There were rumors at the station that Wille, Gail’s son, was gay, and that was why Gail broke off all contact with him. Knowing Gail, a truly old-fashioned man, Rocco could believe the rumors were true, but uncertainty still hung in the air whenever someone mentioned them.
When Gail finally closed the door, Rocco continued, “Forgive my partner; he gets too heated too fast. I believe you didn’t kill Maryssa, but my word can’t do much to convince any other person outside these walls. Help me out, James.”
“I liked her, she is… sorry… she was brilliant. She was… words can’t even describe it. Marsha… we called her Marsha. She was astonishing. She read a lot and was always ready to party, laugh, and listen.”
“I am sure she was,” Rocco said reassuringly. “We haven’t been able to speak to anyone close to her yet. Do you know if she had a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know. She never told me. She barely knew I existed,” James sighed.
“Is that so?” Rocco asked. “Maybe you were overcome by a strong desire to be with her. If you couldn’t have her, nobody else could. Could it be that you felt this way, James?”
“What… wait… No, I loved her platonically.”
“You can’t love a pretty girl like Maryssa platonically. You are the man, after all, James. Aren’t you? I’m just saying if you accidentally killed her because of your passion or a sexual desire to be with Maryssa Goldsmyth, nobody would blame you.”
“No. Please believe me. I didn’t do that, I…”
“Help me understand what connected you and Maryssa. If you were not fucking her, neither were you a part of her damn posh book circle. What is the connection?” Rocco started to lose patience.
“She visited the café Stilla Hav, where I worked as a barista. And I…I followed her around sometimes.”
“You mean you stalked her?” Rocco corrected.
“I would not call it that. It is not like I left her creepy messages or anything else. I was completely respectful of her private space. I liked to look at her. She reminded me of myself.” James sobbed again.
“Okay. Where were you between 10:30 p.m. and 1 a.m. on October 11th?”
“I was…I was…outside her apartment from 10:30 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. before I had to leave. My female friend called me; you can easily verify that. I spent almost the entire night with her.”
“One more female friend? I see… And her name?”
“Charlotte Block.”
“Haha! It’s getting hilarious. What is Charlotte doing here in Amsterdam?”
“Studying at the Vrije University of Amsterdam, psychology program, human behavior and well-being.”
“Nice. I need her contacts in Amsterdam to check your alibi.”
“I have something more to say about the night of the murder.”
“Shoot.”
“I was about to leave around 11:00 p.m. when I saw her mother with a young woman, a famous journalist from De Telegraaf, coming through the gates.”
Rocco’s ears perked up. He asked, “You saw her mother and a journalist? We didn’t see you on CCTV on the night of the murder.”
“Yes, I hid from the cameras. I saw how they’d been installed a month ago, so I knew their location well. What I’m trying to say is that Marsha had a bad connection with her adoptive parents. She told me once that her mother was a creep and she hated her.”
“Noted. You see, you can be very helpful, James.”
“Another thing, there was also another person. I am not 100 percent sure, but I think it was a woman... I could be wrong, though. I didn’t get a good look at her. It was quite dark, and she stood opposite the house, near the door to the bank.”
“Do you think you would recognize this woman if you saw her, or perhaps you can work with a sketch artist to describe her to us?”
“I can try,” James nodded.
Rocco’s body relaxed. He smiled at James Pascus, who seemed to have shrunk in size during the questioning. Rocco’s thoughts were interrupted when the door to the interrogation room opened and Zanna entered with the sketch artist behind her.
“This is our agent, Zanna,” Rocco explained, his tone sadder than before. “The guy behind her, Brad, is our sketch artist. He will work with you to refine your descriptions into an image we can use to continue our search.”
Satisfied with his work, Rocco left the room. The time on his watch showed 1:13 a.m. He sent a quick text to Ann, his fiancée, and while walking to the aisle of death, he bumped into Gail’s belly.
“I am famished. How about a cup of coffee since we can’t have a bottle of Kapuka yet?” Gail asked.
“Why not?” Rocco followed Gail to the coffee machine. “Do you think the boy did it?”
“Nooo, I don’t think so. He seems a little bit odd, but my gut says he didn’t kill Maryssa. Too pussy,” Gail replied after he entered a room with a coffee machine and two double couches, where Nura Cocasse had already waited for them. She praised them both, then asked Rocco to check out the story James Pascus had shared with them.
Gail grabbed a cup and said thoughtfully, “Why do you think some young people feel the urge to change their sex?”
“My best guess is they experience intense dissatisfaction with their own sex assigned at birth. Or sometimes it is physical characteristics,” Nura replied. “I have a job for you, too, Gail. I’d like you to visit Vrije University to talk to Charlotte Block.”
“Shouldn’t we bring her in for questioning?”
“No, I don’t want to spook her. I feel this case is more complicated than we initially thought.”
“Okay, first thing in the morning.”
