Green Eyes

supertramp

My good friend, Rob Leonne, approached me during the graduation party.
"Well Chris, here we are! Finally you can observe proffesionaly, and stop that bird-watching crap." he said.
"Bird watching is an art."
"An art is something people have a special talent to do, Chris. Anyone can sit at the shore, in the freezing cold, watching birds. Unless you hand make your own binoculars before you go out the door. That would be an art."
I had trained alongside Rob at college.
"The first project I'm going to do, is to find out how much money you're paying that girl to date you!"
Rob was a superb marksman. He spent seven years in the anti-narcotics squad in Atlantic City before moving down here to Savannah to train as a homicide and missing persons detective. His transfer, he told me, was out of a desire to help victims families find their loved ones. To give them closure, whether they were dead or alive. He was tired of having families of drug dealers abuse and threaten him. He said he preferred the more sensitive side to the relationships between the FBI and the civilians.
On the other hand, I came from a non-federal background. I spent four years as a house evaluator and surveyor for a firm in Miami. I left after numerous arguments with my bosses. Aparently, I was too observant, finding too many faults in houses. I was accused of instigating panic in the clients, resulting in collapsed deals. But I was not going to plaster over any truths. Instead of being hand-slapped for my rigidness, I wanted something that would encourage it. For me, a homocide detective in the FBI was a perfect opportunity.


After years of romanticising about efforts to catch the most wanted serial killer in the history of the United States, I was swiftly brought back down to Earth, with months upon months of paperwork and sitting at a desk. One of the primary roles I played was to organise and file indirect information that was deemed irrelevant to investigations, but the police didn't want to destroy. So just in case, it was stored away for years.
......Mrs Kentel noticed that her neighbour was spending a lot of time in his garden shed, especially at night.....
......Gregory Peckham noticed a suspicious looking man walking on the strand.....
"For crying out loud!" I thought
It appeared that I could expect my name to be on the list walking to the stores, it was such innocent information from the most paranoid members of the pubic. But even after training, the early years are non-stop learning times for a rookie like me. In fact, you never do stop learning new tricks of the trade. It was one of the essential rules, that a detective never throw out an opinion or statement, without at first trying to prove that situation. You take all into account, see if the piece fits, or shows any sign of fitting, then you move on.
My first practical work came in December '05. A homeless man was found in a pond at a local park. Nobody here cares much for the homeless nor the drunks, so it was a job given to newbies. But despite that, I was so euphoric for my first project. He was a drunk, had no signs of physical injury, no identification, so if I wanted to decide that it was an accident, I could wrap it up straight away. In fact, when I approached my boss asking to open a homocide investigation, he refused and advised me to call it accidental death by drowning.
But to me, it looked suspicious. The drunkard had entered the pond, one hundred metres up the pond to where he was found floating. At the point of entry, the plants and reeds were disturbed three feet from the edge of the pond. However, the reeds at the edge were undisturbed.If he had fallen, the reeds here would have been disturbed.
Also, there is no water current in the pond, so how the body got was moved was questionable. A full can of beer, a watch and a knife were found 6 feet to the centre of the pond, away from the point of entry and 104 feet away from where the corpse was floating. These items must have been thrown, not dropped.
It was obvious it was no accident. Suicide could not be ruled out. I looked up the police records for the day, and found that there had been a reported mugging in the bus station, where a watch was stolen, matching the one found in the pond. But as it was not the victim who reported it, but a passer by, it was not acted upon.
I organised a beer with my college pal, Isabelle Cantwell, who was a bachelor of Phsychology. I told her some details of the case. I asked about the suicide theory.
"That's strange." she remarked "I doubt it was an act of remorse, if he did mug the guy at the station. Since he was a long known thief, I don't think so. Especially when he caused no harm to the victim. A petty thief would be on a high after a swoop, he has a bit of money."
"Would he have thrown the watch away?"
"Possibly, if it were broken, but probably not. Why would you throw away something of use like that?"
"You're the phsychiatrist, Isabelle. I was hoping you would have an idea."
"I practise on sports phsychology. The state of a person who kills himself can't be understood because he can't be asked. And it's no good asking those of failed suicide attempts, because they have different mind sets. You can't compare suicidal with attention seeking. What are you thinking?"
" I think it's homocide, I really do....but who or why would......"
But before I could prove anything, the case was forced shut. A homeless man was too little to be wasting FBI funds or personnel on. Plus he had no family who were waiting to bury their son. Sometimes this job could be quite frustrating. I offered to spend my free time on the case, but was warned against it.

