Charmer                                        

 

 

I took a swig of my scotch on the rocks. I couldn’t get the image out of my head. The blood slowly dripping off the table drop by drop, her neck imprinted with a pattern as if barbwire had choked her to death, her pale face just lying there.

I stared at the wood floor, to keep my mind from going insane. I followed the wood pattern through every bump and curve and watched the way it went up and then down then curved back around. I followed that pattern forever, just waiting for Officer Jenson to come meet me. Officer Jenson is my training partner. He was assigned to help me on my first case since my move to New York City.  He is supposedly the salve to calm the disturbing images I have trouble with. The NYPD assigns Officer Jenson to most new policemen since they are the ones that usually have the emotional issues. It’s kind of like AA for alcoholics, you have a mentor that you can always call, except that Officer Jenson also trains me and I don’t think that AA mentors help their patients become alcoholics.

The door opened, and I glanced over my shoulder to see who was there. It was a young, blonde woman in a black dress that had a plunging neckline. She glanced around the room as if she was meeting someone there. Then she went to sit at the bar. She sat directly across from me, still looking around but not noticing me staring at her. I felt as if I had seen her before but I didn’t know where from. She looked over at me and I quickly looked away. I looked back at her and she was walking over towards me. I didn’t know what to do. I was intimidated by this beautiful woman -- out of all the people that were in the bar, why would she walk over to me? She took a seat next to me and I slowly turned my head in her direction.

“Now you look at me,” she said with a big grin on her face.

“What?” I said, confused and also startled that she was talking to me.

“I said ‘now you look at me’. I saw you turning your head every time you saw me,” she said.

I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m Jenny, Jenny Schmidt,” she said.

“Officer Scott,” I said quickly back.

“So, Scott, what’s an officer like you doing in a bar like this?” Jenny said.

“I am working on a case, and was supposed to meet a co-worker of mine but he never showed.” I said

“What kind of case? I’ve always been intrigued by murders, and crimes and all that stuff ” she asked.

The image came back in my mind. The blood slowly dripping off the table drop by drop, her neck imprinted with a pattern as if barbwire had choked her to death, her pale face just lying there. A half cracked bottle of vodka lying right next to her left hand.

I stared down at the wood floor; it was the only way my mind would unwind.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was such a personal question,” Jenny said.

“Its not…. I…I…I gotta go… bye” I said.

“Bye?!” She said confused as to what went wrong.

I felt bad leaving her, but I just couldn’t get the image out of mind it was even worse then before.

I rushed to my apartment and called Officer Jenson. The phone rang again and again, no answer.

I needed to talk to him; I needed him to help me get away from these thoughts, so I called him again.

No answer.

            I couldn’t wait any longer. I took my coat, gloves and hat and headed over to his apartment.

            I walked the streets of New York seeming confident but feeling vulnerable inside. The snow was coming down hard now. I missed the L.A. winters where 45 degrees was considered freezing. I missed my family and my friends back in L.A. Everything changed so soon, I didn’t have time to say goodbye, especially to my mom. She is too nice to be mad but I know I would be if my son just left one morning without saying goodbye. She knows that I am not the type for goodbyes but I bet it still hurts. Becky and Carla, are almost freshmen in high school and I didn’t even get to see them start school. Tears started to slowly drip down my cheeks. I missed my old life in L.A. Everything was just so easy there.

            I looked up at the street signs hoping I was at 64th street where Officer Jenson lives. I turned right on 64th and walked two blocks until I reached 243A. I walked up the snowy steps carefully - not trying to slip down a whole flight of cement stairs. I buzzed 243A.

            “Hello?” Officer Jenson’s voice yelled out.

            “Hey… It’s me,” I said snuffling in my sleeve, while I projected my voice into the

microphone.

            “Oh hey… come up,” he said.

The buzzer went off and I walked in to the building and took the stairs up to his apartment. I reached 243A and sighed with relief hoping that is how I would feel once I left his apartment.

