Perfect

Chapter 4

Day Two 9:00a.m to 2:00p.m.

Last night, after threats of replacements, my heater sputtered out its last burst of energy and was working fine through the night. However, this morning, just before I woke up, it died, never to be resurrected again by violence or emotional blackmail. I can totally understand how it must have felt because I know I can be one tough slave-driver.

Callie and Tony promise to help me out with my heating problem. Exploiting Tony for the privileges he get by working in Bayport Mall is one of the things I do well and enjoy executing. Nothing like preferential discounts- I will get plenty of that once I become famous and rich, and have the whole criminal world bowing at my feet! Once the euphoria pass, I spot my "date" waiting for me. I squeezed in between some tables to get to her- this café on the outskirts of Bayport is rather small and out of the way. It takes me an hour's drive to get there but Ursula has been insistent about the meeting place- I deduced that it is because she fears running into someone she knows.

Finding the café though is easy once you know the route. Its bright neon sign is something the brothers and sisters from Bearers of the Light can easily adopt. Ursula is dressed like ninety percent of the young women in Bayport- light made-up face, short skirt, fake mink coat, high wool stockings and, yes, jewelry- but I raise no brows. BOL is pretty silly to think that a few stringent rules and regulations, coupled with threats of hell, are able to persuade people from not wanting to feel good about themselves. In a way, these are the Christians I don't like the most because in their nut-sized brains and hearts, they ignored their faith's teachings on love, mercy, compassion etc. and instead, perverted it into some form of organized, extremely fastidious institution with the threat of the fires of hell hanging over everyone's head. Their invasive rules and regulations numbered more than the collective amount of hair they have. How then are their followers able to live a life of love? How then will the followers know they believe because they believe and not because they fear? How then is the sweet scent of truth able to gently waft through the miasmatic fear?

Fear and love, to me, cannot co-exist.

I return to the task at hand. She seems nervous though, shaking not just from the chill. Sitting down opposite her, I disarm her with a smile as open as I can muster and she seems more at ease, relaxing her tensed up muscles.

"Hi. How are you?"

She fidgets slightly, stirring her coffee, her green eyes fixed on the cup as if it is the only thing that matters to her in the world, "Ahm, fine. What is that you want to see me about?"

"About Jennifer Hutson. I can't help but feel that you have something to say yesterday about her which may shed light in this case, Ursula. I am hoping you can help me out."

Ursula diffidently looks up at me, her eyelashes fluttering anxiously. Shaking her head, she goes back to staring at her coffee again. Maybe there's a mini-television hidden in her coffee cup.

"I don't know what I can help you with. It's just rumors, you know. I heard of them and I just wondered..."

"What kind of rumors?" I press gently. Perhaps out of habit, Ursula's eyes darts around the café before she leans a little forward and whispers almost inaudibly.

"That she wasn't the model of the woman of faith, that sort of things. I don't know if Pastor Hutson knew about the rumors flitting about but if he does, he doesn't show. Anna refused to let us discuss it too. Anna's one of the spiritual leaders in our church and she says that gossip is bad."

"I don't think you're gossiping in this case by telling me. Do the rumors have any sort of specifics to them? Like, why did they say that she wasn't a woman of faith?"

Ursula puffs her cheeks, "I dunno. But I caught one of the younger ones joking about it with someone else who rebuked him..." Right then, she looks straight into my eyes, a picture of extreme seriousness, "You didn't hear this from me, all right? I like Jenn, she was nice to me and if this will help you, I don't really care. I overheard Lenny laughing one day with Ben in the pantry, saying something about maybe Pastor Hutson wasn't giving Jenn 'any'. Then Albert happened to chance in upon them and scolded Lenny for joking about people's sex life before proceeding to give the boys a lecture on the sanctity of sex. That's all I know. Maybe you'll do better talking to Lenny."

"I intend to, thanks, Ursula. By the way..." I point to her baubles, "I thought your church's doctrines forbid you to wear jewelry?"

