Happy Birthday, Loola

Trigger Warning: Really bad things (murder) happen to a really bad guy (sexual predator, bully, stalker)

The two servers walked around the lush backyard, collecting the detritus from the party. It was a beautiful garden, obviously curated by professionals, and trimmed to within an inch of its horticultural life. But both women had been working since early afternoon, and it was now close to three a.m. They were exhausted, and wanted to go home.

“Man, for a bunch of rich people, they sure are slobs,” commented Ramona, the taller of the two. She was in her mid-twenties, tall and lithe, with an athletic build. 

“No shit,” said, Lina, the other server. “I guess when you’ve had people picking up after you your entire life, it doesn’t matter where you leave your garbage.” She was another twenty-something, but was shorter than Ramona, more curvy, with an artistic flair about her. Both women wore black pants, black vests covering crisp white shirts — usual server attire.

The women represented two of the three owners of At Your Service Catering and Party Planning. Between the demands by the client for the perfect party, and the actual boots-on-the-ground serving, it had been an exhausting job. They had to ensure everyone had enough food and drink — more appetizers, more champagne, more wine, better wine, cocaine (???), and, “could you possibly, tell me if the seafood was ethically sourced” and “is the onion tart gluten free?” But it also included unwanted grabby-hands. This problem always got worse near the end of the evening, after copious amounts of alcohol and drugs had been consumed, and the guests were, shall we say, less inhibited. For some reason both men and women thought that it was okay to handle the help.

“Did you see that actor guy?” asked Lina. “He was such an ass. Seriously, who needs to see the scar he got on his last movie, when he jumped out of a window and didn’t stick his landing? Yuck. I think he wanted to show it off because it’s so close to his junk. Just, no!”

“I know, right? Good thing he was more interested in being the centre of attention, and didn’t bother us like the client’s son. Who did he think he was? Because his father hired us doesn’t mean he has carte blanche to get all handsy.” Ramona was justifiably perturbed. “One more ‘accidental’ hand brush against my boob and I was going to bop him one.”

Lina snorted. “So much for Me Too. I guess it doesn’t apply to catering staff.”

They continued to pick up empty glasses and plates, piling them on their trays.

Nikki, their other partner came across the lawn, still in her chef whites.

“I’m glad that’s over!” she said. She was the same age at the other two, but was obviously pregnant. She looked exhausted.

The three of them had been preparing for this gig for the last week. Making food, ordering alcohol, arranging the rentals, flowers and lighting. The client had hired them for an evening event of appetizers and drinks for one-hundred-and-fifty people. The occasion was the client’s considerably younger wife’s twenty-fifth birthday. 

It was a busy night, non-stop from the moment they arrived to set up until now.

Ramona looked at Nikki. “You look wiped. Why don’t you go home? Lina and I have this.”

“You sure?” asked Nikki, looking from one to the other. “The kitchen’s tidied, and all the equipment’s in the truck. There’s only this last sweep left. Everything else is done.” She paused, “I’ll call and Uber, and head home. Thanks, you guys. You’re the best.” She looked relieved.

“No prob. You go home and get some rest.”

Nikki handed the keys to the truck to Lina, hugged them both, and said goodnight as she waddled back towards the house, her hand supporting her lower back.

“Come on,” said Lina, “Let’s clean up this mess.”

They split up, Lina going left, and Ramona going right to hurry the tidy-up along. They had to make sure that they cleaned up anything left behind by the guests. Their job was to leave the property the way they had found it.

The lot was expansive, and although the party was concentrated on the more-than-adequate patio, party goers had been free to wander around the entire property. And where they had wandered, they had inevitably left … stuff. Not just glasses and plates, but other … stuff.

Once they finished gathering all the dishes and glasses, they made a final walk around the party to collect all the found treasures. As per usual, they gathered up all the lost belongings and put them into a box for the client so that he could make sure it all got back to the rightful owners.

There was an amazing amount of clothing. Tops, bottoms, underwear (eww) — men’s and women’s — socks, bras, and surprisingly, one boot. Who doesn’t realize they lost a boot? Ramona found a purse, which she was sure would be missed by morning. Lina found a raincoat — a big yellow slicker. It had been a clear, warm evening. Why a slicker?

They also found a bag of weed, half emptied packs of cigarettes, six lighters, a lovely silver necklace, an acrylic face shield, seven phones, a watch, two leather belts, a knife, four shoes, a long red scarf, gloves, a pack of ten condoms (someone really hoped to get lucky), a credit card, three sets of keys, zip ties, lots of empty and half empty bottles of wine and champagne. And a riding crop. As far as either woman knew, there were no stables on the property, so ... The party had gotten quite rowdy near the end of the evening, but this trove of found-stuff was exceptional in its variety and vastness.

Ramona looked hopefully at Lina. “That’s about it. I think we’re done here.” 

“Okay,” said Lina. “I’m just going to go check the pool house. I didn’t get to it yet. She ran down the slight incline to the outbuilding. The motion light flooded the area in front of the pool building, and Lina ran around the building. Ramona could hear the tinkle of a couple of glasses tapping together. 