Over the next few months I worked on many usual cases, most involving missing persons, all pretty routine. Bullet to the head are quite self-explanitory crimes. But, of course, with every case I learned more. More techniques, more discipline, more cold ruthless emotion hiding. I realised how much I liked this job. I never looked in frustration at my watch, or felt stressed to go to work. It felt like my free time, my hobby. I often thought about cases long after they were shut. I was enjoying my life, and even indulged, and even indulged in some extra-curicular activities in the small amount of time I spent not being a detective.
I felt a strong sense of duty at the worst of times. I was achieving, and I refused to get emotionally tried. But soon, very soon the office phone would ring. The phone would ring in the same tone, the same frequency as it always did, but at the other end there would be a different voice, a different story.

"Chris!......Chris!....Can you come in here please!" my boss shouted into the canteen.
"Close the door!"
I took a seat.
"Can you go over to this residence, their daughter, an Elana Thesaux has been reported missing."
"Sure." I replied "How long?"
"Two days."
It was a peaceful boulevard, with tress lining both sides, scattering the sun's rays into shrapnel darting everywhere. Pets were running the pavement, fathers washing cars, sons watering the grass, daughters were sunbathing over a book. One house looked as if it's occupiers were out. They were very much inside. The whole family, minus one, were present.
The atmosphere was not be-fitting to the season outside. Solemn, poker-like faces stared at the photo's standing proudly on the mantle-piece and walls.
"Will you have a cup of coffee, officer?" Mr Thesaux stood.
"Yes please. Please call me Chris." he nodded and went to the kitchen.
The living room was decorated with an old feeling to it, certainly didn't resemble the modern image of the exterior. It's grand fireplace, dominated the room, black marble. It was a pity to see it cracked slightly at the side. Ornate coal pokers and ash shovels stood on guard at the flanks. On top, I saw the photo's of Elana's confirmation, graduation, and times at the seashore, like as if the fireplace was soley a temple dedicated to the support of the mahogany framed photo's. The walls were papered a rich red-orange colour .The brown carpet was well groomed, probably because of the shoe ban, which I suddenly realised I had been violating, and rushed to remove them.
"Don't worry about that Chris, have a seat." Mrs Thesaux said.
"House laws are just as important as government laws, Mrs Thesaux." I placed my shoes under the feet of the large, round but very low coffee table, which Mr. Thesaux had placed a tray of coffees, biscuits and brown soda breads.
Listen, I am not going to say I understand how you are feeling right now, because I don't. But what I will say is that I understand perfectly how much you want to find Elana, and I understand fully, what needs to be done, and the importance that we look at every possible route. So I will ask you to tell me everything, no matter how personal it is."
The Thesaux family were extremely strong and determined. They showed me her photo's, let me look through her diary, told me how they viewed herpersonality over the last few years. She had been working as a schoolteacher in the local junior infant school for the last two years. She was 34 years old, long curly brown hair, extremely pretty, green eyes, slim build and about 5ft 9". She had appeared to be very happy with life. Certainly in the photo's I was shown, she was a jolly, caring looking person. She was great with all of the family, especially to her younger sister, Keira, who was the image of her missing sister.
"Was she a person who would tell you everything?" I asked.
"No. She didn't like to burden others with her troubles." Mr Thesaux replied.
"Did any of you detect any stress in the way she talked, or behaved?"
"She was playing with her food more, there might have been something on her mind." Keira acknowledged.
"Okay. Has she ever been away from home for a while without telling you where she was going?"
"She does that quite often, she has a free spirit, but she would always ring when she got to wherever."
"Where did she go on these trips?"
"We don't know, she never would say."
"Is there a boyfriend?"
"She never mentioned one, but we think she did. She would doll up the most recent of her trips, whereas she used never do that."
"Did she ever tell any of you what her favourite place was?"
"She liked the zoo, she likes animals, and also she loves the beach. She spends all the summer there. Frank goes down every day to se if she is there, but she never is."

