Jimmy and the Journal

"Hey Chief-- I just got word the suspect's car was seen parked at 1201 Old Leesburg Highway." Bonnie Jane said, knowing Jimmy was heading home and most likely would want to check it out. 

James’s ‘Jimmy’ Verspea pulled the cherry red 1969 Ford Shelby Mustang over and looked out across the field. He couldn’t recall the last time he saw it green this time of the year. "Dispatch," he rubbed his temple, deciding if he really wanted to take the call or go home. "BJ,” he replied. Though her name was Bonnie Jane, he liked calling her by her office nickname. “Tell Joshua I'll handle the call, I'm already there." 

"10-4 chief," the female voice responded, sounding a little irritated. The radio faded to near silence, except for the ever-present static hum as Jimmy turned the Shelby around. He lived a few blocks from the call. He had nearly made it home before the police officer in him wouldn’t allow him the night off, not when a crime was so close to home. 

Jimmy pulled into a thick, overgrown driveway and parked. After lighting a cigarette, he opened the door and began to inspect the driveway for fresh tracks. It was as reported; the driveway had been in use recently. He walked a short distance to see the car parked in the drive. "Dispatch, send a wrecker to this address, and I will be out of contact at this location." 

"10-4 chief," again, the voice came back over the radio. 

In his forty-plus years on the Leesburg police force, Jimmy had been out on all types of calls, but today's were routine, even for him. The Chief of Police still went on calls. He believed in leading by example, rather than leading behind a desk. 

Jimmy walked to the abandoned antique black Dodge Viper, shaking his head, "Kids," he mumbled looking past the car to the house. Walking slowly toward the home he saw the ivy growing on the sides of the porch and railings, he also noticed how the ivy had nearly swallowed the home whole. With the wrecker on its way, Jimmy walked around the house looking to see if the kids who had stolen the car had broken in. Other than the car in the drive, the place looked undisturbed. Jimmy began a search for the owner of the property. After a short search of the database, he found the owner's name, Quinn Moeller. With another quick search of the department files, Jimmy found there was one mention of the address. 

Almost forty-five years earlier a young Detective named Natalia Slovak had investigated a missing person at the same location. Jimmy read the case notes and discovered the case was never solved. He grew more interested in the home. Not only was it an unsolved case, but the case was assigned to his former partner, Natalia. 

Jimmy looked up over the railing to the second floor for a moment. He thought he saw a woman looking at him, and in a blink, she was gone. "Weird," he mumbled, watching Jo pull up next to the Viper. He watched her as he tapped on the keyboard making a few notes about the car. With it just about to be rolled on the flatbed he strolled over to her. 

"Nice ride," Joanne Steiner said, sliding it on the flatbed. "So, did you catch the little shits that stole it?" Jo asked with a half laugh, knowing it had to be kids, otherwise, this beauty would be in a chop shop or worse, instead of in the front yard of some old home. 

"Not yet," Jimmy smirked. "You know me, Jo, I never rush anything. Sooner or later, they will make a mistake." He winked at her. 

"That they will," Jo said over her shoulder. “Are we still on for cards this weekend?” Jo asked as she jumped in the truck. 

“Of course, unless Nancy and Reva chicken out again.” Jimmy laughed. Nancy was Jo’s daughter and Reva was his neighbor, they often got together and played Cribbage on the weekend. 

“Oh, she will be there, she said you aren’t taking her money like you did last week. Catch you later Jimmy." Jo said with a wave of her hand. 

After watching Jo leave Jimmy walked to the front door of the home, and with one hand on the knob, he manipulated the lock open. And by manipulating he picked it like an expert thief. When he walked into the home the smell of age, dust, and rot overwhelmed his senses causing him to place a knuckle under his nostrils to protect from the invading smells. He searched through the home slowly noticing the trail of footprints he left on the dust-laced floor. It was another clue to the years it had been empty.  

Jimmy opened a door to what was once a den or an office. To the right was a thick stack of old shelves, the scuff marks told of days before when they must have held a great library. The carpet showed signs of wear near the door and again at the window. Jimmy could only imagine a person pacing back and forth near the window to create the pattern. The light-yellow curtains looked thin as if for show rather than protection. He walked over to the window looking out at the overgrown vegetation and the single oak rising like a tower. The tree oddly reminded him of a sentry at their post. 