Lina appeared in the front of the building opened the door and quietly entered the pool house. She hoped that there wasn’t anyone in there, sleeping, or, you know, doing anything else. She quietly opened the door and stuck her head in.

“Hello. Caterers,” Ramona heard her say.  

No response, so she found the light switch, and flipped it on. 

“Oh, sorry. Excuse me …” Pause. “Oh dear.”

Lina backed out of the door. Still looking inside, she said, “Ramona, call nine-one-one. I think our client’s son is dead.”

*****

“Well, he certainly is dead,” said Detective Terry Waits. She was a tall, solidly-built, fit woman in her mid-forties. Some people would describe her as intimidating, which was alright with her. She was also the senior detective on scene.

Her partner, Carlos Ito, agreed with her observation. “Yup. He’s most definitely dead.” Ito was smaller, but equally fit, and eight years Waits’s junior.

The naked body of Roland Tyler, Junior, was sprawled across the double-sized lounger. He was laying on his back, with his head turned to the right. He looked like he was sleeping — except for the gunshot wound between his eyes, and the crimson halo of blood surrounding his head.

Waits leaned over the body, examining the wound. 

“Single gunshot to the forehead, obvious exit wound at the back of his head.”

A voice came from behind them. “Waits. Ito. Good to see you both.” They turned in unison to see the medical examiner, Dr. Janine Carruthers, standing in the doorway.

“Back at ya, Doc,” said Ito.

“What do we have here?” Carruthers asked.

“Roland Tyler, Junior, twenty-eight, single gunshot to the forehead.” 

“Okay,” she said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “My turn.” 

As she stepped forward to examine the body, Ito and Waits exited the building, and went to find their witnesses. They had a bunch of questions that needed answering.

*****

After Waits and Ito had interviewed Ramona and Lina, the women had handed over the lost and found bin to the detectives. Using a diagram of the grounds, Waits had the women point out, as best they could remember, where all of the stuff had been found. Waits had sent the women home in a patrol car, because their work van was now part of the crime scene, and wouldn’t be released until they released the crime scene.

Waits and Ito looked at the table where all the items had been spread out. 

“There’s a lot of crap here,” said Ito, using his gloved hand pick up the bag with the bullets in it. 

“Since we’ve taken elimination prints from the Ramona and Lina, we need to get all of this printed,” she said, waving her hand to encompass the pile of random paraphernalia. “Then we need to figure out what, if anything, it all means to our case.”

“Is that a face shield?” Ito pointed to a transparent piece of plexiglass attached to a headband. “Like they use in hospitals?” 

“Yup.” Waits moved in to have a closer look. “And, it looks like there’s blood on the front,” she said pointing to the small array of drops.

Ito carefully moved it to the side, away from the other objects. Waits turned and walked over to one of the forensic techs, and returned a minute later with a spray bottle of luminol.

Everybody!” Waits called. “We need to check for blood on these articles. I’m going to spray everything, and then I’m going to ask you to turn out all the lights. Questions?”

There were none, so Waits proceeded to spray all of the articles on the table with luminal, making sure to cover everything.

“Okay, lights out.”

The backyard was plunged into darkness. Several articles on the table glowed an eerie blue — positive for blood. Waits and Ito removed them from the pile. Ito quickly took a number of photos of the glowing articles before the luminescence faded.

“Okay, thanks everyone. You can turn the lights back on.”

Ito and Waits looked at their evidence.

“Let’s go talk to the homeowners,” Waits said.

*****

Roland Tyler, Sr., and his wife Louise (“call me Loola”) sat on a white leather couch in the living room. The senior Tyler sat hunched over, his clasped hands between his knees, Loola beside him, her hand on his back. Ito and Waits sat across from them on an identical couch.

“Who would do this to RJ?” lamented his father. “He was harmless.”

“Mr. Tyler, can you think of anyone who would want to harm Roland, Junior?” asked Waits.

“No. No one.”

Waits turned to Loola. “How about you, Mrs. Tyler? Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Roland, Junior?”

“No. Not really. He was just a normal rich kid, you know. Figured he could do what he wanted, when he wanted.” She paused. “I guess it caught up with him.”

Senior’s head swung around so that he was looking directly at his wife. “Loola! What do you mean ‘caught up with him’? He’s … he was just rudderless. He didn’t know what he wanted from life. He was confused.”

Loola, rubbed her hand up and down Senior’s back. “I know. I know. But he wasn’t always very nice to people.” She paused, turning to look at the detectives. “Tonight, for instance, he kept rubbing one of the server’s breasts every time he took a drink. I was watching him. He’d go up to her, rub the back of his hand down the front of her shirt, and then pluck a drink off the tray. He’d gulp the champagne, and do it again. I saw him do that maybe ten times. And he played grab-ass with my sister, Fee — Fiona. She’s only seventeen. She left early because of RJ.” Loola looked at the officers. “And it wasn’t just tonight. Ask the maid and the cook what they think of him. He’s like that with every woman he meets.”