Her timorous countenance melt then as she giggles from the thrill of breaking some rules, "Oh, that silly thing. I don't wear it in church but since I work outside Bayport, no one really sees me during the day. I like our church's teachings but it can be a little too strict, you know, and sometimes I question but we are told not to question the wisdom God bestowed on our revered pastor. And leaving it can be tough. I am trying to but my life has revolved around the church such that to leave will be to cause a part of me to die."

"But you're not exactly truthful to the teachings..."

She glances at me questioningly, "Must we be truthful to teachings to stay in a faith? What if you think that teachings are wrong but you have faith in God?"

"Then I'll go someplace else where the teachings sound right in my heart. I think we all have an instinctive gauge in our hearts if we have not been brainwashed completely- for faith is about teachings as well. If something runs too contrary to the basis of the faith we think is the truth, then the something cannot be of the faith."

"Oh, the teachings are not wrong- just a little too strict for my liking. I'll get there eventually, to be a pious woman and all. But I'm only twenty-seven, you know. I want to look pretty and feel good about myself." She quickly interjected me. I can understand the bonds snapping her back to defend a teaching that I can tell she is already having trouble reconciling with because God have given a brain to think for herself, rather than blindly following somebody "bestowed" with unquestionable wisdom.

I smile at her kindly, "I think there's nothing wrong with wanting to doll yourself up."

She laughs lightly, "My boyfriend thinks so too."

I order a cup of coffee and a piece of croissant. We make some small talk- Ursula speaks freely about her job as a salesgirl in a small lingerie store, and about her boyfriend who is a Buddhist. The irony is that the difference in the two peace-centered faiths somehow managed to cause tension between the both of them. Ursula stops at that point, blushing furiously. I guess she thinks she has said too much.

In her awkwardness, she fingers her necklace. I gesture towards it and ask casually.

"Does anyone else in church wear jewelry?"

Ursula throws me an odd look, "Funny you should ask. I think I actually saw Jenn with a bracelet once- ahm, she was near the gates and I saw her unclasp a bracelet from her hand before stuffing it into her handbag."

"Was it recent?"

She nods, "Quite. It seemed like an expensive thing too for I remembered the diamonds shining into my eyes even though I was quite some distance away."

"As in it was covered with diamonds or it just had some diamond stones set on it?"

"Covered with diamonds most probably. I really can't tell. But I noticed that it was quite a slim bracelet- those hard kind, not the soft, chain-liked ones. "

I reach out and pat her hand out of habit. "Thanks, you are more helpful than you know."

She snatches it away, blushing furiously, "Sorry about that. In our church, we don't hug or hold the hands of the opposite sex... it's like..."

I nod, "I know. I've done some research."

"But I hold my boyfriend's hands all the time and we make out sometimes, nothing serious, just comforting. By all definitions, I'm probably one of the worst followers."

I reassure her, "I'm pretty sure you're not. I've learned from experiences that those who keep pointing fingers at others usually point three more back at themselves."

Chuckling lowly, she nods vigorously in agreement with me. As we finish up with breakfast, we engage in more comfortable banters in between bites. The more we talk, the more forthcoming she is with her personal life and the more I sympathize with her because even though it is clearly evident that she has deep faith in God, the ways of BOL seems so at odds with her own values and inherent beliefs. Touching on the tenets of BOL appears to cause her to withdraw a little from the conversation and I can't help but think she may find greater joy somewhere else beyond the stifling lifestyle that even Jesus, most likely, didn't have endure.

University of Bayport- my turf- will always be remembered as the place where I truly encountered a semblance of pure, unbridled freedom- freedom with time, freedom with assignments, freedom with thoughts and opinions, and freedom to find oneself amidst all the background noise. Next semester, I will be graduating with my honors in Applied Chemistry and unlike Criminology which I have obtained a first class, I will be lucky to even scrap by with Second-Upper. Studying and working concurrently is no joke- shuttling in between cases to the lab and lectures has been particularly draining. However, in the event that I can't cut it as a professional private investigator, this combination may grant me to postgraduate studies in preparation a career with the CSI. I am practical and I know what my chosen profession needs. Anyway, I have always loved chemistry and haven't blown up any labs or killed any lab partners yet.