Nura smiled and said, “I love your sudden enthusiasm. Only two days ago you didn’t believe it was a murder, but look at you now... And you know what? I am surprised that no one has asked why we are interrogating the guy.”
“It’s over midnight. Panetta is already at home, in the arms of his loving wife,” Gail chuckled.
Almost on cue, Panetta entered the coffee room at full speed, dressed in a grey wool coat.
“The boy in the interrogation room - what is he in for?” He asked.
“You just had to jinx it, didn’t you, Nura?” Gail laughed loudly. Then he opened his arms and said in a squeaky voice, “Because that boy attacked our Detective Cocasse outside the station.”
“Attacked? Is this a joke, Gail? Why did he do that?” Panetta asked with his trademark screwed face.
“Ehm, we don’t know yet, sir,” Rocco shrugged.
“It seems that the boy is somewhat related to the death we are investigating,” Nura replied carefully, sipping on the lukewarm coffee.
“Which case?” Panetta asked with his head inclined to the side.
“The death of Maryssa Goldsmyth,” Nura replied, preparing for the scolding.
“Are you nuts, Cocasse?” Panetta whispered. “Did you not hear Eggart’s directive to leave that case alone? We had a deal, didn’t we? What part of ‘quietly’ don’t you get?”
“We did. However, I know you got a postmortem from Hakala and the files about two similar murders on your desk. You can’t ignore it, sir. You know there is more to this death than meets the eye.”
“I want you to go straight into that interrogation room, Detective Cocasse, and release that boy. Send him home and ensure he doesn’t sue us.” Panetta ordered.
“Can we wait until he is done with the sketch artist?” Rocco pleaded.
“What? I see you want Eggert to know that you flagrantly disobeyed his orders. Am I right, Bendetti?” Panetta drooled with anger.
“No, sir. I’ll release him immediately.”
After James Pascus left the station, all four stood in Panetta’s office and stared at each other.
Panetta broke the awkward silence: “You will get a new assignment that should help you take your mind off your obsession, Cocasse. I’d like you to assist Frankie with his murder in the Pipe Museum. Gail and Rocco will help you. You can start tomorrow.”
Nura exchanged glances with her colleagues and opened the door to leave. The phone rang. Panetta picked it up. His face suddenly went pale.
“Stop right there,” he said. “It’s going to be a long night... There has been another murder where a victim is missing their eyebrows.”
A sarcastic, science-flavored rant about mitochondria, health geeks, AI, and ever-changing wellness advice — ending with the only cure that works: move your body.
CHAPTER 7.
There were rumors at the station that Wille, Gail’s son, was gay, and that was why Gail broke off all contact with him. Knowing Gail, a truly old-fashioned man, Rocco could believe the rumors were true, but uncertainty still hung in the air whenever someone mentioned them.
When Gail finally closed the door, Rocco continued, “Forgive my partner; he gets too heated too fast. I believe you didn’t kill Maryssa, but my word can’t do much to convince any other person outside these walls. Help me out, James.”
“I liked her, she is… sorry… she was brilliant. She was… words can’t even describe it. Marsha… we called her Marsha. She was astonishing. She read a lot and was always ready to party, laugh, and listen.”
“I am sure she was,” Rocco said reassuringly. “We haven’t been able to speak to anyone close to her yet. Do you know if she had a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know. She never told me. She barely knew I existed,” James sighed.
“Is that so?” Rocco asked. “Maybe you were overcome by a strong desire to be with her. If you couldn’t have her, nobody else could. Could it be that you felt this way, James?”
“What… wait… No, I loved her platonically.”
“You can’t love a pretty girl like Maryssa platonically. You are the man, after all, James. Aren’t you? I’m just saying if you accidentally killed her because of your passion or a sexual desire to be with Maryssa Goldsmyth, nobody would blame you.”
“No. Please believe me. I didn’t do that, I…”
“Help me understand what connected you and Maryssa. If you were not fucking her, neither were you a part of her damn posh book circle. What is the connection?” Rocco started to lose patience.
“She visited the café Stilla Hav, where I worked as a barista. And I…I followed her around sometimes.”
“You mean you stalked her?” Rocco corrected.
“I would not call it that. It is not like I left her creepy messages or anything else. I was completely respectful of her private space. I liked to look at her. She reminded me of myself.” James sobbed again.
“Okay. Where were you between 10:30 p.m. and 1 a.m. on October 11th?”
“I was…I was…outside her apartment from 10:30 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. before I had to leave. My female friend called me; you can easily verify that. I spent almost the entire night with her.”
“One more female friend? I see… And her name?”
“Charlotte Block.”
“Haha! It’s getting hilarious. What is Charlotte doing here in Amsterdam?”
“Studying at the Vrije University of Amsterdam, psychology program, human behavior and well-being.”
“Nice. I need her contacts in Amsterdam to check your alibi.”
“I have something more to say about the night of the murder.”