There was nothing out of the ordinary in her journal, so we took the computer to analyse it. We published her photo's, all the usual things but found no responses. Driving home that night, I took my job with me. My thoughts were kept on the lack of obvious reasons why Elana would run away from home. I could not come up with a viable story. She was too happy, too content with her job and her family. Many people run from their parents, but rarely from a sibling that they get on so well with.
The night was horrendous. The wind shield wipers could barely keep off the deluge of water flowing down. The lights of the buoys that were being tossed in the waves could be seen, blurred in the rain and night. It was disturbing to think of a bright, intelligent young girl out in such conditions. My thoughts were repeating, is she alive? Is she safe? On this night, I felt for the Thesaux family. I had no lead to work from.
I had little sleep myself that night. I got up at three and ate a bowl of cerial. On the inside of my cereal cabinet door, I had placed a picture of Elana. Her story captivated me, she seemed to captivate me. All the missing people i deal with never struck me as this girl did. Everyone else had reasons to disappear, but not Elana. Perhaps it was time to let go of the ropes, and let the looming thought of homicide drift forward. I started to get gut feelings and it bothered me.
The next day, with still no word, I dropped by the school where she worked.
"Elana was a model teacher, a very quick learner, and was always early, every day."
"Did she ever seem distant?"
"No, not at all."
"Do you know of a boyfriend?"
"She had a guy visit her now and then. He would wait outside in a car for her, she would leave with him."
"Really? Can you describe him?"
"Yes, I cn tell you where he works, he's Mike Fossett. He works down in the Eagle's Tavern, by the port."
Mike Fossett was 46 years old, scruffy looking, unshaven, but a very friendly and intelligent person. He didn't portray any signs of being untrustworthy, or sly in any way. He admitted that he and Elana had been dating, but were on the verge of breaking up. His love, he thought, was unrequitted. He told me of the happy times they spent at the beach or walking in the forests. But, alas, he knew nothing about Elana's disappearance or reasons behind it. At that point, there were no reasons to be suspectful of him. The only point of tension seemed to be Elana's avoidance of taking him to meet her parents.
Perhaps, I thought, Elana was fearful that her father would lose his head if he knew of the relationship. Maybe she was right, as Frank didn't make any effort to hide his disappointment when i told him of the pairs involvement together. I drove Mike back to the tavern and began looking for another route.
The next day, I brought Rob to the beach for a walk and to confer with him.
"It's a difficult one, Rob. She's the last person you would expect to run away. I think it was kidnap."
"It's got management and the cops scratching their heads alright."
"There's nothing to work off of, Mike seems reliable."
"Most murderers do. Well, I have to say, i'm not jealous of you!" he laughs "You've got yourself one difficult project."
"I don't think she is with us anymore Rob." I stopped "Look at this place, it's stunning! She loved it, she wouldn't leave it"
"You don't think it was Mike who muredered her?"
"I'm not ruling out anyone!" I stared out into the little tranquil inlet "And Rob, if they pull the plug on this one, I'm walking, I swear I'll walk. I'm not letting this one go."
"They're not going to do that, that's for sure. The homeless guy, Chris, was a figure that is easily forgotten, that could not strike an emotional chord with anyone. Here you have the pretty, young, talented girl that the country is crying for, who has captured the people's hearts. In fact, you'll be a hero if you solve this one."
"Where do I go from here?"
"I think you should get a warrant for Fossett's apartment. Just to be sure. If he's innocent he won't mind."
"That's bull****, Rob!" I laughed.
"Yes it is!" he laughed too.

"Hello, Mr. Fossett. Here is a warrant, we need to have a look around."
"What!?" Mike was puzzled "What for?"
"It's just a procedural search."
"I've nothing for you!" he shouted.
No need to worry then." Sam, the junior detective said.
Fossett's house was neat, neater than himself. He had many photo's arranged throughout the house, most of himself and Elana, entwinded in eachothers arms, some in the house, some at the beach, some in the woods. Not only photo's but home-made video's he made of their ventures together. We also found a parking ticket, from a machine at the zoo parking lot, dated the day before Elana was reported missing.
We decided to take Fossett in for further questioning. When Mr. Thesaux heard of this news, he stormed into the station threatening Fossett. Fossett was pale. He asked for his lawyor and was obliged.
"Good evening, Mike." I sat at the interview desk opposite Mike "Finally, I hear you got to meet Mr. Thesaux?"
"Cut the bull****, and get on with whatever you think you're doing!" obviously frustrated.
"Our search of your home, was fruitful. The reason you are here is that I am wondering, why you did not see it fit, to tell me that the day before Elana was reported missing, you went to the zoo together?"
"No we didn't."
" Can you explain this?" I produced the ticket.
"I went on my own."

"That was foolish, Chris! Never take a suspect in without any hard questions prepared!" Rob echoed the words of the boss "What was he going to do, admit straight up to murder at the sight of a parking ticket?"
"I wanted to see his reaction to the ticket."
"It's just a ticket, Chris! Anyone and everyone has the right to go to the zoo, alone or as a group, for Christ's sake."
"He was there for 6 hours. Who spends 6 hours at the zoo?"
"The point is, you don't know she was with him, there's no proof!"
"Come on, get in the car!"
"Where are we going?"

