Sequestered with the Murderers

the building. As soon as we turned the corner, I spotted the yellow tape the troopers had put around the front of the building. The maintenance’s room entrance, which was in between the two restrooms, and the restroom entrances were under alcoves. I began covertly snapping pictures as we neared the yellow tape. I had no idea whether or not the photos would be any good due to the dismal weather. Neither the troopers nor the ladies seem to notice that I was snapping pictures.
Trooper Dryden saw us approaching the tape. He was standing next to the tape outside the enclosed area. I was surprised to see Jackson, Carter, and five troopers standing inside the taped off area. Two troopers were standing by the entrance to the maintenance room. All this told me that the forensic people had not arrived. If they had, they would have cleaned out the area of everyone pronto. I learned early in my investigative career that crime tape is used to preserve the scene. It is forensically vital that only the people who are gathering evidence be permitted in a crime scene so as not to contaminate the scene.
“We need to use the ladies’ restroom,” I said to Trooper Dryden.
He looked confused. He looked back at the scene, clearly debating whether or not to lift the tape to let us through. Another trooper walked over to Trooper Dryden.
“What’s going on here?”
“Sergeant, these ladies are from the bus. They need to use the ladies’ room.”
“Isn’t there a restroom on the bus?” the Sergeant asked.
“There is, but we need a little more space and privacy to conduct our business,” I explained.
The Sergeant grinned, then said, “Ladies, I do understand. We don’t plan on keeping you sequestered much longer. Malcolm, let them through on the side. Stay close to the side of the wall, so you don’t contaminate the scene. Escort them back to the bus when they are finished. Ladies, we’ll be on the bus shortly to talk to you.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” the ladies and I echoed.
“Contaminate the scene! It is already contaminated with troopers and spectators,” I whispered to myself as we lined up by the wall to enter the restroom. As soon as Dimma and the three ladies were in the restroom stalls, I stood by the door and cracked it slightly. Trooper Dryden’s back was to the door. While walking to the front of the building, I noticed that there weren’t any vehicles in the parking lot except for state trooper patrol cars parked every which way. Now I know why. Peeking out the door, I saw flashing lights at the entrance to the rest area. I couldn’t see the trooper patrol car, but I was sure it was there to prevent motorists from coming onto the rest area. I hadn’t noticed the flashing lights while standing on the other side of the tape. The mist and fog made it hard to see much of anything at a distance.
I heard someone say, “He probably was pushed in there on his way to the men’s room, then shot.” The response was, “You’re probably right.”
I heard toilets flushing and decided to move away from the door. I quickly used the bathroom and quickly washed my hands.
As Trooper Dryden walked us back to the bus, I looked back at the crime scene. What came to mind was the one incredulous time I literally saw people trying to cross the tape line. There had been a murder inside an apartment building next to the one I was visiting. I was on a case, and the tape wasn’t there at the other building when I entered my client’s building, but it was there when I walked out. People full of justification strolled up to the tape, lifted it, and began walking over to the officer demanding entry because they lived there. That justification quickly evaporated from their faces when the officer informed them that since they had entered a homicide scene, they may have to testify in the trial as to why they invaded a clearly marked crime scene.
While walking back to the bus, the ambulance with its shrilling siren drove through the entrance and stopped at the front of the building. I began to wonder whether or not the rest area had security cameras. If there were cameras, could they see anything in this terrible misty, foggy weather?
Back on the bus, I sat up front with Lemmonee. She was distraught with grief. She had worked for Brightness for nine years and had known Duffy the entire six years he worked for Brightness. Lemmonee reminded me of Rebbie, though she was shorter at five feet five inches tall, an inch shorter than me. Their facial features and hair were so similar that I had to ask if they were related. They were not. Lemmonee was usually bubbly and had the perfect personality for a tour guide—personable, friendly, and outgoing.
“Duffy and I do at least two tours together every year. The company likes to switch up the tour guides so that we get to work with every bus driver. Duffy was my favorite. He was so funny and comical, as you saw. He kept all of you laughing throughout the tour. Vett, who would do something like this?”
“Lemmonee, I don’t know, but the state troopers will find out. Why don’t you put on your coat?” I had noticed her shivering.
“No, I’m fine. I wish they would let us get on our way home.”
Lemmonee’s remarks had brought back several unforgettable memories of the William Shatner lookalike Duffy (Shatner was the actor who played attorney Denny Crane on the Boston Legal TV series). Duffy was a bit taller than me. I guessed him to be five feet seven or eight inches tall, and he probably weighed about 180 pounds. Just a few hours ago, he was telling jokes in his Southern charm manner. He had a joke about almost everything the passengers talked about. He certainly had acquired a lot of funny