I knocked at the door.

Officer Jenson opened the door with a trying to be enthusiastic face. That is what NYPD teaches the mentors, to always be available and enthusiastic to their student’s questions. I don’t think NYPD would ever think the students would have as many questions as I do.

“Hey, come in,” he said.

I greeted him back and came into his apartment and sat down on his new red leather couch and started to give him a hard time about not showing up for drinks. He told me his lame excuse, but I let it slide. That was the one meeting that Officer Jenson has missed in five months since being my mentor.

“So,” he said actually enthusiastically, “my pal Horwitz over in Jersey ran some DNA tests of the victim. He found her name is Carol Anne Schmidt, age 32, caucasian, has a sister, a brother and used to have parents until they recently died, I dunno how.”

“Carol Anne Schmidt? Why does that sound familiar? Where did you say she was from?” I asked.

“Bloomington, Indiana. It says here her father was a wealthy farmer out there and they’ve lived there since the 1970’s.” Officer Jenson said, reading the files.

“Hmm.. Bloomington, Indiana. Well, I was going to go over to scene tomorrow and get some photos of the place before we start questioning suspects. Does that sound good?” I asked still trying to figure out why the name sounded familiar.

“Yeah, sounds good, I’ll come with you actually. Wait but what is the reason you came over and…. called?” he said looking down at his ‘missed call’ on his phone.

“I..I’ve been having trouble lately with these images of this girl. And I feel that it will definitely be a lot harder now that I know background information ‘bout her.”

“Well,” he said, sipping his Red Tire Beer, “ I know it’s hard and it is going to take time to get used to it but just try to start a life here instead of thinking about your old one so much and just think of this as part of your job and try not to think that they have a family. That’s what I do at least”

As soon as he said it, I cringed. I had thought about leaving New York and going back to L.A. once I was done with this case, but he was right, I had to start a life here if this is something I really wanted to do.

“Did I hit a sore one there?” he asked.

“No- it’s all good. I better be heading home. I’ll see you tomorrow, and hey, thanks for the help.” I said closing the door behind me.

On my way home I decided to stop by the bar to see if Jenny was still there. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I looked in the window of the bar and saw Jenny talking to another man. I kept walking and decided that if it were meant to be, we would run into each other again.

I went home and went right to sleep. The next morning I went to Yale’s coffee, like I did every morning. I walked into Yale’s still half asleep. I ordered my usual French roast coffee with a little bit of half and half and two sugar packets.

            I was waiting for my coffee when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around. There she was. Jenny Schmidt.

“Hello, again,” she said.

“Oh, Hi” I couldn’t help but feel hopeful, “what are you doing here?”

“Um…. Getting coffee, what else would I be doin’ here,” she said, giggling.

“Haha… I dunno.”

“Did you wanna sit and have coffee together?” she asked.

“Sure.”

We sat down and started talking about what she does and her family. I kept hearing this jingling noise. I stopped the conversation.

“Wait… what is that noise?” I asked.

“What?”

“That jingling noise.”

“Oh, haha, it’s my charm bracelet. My sister gave it to me when I turned thirteen.”

I looked at the charm bracelet. It was rusty and it had reddish residue on the chain.

“You have a sister?”

“Yep, and a brother.”

“Caroline and Richard. Caroline is three years older than me and Richard five years younger.”

            We continued our conversation about our family and we scheduled an actual date. I left Yale’s coffee excited for our date. It was going to be Friday night, the perfect date night.  Two days to wait.

            I met up with Officer Jenson after coffee, at the scene of the crime. 6356 unit 2, Houseton street. We entered the apartment building and chills ran up my spine. We walked around the room looking for possible clues. We took DNA samples, collected as much evidence as we could, although there wasn’t much. I looked around and almost slipped on what I thought was a pebble. I picked it up and it was a charm, of a scarlet red dress, with rusted red paint on it.

