Fruge as in frugal, and I have a feeling the unusual name is one from my past. I wonder out loud if the officer he’s talking about is related to the controversial toxicologist I once worked with in Richmond.
“Yep, that’s the one,” he says. “Blaise Fruge is her daughter, and she was at the scene briefly Friday night, was the first responder.”
He says that the Alexandria police officer was on routine patrol when the body was discovered. She heard the radio call, and likely was gone by the time I showed up. But I wouldn’t have a clue who was there, the park crawling with police while I dealt with the body.
“A wannabe plus full of herself, and they’re the worst kind,” August adds as my fitness tracker bracelet vibrates, messages and e-mails landing. “You’ve got to watch her, and she thinks she’s the next Sherlock, but trust me, she’s not.”
“Let me make sure I understand,” I reply. “Officer Fruge responded to the body found on Daingerfield Island. And now she’s responded to a missing person report that may be connected. It would seem she gets around.”
“I don’t think she’s got a life, you want my opinion.”
“What happened when she arrived at Colonial Landing?”
“She had to get the manager to let her into Gwen Hainey’s townhome, and it’s clear that something violent went on.” August’s voice sounds over speakerphone as I glance at the text Benton just sent.
He’s heard from Maggie, and is on his way home, running late, and that’s strange. I didn’t know he was going anywhere today, thought he was working remotely. Texting him a quick reply, I ask if everything’s okay, while August continues to explain what Officer Fruge discovered inside the townhome.
CHAPTER 2
HER BACKPACK IS ON the kitchen table, wallet and keys inside, doesn’t seem to be anything rifled through. But like I mentioned, no sign of her phone,” August says as I get up from my desk. “We’ll request records from the carrier to see when she last made or answered any calls, and with whom.”
“What about her car?” I walk into my office bathroom where I keep changes of clothing.
“From what I understand, she worked from home several days a week.” His voice follows me as I move around. “The rest of the time she catches rides with colleagues or takes lift services. There’s no vehicle registered to her.”
“That seems a bit unusual,” I reply as Benton texts me: Driving back from an unexpected meeting.
“What else do we know about Gwen?” I’m taking off my shoes and pants.
“That’s another thing that’s unusual,” August says. “If you Google her, there’s nothing. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”
“Including on social media?” I hang up my suit.
“Nope. Not even Twitter. No news stories, either. Nothing.”
“What about photographs inside her condo, maybe framed ones placed about? A scrapbook? Any pictures that might be her?” Sitting down on the toilet lid, I pull on a pair of warm socks. “Do we know what Gwen looks like?”
I envision the murder victim’s face, her long brown hair and athletic build, and I suspect she was attractive. But it’s hard to tell.
“I asked Fruge the same thing, and no pictures so far. Her lab director describes her as around five-foot-five,” August says as I work my legs into a pair of black cargo pants. “Maybe a hundred-and-twenty-five pounds, brown eyes and shoulder-length brown hair.”
“Sounds about right but that could be a lot of people,” I reply, caught in my usual predicament.
I want the victim identified. But I wouldn’t wish what happened to her on Gwen Hainey or anyone.
“I’ve got an electronic copy of her driver’s license,” August says. “It’s an old picture, her hair really short and blond. D.O.B. is June fifth, nineteen eighty-eight. She’s five-foot-four, which is almost right. But thirty pounds heavier, and I can’t swear it’s the same person. Apparently, the town house she’s in is a short-term rental, and there are very few personal belongings.”
“Does she have a tattoo?” I’m putting on my boots.
“Her lab director wasn’t aware of any visible ones, and I didn’t volunteer what we know about the tattoo the murdered woman has.”
“And do we know why Gwen temporarily relocated to Old Town?” I’m tying my laces in double bows.
“From what I’ve been told, she was starting her new job at Thor. She didn’t want to make any long-term commitments until she was sure it would work out. It would seem it was urgent for her to get into the townhome right away.”