Waits looked at Senior. “Is that true, Mr. Tyler?”

“He has — had problems with boundaries, but he never meant any harm.”

“Never meant any harm?” Loola said, incredulously, “Why did we have to pay thirty-five thousand dollars to our last maid, and have her sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

“Loola!” snapped Senior, “That NDA applies to us, as well. Stop talking!”

Loola looked away from her husband, obviously angry at being chastised.

“Mr. and Mrs. Tyler, can you both account for your whereabouts tonight?”

Senior looked up, startled. “You can’t think we had anything to do with RJ’s death? That’s absurd!”

Loola spoke up. “We hired a photographer. He took pictures all night long. Rolly and I are in most of them. The photographer left us an SD card with all of the unedited photos on it.”

“If we could have the SD card, that would be helpful,” said Ito.

Loola got up and walked to the kitchen island, and picked up a small envelope. She dropped it into the evidence bag Ito held open for her. He sealed it, signed it, and put it in his pocket.

“We’re also going to need a guest list, as well,” said Waits.

“I’ve got a copy of that on my phone,” said Loola.

Waits handed her a business card. “Can you send it to me at my email address right now, please.”

Loola complied, and Waits heard the ding, indicating that it had arrived. 

“Thank you.”

Waits stood up. “It’s late. We’re going to have to search the house, so you’re not going to be able to sleep here tonight. We should be able to release the scene in a couple of days.”

Both the Tylers nodded their assent. They had been forewarned, and had been allowed to pack an overnight bag. 

“We’re going to ask you to come down to the station tomorrow, say one o’clock, so that we can get your official statements. Is that a good time?”

Senior looked up. “Should we bring our lawyer?”

“It’s your choice, but you probably won’t need a lawyer,” said Ito.

They parted ways — the Tylers leaving their home, Waits and Ito getting ready to search it.

*****

At four o’clock the next afternoon, Waits and Ito watched as Loola Tyler was lead away in handcuffs, followed by her lawyer. It had only taken three hours to get a confession.

“I should have known,” Ito said. “She was so angry.”

“Wouldn’t you be? Your step-son rapes you, then blackmails you into being his booty call? Threatens to tell his dad about the sex. Loola knew Senior believed everything Junior said. She was screwed. Plus, he was preying on her younger sister. I think that was the line in the sand. He overstepped, and she felt she had to make him stop.”

“Yeah, I can see that — but murder?” said Ito.

“Yeah, that’s too far. But, her prenup was pretty clear. No extramarital affairs.”

“You can’t call what Junior did to her an affair. That was sexual assault.”

“I agree. But Loola figured she didn’t have any other choice.”

“But how did you know it was her, specifically?” asked Ito.

“Who else could it have been?” she asked, answering his question with another question.

“Uh, anybody at the party. For a while I thought it might have been Ramona.”

“Nah. She was in too many pictures. Like she said, she was busy serving and supervising the wait and bar staff.” She paused. “It had to be someone he knew. I figured it had to be a woman, ‘cuz from all accounts, Junior was hetero, and he was naked.”

“Okay, it could have been any woman, but why Loola?”

“The way that she spoke about him during the interview at the house. She should’ve been shocked at his death. Instead she all but said it was his own fault. That’s pretty cold.”

“True. Not the usual reaction.” He paused. “But, how did you know, for sure, it was her?”

“Well, look at the evidence.” She held up her hand, ticking off her fingers. “First, the lost and found stuff. That was the big one — all the blood evidence. There was blood on the face shield, the slicker, and the gloves, so it looked like someone used them to protect their clothing.

“Also, there was blood on the gun. Forensics figures it’s blowback. And the gun was small, so maybe a woman’s? Guys usually use a bigger gun. You know, size matters.”

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying that the Kimber Micro 9 is usually a woman’s gun. 

“Second, Junior let someone tie him up, and blindfold him. There was blood on the scarf and the ME said there was evidence that his wrists had been bound, probably using the two belts that were found. I’m waiting on the lab, but we’re probably going to find Junior’s alleles on them.

“Third, the necklace. It’s Loola’s. Looking at the pictures from the photographer, she’s wearing it until 12:38 a.m. according to the time stamp on the photographer’s photos. There are no more pictures of Loola until 1:07 a.m., and she’s missing her necklace.

“Fourth, the rest of the pics and social media. I saw Loola and Junior in the background of a number of photos that the guests posted and they look like they’re arguing. 

“But the clincher was Junior’s social media Not only did he post a bunch of pics of Loola, and call her a MILF, he had recently started posting pics of Fiona. They were all stalker photos — a bunch of photos of her changing, in the washroom, sleeping, all taken through a window. And he shared all his creepy photos with Loola. I think she reached her breaking point — she did not want Junior preying on Fiona.”

“Man, Junior was a scum-bag.” 

“He was, but did he need to die? Did Loola have the right to kill him?” asked Waits.

They were both silent.