Color of Blood(8)

“G’day,” he said, standing up.

Judy showed him her badge, and he pulled the tape back. She entered the musty, dark living room and turned to find Dennis had disappeared. She walked back outside and found him standing on the sidewalk near the complex’s small fenced swimming pool.

Dennis scanned the parking lot, the position of Garder’s ground-floor apartment in relation to other apartments, the sidewalks, the large hedges, and the main street forty feet away. Part of what he and the other inspectors did was simple police work and since this case involved a disappearance, he needed to at least go through the motions, if for no other reason than to occupy his increasingly agitated mind.

Looking up, he saw the Australian agent in the doorway.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he walked into the apartment. “Just needed to check the layout.”

Judy put her purse on the couch and pulled out a small, spiral-bound note pad.

“Um, let’s see.” She peered at her scribbled writing. “AFP was contacted on October 12 by the American Embassy in Canberra. The Yanks—excuse me, the Americans—reported a consular employee named Geoffrey Jansen was missing and requested local aid in finding him. The Americans feared foul play and were anxious to recover his body.”

Dennis stood in the middle of the living room and found himself looking sideways at Judy. He wondered how old she was. She was about five foot six or so, had medium-length sandy-blonde hair and seemed like a model for a health club advertisement, he thought. Dennis noticed the calves on her legs were sharply defined, as were the muscles on her arms that were exposed in her white sleeveless blouse. She had a slightly upturned nose that made her look vaguely like a schoolgirl.

“AFP later learned that Mr. Jansen is of special interest to the US intelligence services, and according to the US–Australian Security Pact of 1967, American security investigations on Australian soil—except those at diplomatically protected facilities—must be observed by an official Australian designee.”

She looked up. “I’m the designee.”

“I kind of figured that.” Dennis smiled. “Can we turn on some more lights?”

Judy went into the small kitchen and turned on a few lights.

“Assume the place was dusted?”

“Yes, I believe you have the report,” Judy said. “No other prints except those of Mr. Jansen.”

“I guess we don’t need to wear gloves then,” he said, sitting down on the couch. He picked up a newspaper. It was dry as parchment and crackled as he opened it.

“Every attempt was made to leave everything the way it was when Mr. Jansen disappeared,” she said.

“No word on the car?” he said, standing and walking into the kitchen.

“Nothing, which is unusual.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we don’t have a populous state. Western Australia has about two million residents, and most are clustered around the coast. We would normally pick up a stolen car quickly—unless it was broken down for parts.”

“What kind of car did he have?”

She looked at her notes. “A Toyota Camry.”

“That’s not a fancy car.” He opened each kitchen cabinet, looking at the stacked plates and glasses.

“No, not particularly.”

Dennis opened the refrigerator. “Not much food in here. Did the guy eat out a lot?”

“I’m not sure. You might want to ask his consulate friends about that.”

Dennis walked into the bedroom and turned on the light. There was a single wood dresser against the wall, an open closet, a double bed, and a small bedside table with a clock radio on it.

“The apartment was furnished?”

“Yes.”

Dennis looked through the closet, sliding the hanger of each piece of clothing to the left, including several Hawaiian shirts, a dark blue suit, a blue blazer, and several white dress shirts.

He opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out a large, leather-encased box.

“What’s this?”

“Watches, I believe.”

“Wristwatches?” He flipped it open.

“Yes.”

“Jeeze, the guy liked watches: must have more than a half dozen here.” He picked up one—it had a black leather strap and a large, stainless steel housing. “These must be worth something. Did anyone price these?”

“No,” she said. “We could do that if you like?”

“Not yet.” He closed the box and put it back into the drawer.

Rifling through the second drawer, he pulled out a folded pair of white jockeys. He unfolded the underwear and looked at the crotch area closely.

“What are you doing, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Checking.”

“Checking for what? I’ve never seen anyone do that.”

“I’m looking for signs of discharge. A guy who has a wild sex life invariably comes down with the clap or urethritis, and the discharge will stain the underwear. From the look of this guy, he’s still a virgin.” For a moment Dennis wondered if he was being rude but quickly dismissed it.

“I see,” she said.

Dennis threw the underwear into the drawer and walked back into the living room. Standing in front of the TV set, he looked around the room again. “This place looks pretty normal to me: nothing out of the ordinary. No signs of a struggle. He wasn’t robbed here because the watches are still there. Seems that he left expecting to return.”