman. Neither of which applied to Lois.”

“Besides, doesn’t look like Linda’s a match for anything at Anita’s crime scene,” Anderson adds. “Also, I don’t see her as killing her own mother.”

“It doesn’t add up. Anita has opportunity, method, and a sure-fire way to ensure that she could go free, but there’s no motive,” I muse. “Meanwhile, Linda has opportunity, motive, and method, but she seems to be innocent.”

My phone rings. I answer it and the bomb squad on the other end tells me that the box is safe.

-

“Just a picture of a woman,” the bomb tech tells me, handing me the picture.

“Curious,” I say.

“What?”

I show him the picture. His confused reaction confirms what I was already thinking.

“It’s Anita,” he proclaims.

As I show him the photo, I see writing on the back. It just gives me a name: Allison Hauser.

Hauser.

“Get the Captain and tell her to meet us at Linda’s.”

I rush out of the precinct without another word, probably leaving Jeff very confused. He’ll catch up eventually.

-

“What are YOU doing here?” Linda shouts at me. “Come to accuse me of more murder?”

“Ms. Carlisle,” I begin. “I’m sorry for the wrongful accusation, but you may be in danger.”

I rush past her. O’Halloran and Jeff show up not two minutes later. I’m busy looking around for something… anything.

“Daniels,” O’Halloran groans, “what’s this all about?”

“Ms. Carlisle, do you remember the name ‘Hauser?’” I ask.

“What does… Hauser? Wasn’t that…”

“Yes. The case that got Lois kicked off the force,” I interject as I check under the table.

“The photo of Anita has the name ‘Allison Hauser’ on it,” Jeff reminds me.

“Yes, the daughter. Linda, I’m sorry, but you were right.” I pause a moment to let this sink in. “Your mother was murdered by Anita.”

I can see, instantly, that Linda needs a seat, but I grab her and hold her up.

“Our coroner told us that Anita’s records only went back two years. But in the apartment, I knew she looked familiar, but I couldn’t place the face.”

“Then you saw the photo,” Jeff adds.

“Correct, Hayes,” I begin. “The photo was an older picture of Anita, when she went by her real name. She is The Junkie’s daughter. That was the missing piece of the puzzle. She wanted revenge because Lois killed him. The Junkie had a pre-existing record for drug abuse. Spending that much time in prison could have made her not want to go. So, she took her time and waited. Nursing homes don’t ask questions about deaths from morphine, which leaves a blue tint when used anyway, or old age. She knew that they wouldn’t get to an autopsy, meaning they’d never notice the overdose, so she’d go free. Like father, like daughter.”

“This is all fascinating, detective,” O’Halloran interjects. “But who killed Anita?”

“Whoever sent me the box. I can’t be Linda because she wasn’t bruised from the struggle with Anita.”

“There wasn’t a name on the box,” Jeff adds.

“Exactly.”

Suddenly, a high-pitched whine echoes through the room.

“B-Bravo, detective,” a disembodied voice echoes in the room, clearly through a speaker. “A-Anita was a fool-foolish girl.”

“That voice… it sounds…” Jeff deduces.

“Scared,” I finish. “Likely a dummy voice so they don’t have to reveal themselves. Who are you?”

“Y-You know all of Lois’ old cases. W-which one do you think matches what you saw?”

“What do you think I saw?”

“A k-killer slain by their own s-sword? Clean c-crime scene? Entry wound in… in the n-neck?”

O’Halloran and I share a glance.

“The Judge,” we say simultaneously.

“Very g-good,” the voice cries.

“But the Judge reportedly died twenty years ago,” O’Halloran interjects.

“A copycat, or a descendant?” I ask.

“The latter.” The voice squeaks.

“Why volunteer that information? Why send me the picture of Allison?”

“I wanted revenge and she took that from me. So, I took her life.”

“Why me?”

“What f-fun would a g-game be without a worthy opponent? Ta-ta, for now. No please, I did what you asked…”

A gunshot echoes through the room. The hostage has been killed.

“This is bad,” O’Halloran says.

“How bad?” Jeff asks.

Linda, O’Halloran, and I all share a grim look. We all know the truth, but only I speak.

“Because… no one ever caught The Judge.”