"What machine number?" Rob asked. The parking lot was packed.
"No. 01723."
After a couple of laps we found it, in the far corner. We called over the security guard.
"Detective Chris McVey, Homocide Investigation FBI, this is my colleague, Rob Leonne."
"What can I do for you guys?"
"We'll need to see CCTV of this box, also, has this box been collected since Tuesday?"
"No, not yet."
"Good, we'll need to test the contents."
"Yes of course, come with me."
We looked at the footage at the time stated on the ticket. But at that time nobody used the machine, except half an hour beforehand and fifteen minutes later.
"The clock is out, what's the difference?"
After the security guard returned with the time difference, we spotted our man. Mike dropped a few coins in the machine. But he was alone. The next week, with our CCTV footage in file, we awaited the lab results from all the coins found in the parking machine. We struck oil, on two quaters we found traces of blood, which we later matched with a DNA sample taken from Elana's personal items.
It was an important step for the investigation, but unfortunately we had to release to the press that we had now opened a murder investigation.
The Thesaux family were devastated, they could not be consoled, especially young Keira. Not only did I sympathise with their loss, I felt an inner emotion swell within me. This was no longer a job, an investigation. I felt that there was a truth that needed to be found, that I needed to find, not alone the Thesaux family or the FBI. It seemed imperitive that a cloud be cleared, for if I were to see my life, or other investigations clearly or level-headed, Elana's body needed to be found.
Early Sunday morning we arrested Mike Fossett. I put the cuffs on. I remember waking that morning, opening the cereal cabinet and look into Elana's eyes. I reminded myself that with every morning, there is a sun set in some part of the world. Elana's was an obsession for me, it was an addictive fight to find this girl and give her a proper send off.
There was no resisitance with Fossett, at anytime. He was mannerly at all times, and was presented neatly.

"For the purpose of the tape, Detective Robert Leonne has just entered the room."
"Mr. Fossett, where is Elana's body?"
"I told you.....I don't know, I did not kill her....I loved her!"
"I don't deny that you loved her, Mike, but that doesn't make us bulletproof, why did you kill her?"
"I don't know what to say! I told you....I didn't...."
"...She didn't love you."
"No.......she didn't."
"You were angry with her because of it."
"No, that's not true."
"We have your e-mail, Mike. I have placed a copy of an e-mail sent by Mr. Fossett to Elana Thesaux onto the table. She was unsettled after she found out that you turned up at the zoo at five in the morning, when you were not to meet until nine thirty. She was freaked out by that, and you were visibly angry, I quote ......it shows how much I love you, I waited in the cold for you, and you don't appreciate it, you're just a bitch.....unquote."
"I loved her!"
"You were obsessed by her!"
"It was love, I did not harm her!"
"We found her blood on the coins, which were found in the same ticket booth you used on the day she was murdered."
"You have no proof she was murdered." Fossett's lawyor stated.
"Alright! I hit her! But that was all. I only hit her, I didn't kill her. She ran off, I didn't see her again after that."
"I want you to watch this DVD, MIke. We found this in your apartment."

The dvd flickered and came to life. There were Mike and Elana, filming eachmber other at the beach. The usual joyful antics of a couple, seemingly in love.
"I'm sorry, it's the wrong clip." I said closely surveying Fossett's eyes "This must be the correct one."

On went the dvd. It looked like morning, the sun was rising in the east, the beach was quiet, as the camera panned across the rocky shoreline. It was a windy day but the sky was clear. The camera shook in the inexperienced film-makers hands, and then it stopped to zoom in on a group of rocks jutting out into the inlet. It zoomed in again on an area of coast, the waves were battering the rocks as they swayed back and forth, sending sea froth into the air like lava spitting out of a volcano.
Fossett's face tensioned.
"Mike, your sentimentality gives everything away. When the tide was out you burried Elana's body on the mudflats, hoping that the sea would take her away."
"No way! No way!" Fossett shouted.
"But Mike, that shore is in the natural stage of deposition. Sand is being brought into that area, not taken away. Elana's body is merely being burried deeper. Our crews are out digging that area as we speak. It's just a matter of time.....You loved Elana, I know you did. She could of loved you. What an act of love it would be, to make an act of love to a person, knowing that they don't love you. What a man of honour that would make you. She should have loved you Mike, she is a fool, but don't let it stop you from loving. Give her a last act of love, to give her family a bit of piece. A final declaration, and tell us now, before we find the body ourselves."

