Chapter 5 Of A Whisper In The Static

 Trisha Moore’s apartment was medium sized, clean, and cozy. Trisha herself was a lanky redhead. “So you’ve come to talk about Melanie,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Yes we are, Ms. Moore,” Keith explained.  “From all the info we have, you might be the last person to have seen her alive, so if you can,  tell us what you remember  about that night.”  Trisha sat on the edge of the couch, her fingers tracing a seam in the fabric as if trying to find a way back to that night 40 years ago that she hates to have to relive. “Mel was my best friend. The summer of 76 was supposed to be the best one of our lives.  We were planning our senior year, and we both got hired at the steakhouse at the same time. The day she was killed was a Friday, and our shift was from 5PM-11 PM . That night, some company rented out our VIP lounge  for some party, and it was a really busy night. Mel and I were assigned to them. About 7 that evening, she told me that her head and stomach were killing her, and she was probably gonna take the rest of the night off. I gave her my keys,  told her to go lay down in my car, and when breaktime came at 8, I’d run her home. We lived near each other, so I drove us since she didn’t have a  car yet.   I saw her leave the serving area,  go to the back, talk to our manager. punch out, and wave at me,not knowing that the next time that I’d see her would be at her funeral,” She sobbed while looking down at the floor.  “To get to the employee parking, you had to go through the breakroom and out a back door. One of the VIP’s  stopped to ask me a question, so I actually didn’t see Mel leave. When breaktime came, I went to my car. My keys were there,her purse was there,  but she wasn’t. Since we didn’t live that far away, I thought maybe that she decided to walk home, maybe to get some fresh air and clear  her head.  I know that sounds dumb, but that was kid thinking, I guess. We were off the next day, and we  were going to go shopping for school clothes, and I was supposed to call her. About midnight, after I got home, her Dad called and asked me if she was there at my house. I said no, and that’s when I started to get worried, and I didn’t sleep a wink, I was so scared. Next morning at 6:00 AM-a time that I will never forget as long as I live, I was woken up by a knock at the door—Mel’s dad was there. He didn’t have to say much, but I knew that something bad had happened-her body had been found. For the next month, I cried just about non-stop.”

    “That night, did Melanie seem distracted by anything, did anyone seem to be watching her? Did she ever tell you if anything troubling was going on at home? How about her boyfriend? Was everything OK between them?” I asked. “No, she seemed like her usual self,”Trisha replied. “As for anyone watching, I don’t think so. Her homelife was pretty good, Her parents and brother were top flight people. Mel and Tim were crazy about each other.  She  was pissed when she couldn’t get time off to go to Florida with him to his grandmother’s funeral, but he understood. They were gonna get together when he got back.”             

              “Thank you for talking to us,” Keith said as we handed Trisha our business cards. “If anything about that night or any other time comes to your mind, feel free to call either of us.”  “I will,” she promised. “Even after all these years, I still miss Mel something fierce. I went to both her parents’ funerals, and I know her dying was what lead to their deaths. I used to talk to Mark every once in a while, but I haven’t for a few years. I hope to Hell that you find the bastard who killed her. In my opinion, if he’s still alive, he should be charged with triple murder.”

      “We’ll do our best, Ms. Moore,” I assured her as Keith and I climbed into the car.

“Well, I think we’ve learned quite a lot today,” I told Keith while scanning the files as I sat in the passenger seat. “Trisha’s timeline of Melanie leaving when she said she did matches the timeclock records from the steakhouse, which says she punched out at 7:19 PM. The manager told Calloway that Melanie did tell him that she was leaving early because she didn’t feel good, and he gave her the OK, and he said he definitely saw her head to the breakroom, but after that, nothing. He later moved out of country, so we don’t know where he is or if he’s still alive. And, then there’s the keys and her purse. That shows that she made it to the car. I don’t see where any prints were taken from the car. I’d love to be able to go to the crime scene. Melanie’s body was found in the woods behind the steakhouse at 1 AM that Saturday morning. But we can’t  go back, because the steakhouse closed in ‘86, and the woods around it were later developed. I think the building itself might still be there. If it is, maybe we could go there, compare pics from then and now, and maybe see what route she took going outside. Calloway's notes say their whereabouts checked out, but forty-year-old alibis have a way of thinning out. But what gets me is the keys and purse. That tells us that she did make it to the car.”   

      “I’m thinking that the perp grabbed her from the car, and dragged her to the woods, where he raped and killed her. He had roughly 45 minutes from when she clocked out to when Trisha found the car empty, Maybe he was watching her,” Keith added. “It’s after 6, let’s call it a day, and  tomorrow we’ll  check out the former steakhouse and see if it’s been remodeled. If it hasn’t changed much, we’ll check out that back exit, get a feel of how Melanie would have got from the  timeclock to outside.” “OK, sounds like a plan. I’m wiped anyway, I wanna get home, grab something to eat, and relax,” I said. “Mind if I take the files with me? I wanna go over them at a bit slower pace, make sure that we didn’t  miss anything.” “Yeah, sure. Thanks for helping me, it’s good to have two pairs of fresh eyes on the case.”