A slight smile floated across his lips as he turned back to the room knowing someone stood here many times over the years looking as he had just done. There was an old oak desk still in the center of the room. The top had no dust, and the only thing on the desk was a pen. He knelt and pulled his shirt sleeve over his hand to open all the drawers, each was like the surface, vacant and empty. When the owner left, he left no clues behind. 

Jimmy continued his search of the ground floor. He walked through a set of double glass doors into a large country kitchen. The dining table had ten chairs and each place was still set for an evening meal. It appeared the tenants had planned on coming back for a meal, and just suddenly vanished. He moved to the cabinets and again he moved his sleeve to not leave any trace that he had touched the cabinet. The cabinet was empty except for one can of green beans. 

Now, completely puzzled and intrigued, Jimmy climbed the steps to the second floor. On the top step was a large white stain on the carpet. He squatted down looking at the splatter patterns on the thick green shag, he was sure someone dumped bleach on the carpet, and now he had questioned why anyone would do that unless they were covering something up, perhaps even blood. 

In the first bedroom, he found a poster of the band Final Mile from the mid-1980s, and after studying the clothes on the floor, he believed a young girl had once lived in this room. There were hair bows, brushes, and cosmetics still left on the vanity. Jimmy sat on the double bed to see if he could see the room as it once looked. The walls were now a faded blue; he could see sunspots and fade marks where years of dawns had turned the once bright color into a dismal shade. There were no curtains on the windows, and it occurred to him so far that the only room with them was the den. He leaned down to look under the bed as though someone might be there waiting for him. 

"What is this," Jimmy whispered, slipping the pen from his pocket, and sliding the envelope from under the bed, lifting it with the brown handkerchief from his pocket. Being careful with the age of the paper, he opened the top and saw a picture inside. He studied the two women in the picture. The first was a tall, blonde, thin woman, with eyes so green they seemed to burn. For a moment, just a brief fleeting moment, he thought he knew her. The second had long brown hair and deep blue eyes, and she appeared to be fourteen to sixteen years old. The two looked like they were laughing. 

Jimmy studied the background of the picture noting it was taken in St Augustine. St Augustine was in Florida four hours south. It was known for its Catholic Mission built three hundred years ago. The mission had been a stronghold in the early 1700s. Pirates had been held at bay from the high cannons, and residents were protected from invading fleets with the thick walls. Jimmy had been there many times over the years and knew the exact location the picture had been taken. Jimmy tucked the picture into his pocket and began searching the other rooms. 

In the second room, he explored, Jimmy found nothing, no carpet or curtains, no anything. Even the paint on the wall looked like it had been stripped clean. The sheetrock was a dull gray, and he could see the tape along the edges, and it looked like fresh construction. The next room he explored had strange designs on the white walls, which resembled Egyptian markings. Jimmy spent over an hour walking from etching to etching studying the haste they were made in. Some were edged perfectly, and some looked rushed. 

Down the hall on the far end of the house was the largest room, and what Jimmy could only call the master suite. The door was locked from the inside and it took a little manipulation to get the lock to finally give. The room was unlike the others. There were clothes laid on the bed and the room smelled like men’s cologne. Now more than ever he was baffled and sure this house had a mystery hidden within the walls. Jimmy recalled thinking he saw a woman in the window, which would have been the master bedroom. 

Returning to the bottom floor he noticed the banister had been replaced. The wood had not been varnished. The living room was empty of furniture, except for a lone brown chair in the middle of the room. The chair faced a window, it occurred to him he was looking west, and he was sure it wasn't the tree, but the sunset someone once watched from the chair. 

The day wore thin, and the sunlight started to fade, Jimmy had descended the steps into the musty basement. Out of habit, he flicked the light switch only to find there was no light. He looked over what could have been a chemistry lab. There were several small decanters and test tubes scattered around the table and floor.  Again it appeared someone left in a hurry leaving behind their work. 

Standing in the middle of clutter and debris his hand brushed a small wooden crate that had been balancing on another, and the disturbance caused a chain reaction of crashes, which sent a dust cloud into the air nearly drowning him. Jimmy waved his hand before his face sending small wisps of dust away, and through the haze, he spotted a small journal in the clutter. 

Carefully he salvaged the aged binding and cradled it as he approached the window. "What do we have here?" The whisper was followed by a lung full of air as he blew slowly across the cover forcing a small dust cloud to settle on the murky window. The last rays of light filtered through, and he began to read.