“Shoot.”
“I was about to leave around 11:00 p.m. when I saw her mother with a young woman, a famous journalist from De Telegraaf, coming through the gates.”
Rocco’s ears perked up. He asked, “You saw her mother and a journalist? We didn’t see you on CCTV on the night of the murder.”
“Yes, I hid from the cameras. I saw how they’d been installed a month ago, so I knew their location well. What I’m trying to say is that Marsha had a bad connection with her adoptive parents. She told me once that her mother was a creep and she hated her.”
“Noted. You see, you can be very helpful, James.”
“Another thing, there was also another person. I am not 100 percent sure, but I think it was a woman... I could be wrong, though. I didn’t get a good look at her. It was quite dark, and she stood opposite the house, near the door to the bank.”
“Do you think you would recognize this woman if you saw her, or perhaps you can work with a sketch artist to describe her to us?”
“I can try,” James nodded.
Rocco’s body relaxed. He smiled at James Pascus, who seemed to have shrunk in size during the questioning. Rocco’s thoughts were interrupted when the door to the interrogation room opened and Zanna entered with the sketch artist behind her.
“This is our agent, Zanna,” Rocco explained, his tone sadder than before. “The guy behind her, Brad, is our sketch artist. He will work with you to refine your descriptions into an image we can use to continue our search.”
Satisfied with his work, Rocco left the room. The time on his watch showed 1:13 a.m. He sent a quick text to Ann, his fiancée, and while walking to the aisle of death, he bumped into Gail’s belly.
“I am famished. How about a cup of coffee since we can’t have a bottle of Kapuka yet?” Gail asked.
“Why not?” Rocco followed Gail to the coffee machine. “Do you think the boy did it?”
“Nooo, I don’t think so. He seems a little bit odd, but my gut says he didn’t kill Maryssa. Too pussy,” Gail replied after he entered a room with a coffee machine and two double couches, where Nura Cocasse had already waited for them. She praised them both, then asked Rocco to check out the story James Pascus had shared with them.
Gail grabbed a cup and said thoughtfully, “Why do you think some young people feel the urge to change their sex?”
“My best guess is they experience intense dissatisfaction with their own sex assigned at birth. Or sometimes it is physical characteristics,” Nura replied. “I have a job for you, too, Gail. I’d like you to visit Vrije University to talk to Charlotte Block.”
“Shouldn’t we bring her in for questioning?”
“No, I don’t want to spook her. I feel this case is more complicated than we initially thought.”
“Okay, first thing in the morning.”
Nura smiled and said, “I love your sudden enthusiasm. Only two days ago you didn’t believe it was a murder, but look at you now... And you know what? I am surprised that no one has asked why we are interrogating the guy.”
“It’s over midnight. Panetta is already at home, in the arms of his loving wife,” Gail chuckled.
Almost on cue, Panetta entered the coffee room at full speed, dressed in a grey wool coat.
“The boy in the interrogation room - what is he in for?” He asked.
“You just had to jinx it, didn’t you, Nura?” Gail laughed loudly. Then he opened his arms and said in a squeaky voice, “Because that boy attacked our Detective Cocasse outside the station.”
“Attacked? Is this a joke, Gail? Why did he do that?” Panetta asked with his trademark screwed face.
“Ehm, we don’t know yet, sir,” Rocco shrugged.
“It seems that the boy is somewhat related to the death we are investigating,” Nura replied carefully, sipping on the lukewarm coffee.
“Which case?” Panetta asked with his head inclined to the side.
“The death of Maryssa Goldsmyth,” Nura replied, preparing for the scolding.
“Are you nuts, Cocasse?” Panetta whispered. “Did you not hear Eggart’s directive to leave that case alone? We had a deal, didn’t we? What part of ‘quietly’ don’t you get?”
“We did. However, I know you got a postmortem from Hakala and the files about two similar murders on your desk. You can’t ignore it, sir. You know there is more to this death than meets the eye.”
“I want you to go straight into that interrogation room, Detective Cocasse, and release that boy. Send him home and ensure he doesn’t sue us.” Panetta ordered.
“Can we wait until he is done with the sketch artist?” Rocco pleaded.
“What? I see you want Eggert to know that you flagrantly disobeyed his orders. Am I right, Bendetti?” Panetta drooled with anger.
“No, sir. I’ll release him immediately.”
After James Pascus left the station, all four stood in Panetta’s office and stared at each other.
Panetta broke the awkward silence: “You will get a new assignment that should help you take your mind off your obsession, Cocasse. I’d like you to assist Frankie with his murder in the Pipe Museum. Gail and Rocco will help you. You can start tomorrow.”
Nura exchanged glances with her colleagues and opened the door to leave. The phone rang. Panetta picked it up. His face suddenly went pale.
“Stop right there,” he said. “It’s going to be a long night... There has been another murder where a victim is missing their eyebrows.”
to be continued...
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