After getting back to the station and retrieving my car, I went home. My dinner for that night consisted of leftover pizza and a Coke.  I cleaned up, and sat down at my desk to look over the case files.”Melanie, who did  this to you?” I asked, hoping that the quiet of the evening would help me focus closed my eyes, and suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck began to stand up. I opened my eyes, and my room was there, but blurry. The air was cold, and I felt something. A presence?  I rubbed my eyes, and when I opened them again, a light began to shimmer in front of me. It expanded and  gave form, until a figure began to emerge. Speechless, I continued to watch. When the figure had fully formed,  there, wearing the yellow dress that she was wearing in that photo on her brother’s wall, was Melanie Taylor. “Help me, please,” the figure mouthed to me, then disappeared. “What the Hell did I just see?” I thought to myself as I jumped up from the couch. Was that a dream, or something else?  That night, I got maybe 3 hours of sleep, the whole experience had me shaken up.

                                                                                        

Chapter 4 Of A Whisper In The Static

  The Taylor home was a 1950’s vintage house, with a well-maintained lawn, a large flower bed, and a fenced area where 2  dogs were playing.  Keith knocked on the door, and a tall man with a salt-and pepper beard greeted us.  “Mark Taylor? I’m Detective Jennings and this is Detective Perry. We’re from the NYPD Cold Case Unit, and we are looking into your sister’s case. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” I inquired.  “Sure, come on in,”  Taylor said while pointing to the kitchen table. “It’s been a long time since anyone from the police has come around to talk about Melanie. Ask anything you need to.”  We sat at the table, Keith arranged his  files,  and  Mark went into the living room to tell a teenage boy playing video games to go to his room; he needed to talk to these gentlemen. The boy looked too young to be Mark’s son, but there was a resemblance. “ That was my stepson Kyle. My wife is out doing errands, she should be back in a bit. All right, what would you like to know?” Mark asked while pouring coffee for the three of us. “To start, tell us a little about Melanie and what was going around here at the time of her death, “ I said while getting my pen and paper ready to take notes. “My sister was a wonderful kid. I’m not saying she was a saint, and she wasn’t a golden child; she did get into her fair share of  trouble, but nothing major. . Mel was the type of person who would help without being asked to, didn’t have trouble making friends, lit up the room with her smile, and it was hard not to love her.” “What kind of trouble?” Keith inquired. “Just the sort of trouble a normal teenage girl would get into: staying out late a few times, getting caught smoking, having an occasional attitude. But she was no juvenile delinquent. She loved school, and when she got hired at that steakhouse, she was over the moon,” Mark beamed. Then he pointed to a photo on his wall. “This was taken a few weeks before she died. That’s  Mel, me, and our parents having a dinner celebration  the day before I left for California to start my first year at USC.”  I looked at the photo closely. It showed Melanie smiling with her arm around Mark, her blonde hair framing her face. Around her neck was a gold cross necklace, which I remembered from the crime scene photos. It was found under her body, the chain broken. Maybe the killer tugged at it  when he grabbed her throat and  ripped it off? I made  a mental note  to ask Barrett to check and see if  any prints or DNA had been taken from it as well. “Anything else you can tell us? Did Melanie say if  anyone was giving her trouble?” Keith asked. “Not to me,” Mark replied. “You might want to talk to her friend Trisha. She worked with Mel at the steakhouse, was a classmate of hers, and probably her closest friend. She still lives around here, so if Mel had anything on her mind, Trisha might have been the one she went to.”  

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway brought our conversation to a pause. Looking out the window we saw a tall, dark haired woman exit a medium blue Audi. “That would be my wife Cheryl,”  Mark smiled. “Let me see if she needs help bringing stuff in,  then we’ll finish our talk.”  A few minutes later, Mark and Cheryl entered the house, each carrying a couple of bags.  “Honey, these are detectives looking into my sister’s case,” he explained while depositing the bags on the kitchen counter.  “Nice to meet you,” she smiled. “Mark has been looking for answers to who killed Melanie, and hopefully the two of you can make some progress into it.  I know there’s no such thing as a perfect crime, but wow ... it’s crazy that there have been no leads over the past 40 years,”   Cheryl remarked as she opened the refrigerator and deposited several packages of food. “Well, Mrs. Taylor, science has changed over the years, and you won’t believe what we can do now. Even the smallest trace of DNA can be detected and evaluated,”  Keith explained. “If there’s anything there that can be analyzed, like touch DNA,  our forensics expert will be able to see if he can match it to any of our databases.”   “It’s a downright sin,” Cheryl mused, sliding a carton of eggs onto the shelf. “The way this family has suffered.”   

  “The not knowing is what hurts the most,” I agreed. The kitchen felt suddenly cramped with the weight of the past.

  “Well, we have to get going, our next stop is to  talk to Trisha Moore, who could possibly be the last person that we know of to see Melanie alive,” Keith said. “Let me walk you out to your car,” Mark offered.  We went to the car, gravel crunching under our feet.  After handshakes, Mark gave us a parting plea. “Please, do whatever you can to find whoever killed my sister. They say that the loss of a child can end a marriage, but for my parents, it didn’t. They had been together since middle school, and I don’t think they could imagine a world where they weren’t , they were so much in love. They were never the same after Mel died.  Mom sank into a deep dark depression, and in the end, it finally did a number on her heart. Dad never was much of a drinker, but after the murder, he hit the bottle any time he could, and it caught up to him as well. For me, I was the dutiful son trying to keep things together. There are so many memories in this house. I’ve considered selling it many times, but I always get the feeling that doing that would be a betrayal to Mom, Dad, and Mel.  Maybe if you  come up with a resolution,  we’ll all be able to find peace and move forward.” “We’ll do our best,” I nodded. “We’ll call you immediately if we come up with anything.”  “Thank you so much,” Mark waved as he went back into the house.