Mike Fossett cried, the phone rand. We had found something.
The air was clear, walking a long walk out the mudflat. The Thesaux's along with a arge crowd had arrived and were eagerly awaiting the bad news. There in front of me was a large pit. Officers were standing around. In the pit was a bundle of Elana's clothes, folded neatly but ruined by silt, wrapped around a picture of Mike and Elana sitting on a log in a forest. A number of incomprehendable letters were there, but no body.
"He didn't do it." I turned to Rob He's innocent."
"I think so." Rob agreed.
"He just loved her, that's all."
"He sure did."
The Thesaux family's anguish would continue. So, Mike Fossett was pardoned and cleared. Sometimes, too much love can get someone in trouble.
But, Elana was not to be forgotten about. I had her photo at home, almost in awe of her. How could she have left? If she was out there, alive, why had people not seen this girl, whose beauty made her stand out? She was always on my mind, I saw her face in everyone I passed on the street. She served me in every coffee shop I walked into. She cut my hair and she scanned my groceries.
That night, Rob decided that it would be good for me to go out for a few beers. The club was thronging, neon lights sweeping across fields of revellers, jumping and cheering. A few pints of Miller relaxed me. I even got in a dance to Foo Fighters 'Best Of You'.
An then, I spotted her, walking among the crowd. She was wearing a red dress, with thin shoulder straps. Her brown hair was in waves down past her defined shoulders. Her green eyes caught mine across the dancefloor, and her smile lit the hall. She moved gracefully, but deeper into the crowd and then she was gone, as quick as she was there. I tried to chase after her outside, but there was no sign.
"Is someone getting the best of you?" I thought to myself. I couldn't relax and do nothing, I had to go.
"Chris! Chris! Where are you going?"
"To the woods. There might be some clues there!"
"Would you stop!" Rob chased after "Look at yourself! Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"I'm trying to find her Rob! Do you want to help or not?"
"You're obsessed! Chris, that's what's wrong." Rob was shouting. "She's just one other missing person! In a world of thousands of missing people! Just a statistic, Chris, that's what she is!"
"She's different. She's not the same."
"Chris you can't drive, you're drunk."
"I'm not going to force you to help."
"You're on your own, I've had it!"

My good friend, Rob Leonne, all the best to him, I thought as I drove along the rim of the forest. It was a well known trail, that Elana and Mike had been photographed. The woods were eerie in the dark, branches cracked as they were blown from side to side by the howling wind. My torch lit the pathway, and created shadows at the sides, which were staring and mocking as I walked by. There was no other sound in the forest apart from the wind and the straining of branches, and the gravel grinding under my boots.
"Are those voices I hear?" I thought to myself as I entered a clearing. Was there someone here. There were definatley people up here somewhere.
Two shots rang from the woods that night.

The telephone rang in Rob Leonnes's;
"Rob you've got to get yourself up here, right away. At the woods in Coolbarle......"
When Rob got to the woods, a crime scene had been set up. At the edge of a clearing, two charred bodies were found.
"Can we identify them?" Rob asked.
"I doubt it, the teeth have been removed, they're completly cooked!
"Where is Chris?"
"You had better look at this."
The senior detective took Rob to the tree line, one hundred yards away. Scrawled into the bark of a tree was;

Please send help, I'm an FBI agent. We've been taken hostage, C.mcV & E.T.

The community was shatterred, it shocked the whole nation. The brutal slaying of a young teacher and the detective who tried to find her, was publicised in every national paper and news network.
It was Rob Leonne who paid tribute to Detective Chris McVey at a press conference and indeed at his funeral. And during Elana's funeral, Mr. Thesaux praised the heroic dedication and efforts made by the whole homicide investigation department. Detective Chris McVey was post-humously awarded the purple cross for dedication. Hundreds turned up for the two funerals.

A plane landed in Rimni, Italy. The weather was scorching. A man walked through arrivals, bought a bottle of whiskey. When he was outside he was embraced by a young woman, wearing a seductive red dress, her brown, waving hair ran down past her well defined shoulders, and her green eyes caught his.
"So detective, now you've finally found me, what do you plan to do?"
"I'm going to get the best of you, Elana."
"We've a lot of catching up to do."
"Not again!"
"Yes!"
"So, what's this villa like?"
"Oh wait 'til you see the view of the mountains!"
"Great."
"So, it's all sorted? Nobody is going to be looking for us?"
"No...we're dead and burried."


The End