            It all came to me, the charm bracelet, Jenny Schmidt, the bar. The image became even worse now that I knew Jenny Schmidt was involved. I began to sweat and couldn’t feel my toes. I quickly left the apartment building trying to explain to Officer Jenson what I had just figured out.

            He stopped me in the street, and made me tell him the whole story. I think he thought I was having an emotional breakdown again. From the bar to the charm bracelet, I told every detail. Officer Jenson quickly pulled out his phone and started dialing numbers.

            “Who are you calling?” I asked frantically.

            “Officer Smith,” he said quickly.

            I swiftly snapped his phone closed.

            “What the hell do you think your doing? I think we are close to solving this case and we need to do it NOW!!!” Officer Jenson said angrily.

            I convinced him to wait until Friday -- the night of our date. This way Jenny would be caught off guard and Officer Jenson and I would have time to formulate a plan.

            Those two days went by quickly. Our squad, Officer Jenson and I worked diligently planning an arrangement.

            It was Friday night – just in time for our date. I picked her up outside her apartment in my new black button down shirt and jeans. She came down the steps in a seducing cream - colored dress that blended in with her skin tone. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and as I was pulling away slowly ran my hand down her arm towards her wrist. There I felt it, the charm bracelet that had caused this whole crime to begin with. I looked into her eyes, thinking about how someone so beautiful could do something so wrong.

            I took her to Chez Maman, a famous French bistro in downtown Manhattan -- the best place to take a first date and wisely located three blocks from the NYPD office. This is where I began our plan.

            “So, the other day I got to find out about your family, but you never told me where you grew up?” I asked slyly.

            “Oh, I grew up in a small town in the Midwest. I am sure you’ve never heard of it,” she said, trying to avoid the question.

            “Oh tell me anyways, now I’m curious,” I said with a big grin.

            “Bloomington, Indiana.”

            “Your right - never heard of it.”

            Her whole body relaxed as if I’d just told her she wasn’t going to die or something. We talked more about Indiana and I started to get into phase two of our plan.

            “So Jenny, before you met me what did you do on your free time?”

            “I don’t know. That’s kind of an odd question, don’t you think?”

            “No, not at all.”

            “Well, I dunno. Hung around the city just like I do not that I have met you,” she said jokingly.

            This wasn’t getting anywhere fast enough so I decided to cut to the chase.

            “What were you doing the night of the 15th at 2:30 am?”

            “What?! You’re acting crazy. You’re acting like I am one of your suspects in your stupid crime things or something.”

            “Should you be?”

            “Can you please tell me what you are talkin’ about!”

            “Jennifer Diane Schmidt, you are being taken in for investigation for the death of your sister Carol Anne Schmidt’s murder,” I said, pulling out my badge and handcuffs.

            Jenny started to weep. We put her in the cop car and took her to the station, where everything spilled out of her quicker than Officer Jenson and I would of ever imagined.

            “My mom and dad passed away two years ago and my sister received all of their inheritance but was supposed to split it in thirds for my brother and I. Well my brother being the wealthiest fucker that he is, doesn’t need the money and doesn’t care. And I didn’t care at first until I lost my job and broke up with my fiancée and had nothing. I was so angry that she was being such a stubborn bitch about it, that one day I just went to her apartment and we started drinking a lot. Then one thing led to another and I started choking her with my charm bracelet. It was the only thing I had on me that I felt would hurt her. I couldn’t believe what I was doing – killing my own sister. But then I met you and you reminded me of my ex fiancée George and I couldn’t help but feel hopeful again. I wanted to start over.”

            After the case was done, I was ready to go back home. I had more confidence and security in myself that being a police officer is what I wanted to do, but I knew that family was something that needed to still be a part of that life. As I was flying home, I ordered a scotch on the rocks and the feelings rushed back to me. Of beautiful Jenny -- a young, blonde woman in a black dress with the plunging neckline. God, she looked great that night.