Chapter 11 – June 12, 1993 – Sergeant Aileen Taylor
One would think, with the red strings connecting the pictures, names, and places on the bulletin board behind her office desk, Sergeant Taylor was a conspiracy theorist. Or catching a killer.
She knew what it looked like. Lieutenant Johnson asked if all that was necessary for a minor assault, but Sergeant Taylor assured him it was—because Janet opened a can of worms when she called later that day a few weeks earlier.
Janet was always excellent at keeping an eye out around town from her tiny motel counter.
Plus, to give credit where it’s due, she had an insanely good memory.
If Sergeant Taylor could have hired the woman on the spot, she would have.
However, small-town cop bribery—such as dropping by with a box of donuts and a “thank you”—would have to do.
She was an excellent asset where she was.
The dark-haired mystery woman did not appear off to Janet like she did to Bruce, which was a flaw in her theory.
In fact, Janet mentioned she loaned the girl her makeup bag for the night.
“Sweet as pie, didn’t say much,” she commented.
“You sure Bruce has his story straight? They seemed fine to me. Just quiet.”
“Ugh…” Sergeant Taylor groaned as the report on her desk mocked her with its minimal information. Erich Zaleski. October 23, 1971. Single, white male, dark blond hair, blue eyes. Six feet, three inches. 1977 black Chevrolet Nova. New York City, New York.
Before she could try to draw more conclusions from her minimal information, there was a knock on her door. “Any luck, Sarg?” The young man peeked his head around the half-closed door, his curly, thick hair and acne-scarred face a welcome sight in Sergeant Taylor’s time of need.
“Emil… not really.” Sergeant Taylor rubbed her eyes with both fists until she saw spots before she focused her attention on the intern. “Come here. Maybe you’ll see something I don’t.”
Emil was fresh out of the police academy.
He came on as an intern at the Norwald Police Department last summer while he waited for his police academy slot.
Despite not being an intern anymore, no one at the office ever called him by his formal title.
His first name stuck, and he didn’t have any objections to it.
Sergeant Taylor liked the kid. He was bright, kind, and had a certain light she needed during her boring shifts.
He didn’t have a lot of muscle, but he was tall—he had to bend down to step through the doors in the station.
He was perfect when she needed a fresh set of eyes, as he knew when to pull her from the rabbit hole and cover it with dirt.
The baby cop awkwardly bent down through the door and walked his brown loafers to the side of Sergeant Taylor’s desk.
Without a word, he leaned forward to read the notes laid out in front of them.
“Well, he’s a twenty-one-year-old man. Stayed at the Do Drop Inn for the night with his supposed wife…
but the information you found from his license says he’s single.
Did you find any marriage records from the state of New York for a name on the woman? ”
Sergeant Taylor lifted her pen to her mouth, tapping her lips gently. “Well, he told Janet he was married to the woman he was with. But that could be fabricated. License was renewed on his twenty-first birthday, and no new records indicate he got hitched.”
“Maybe. Or he crossed state lines within the last eight months, and you’d have to track his name down in each state to find a marriage license. Did you get a license plate number?” Emil rocked on his feet as he considered the facts laid out in front of them.
“I did. It ties to an address for a fortune teller in New York City.”
“Who lives there?” Emil fired back his next question.
“A Mystique Braun, alongside her only daughter, Olivia Braun.” Sergeant Taylor tapped at the two names she listed in the side section of her notepad with her pointer finger.
“Could be a shell address. He wasn’t on the 1990 census or 1980 census for that address.
Tracking it down through the New York Secretary of State was tedious, too. ”
“How old is Olivia Braun?” Emil asked. “Is she the wife?”
“She’ll be twenty-one this November. And I don’t think so.
She doesn’t match the description… Census states Mystique and Olivia are mixed race.
” Sergeant Taylor sighed. “The ‘wife’ in question was described by both Bruce and Janet to be fair-skinned. Even unnaturally pale. Dark hair and green eyes.”
Emil leaned over Sergeant Taylor’s shoulder and tapped the one word—“Off? What’s this about?”
Sergeant Taylor let out a short grunt before setting her pen down and resting her chin in her hand.
“Bruce said the girl was ‘off.’ Like she was seeing things or hearing things. Janet didn’t have the same description, so I began to wonder if Bruce is putting fluff over something he was doing that would be wrong. ”
Emil crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. His thick curls framed his forehead, shadowing his right eye as he lost himself deep in thought. “Bruce Miller isn’t a very good guy. All rumors, but if they’re true, he’s cheated on his wife a handful of times.”
“Figures.” Sergeant Taylor rolled her eyes, but stopped as they grazed over the woman’s description again. “Bruises.” She murmured to herself before reaching for her pen again and underlining it.
Emil raised a single eyebrow from his position against the wall. “‘Off’ and ‘bruises’? You think she was scared of something… or someone?”
“What if this Erich guy isn’t a husband, but a kidnapper?
What if this girl is some kind of money-maker?
And Bruce just happened to be a customer that night and not some innocent bar-goer?
” Sergeant Taylor wondered aloud, then bit her lip and laughed before turning her head to meet Emil’s eyes. “Or am I jumping to conclusions?”
Emil chuckled awkwardly to match Sergeant Taylor’s.
“Well… it’s a bit far-fetched, but we don’t have much else.
Janet didn’t see anything wrong with the two, but the interaction is limited.
Is there any way we can run what we have to match descriptions on other assault cases?
Or find some kind of criminal record with his name and ID?
Plus… if he’s all the way from New York, where else has he been?
Pay any tolls? Maybe there are some red flags there. ”