Our University is old but it did not start off as one of those full universities. It has evolved over the years thus, it is commonplace to see spanking new glass buildings settling comfortably right next to old, Victorian structures on its grounds. If there is a running theme for the architecture, it is "Chaos." However, in this hodgepodge series of architecture co-existing together in unity, I find beauty and a physical testament to change and progress which doesn't leave the past forgotten.

I have called Lenny and am glad that he's in- some students will have gone back home for the winter break and I am kind of testing my luck, which is good thus far. His hostel is an older one with moss repainting the beige walls green. As a full-time student before, I have thrown caution and reason aside, joining a fraternity instead. Assured by the sense of solidarity but disgusted by its egotism and boastful pride, I left by the start of my second year and rented an apartment with some friends. I don't know what I preferred but I definitely have not had the privilege to experience hostel life.

I climbed the stairs up to his room and pray that he will be receptive towards me- the impression I have of him is that he is a sarcastic, cynical Arts student with the habit of trailing his words off with an annoying dry twang. Upon reaching, I don't have to knock- his door was wide opened.

"Hello, Mr. Detective. I know somehow you'll grovel for my help." Lenny greets me from behind his study desk without looking up from his computer. His choice of vocabulary aside, his tone actually sounded neutral. I step inside cautiously, noting that he has a flat mate who doesn't happen to be around. With the space between the two beds acting as no man's land dividing the room into two roughly equal halves, the showcase is a schizophrenic affair- order on one side and anarchy on the other. I am surprised to find Lenny on the "ordered" side.

"My roommate is very messy. All he cares about are his babies..." He left his desk and walked across the room to drag his roommate's study chair over to his side for me, throwing the clothes draped over it on the floor, "So I have to be extra tidy, just to balance things out."

"You two get along well?"

"Well, quite." Lenny casts a disgusted look at his roommate's area, "But when he gets too messy, I feel like beating him up."

I laugh, in spite of myself. Lenny sounds a little like Joe at that moment. Once Joe and Chet had to share a cabin when we went down to the river as Vanessa opted out at the last minute and Callie didn't want to sleep alone. He complained incessantly that he wanted to punch Chet's head during the night because Chet snores kept waking the both of them up. For a second there, I wonder how Joe is doing but shelve the perpetual concern aside for the task at hand.

"So, what do you want?"

I draw out my PDA and smile at him lopsidedly, "Do you mind?"

He shrugs, leaning back against his chair in an easy manner, "Go ahead, record down everything you want. You should have a tape recorder instead of a PDA... isn't recording easier?"

"Depends on the individual. Let's get down to the point. First of all, thanks for doing this. And secondly, I heard that there were some rumors floating around about Jenn which you may be able to illuminate for me."

"Illuminate? Hah, now you're talking like one of us. If I'm freer, I may try to convert you." Lenny snorts. I can tell he isn't at all serious about evangelizing.

"You don't sound like you're very into the faith at the meeting." I remark. Lenny shakes his head.

"You got it wrong. I'm not into Anna. I'm into my faith. I may challenge a lot of the ridiculous laws being laid out but I believe in a lot of things that it espouses, especially the part about doing your best to not bring yourself or others into temptation. And as for the rumors..." Lenny smirks, "Some of our members are too puritanical for our liking. All I'm saying is that Jenn must have found some new love- doing up her hair, wearing that sacrilegious bracelet etc etc... and Albert gave us a tick-off. The rumors were about Albert ticking me off but somehow, as it spread, the limelight fell on Jenn." Lenny twisted his lips.

"Even the pious cannot resist some tasty gossip to chew on."

"How close were you to Jenn? She gives you tuition?"

"Sometimes she comes over to my room to give me extra lessons- we keep the door open though." Lenny's cynical expression broke and a fleeting look of sadness flashed across his blue-green eyes, "She's a great tutor. I know she probably has a hidden agenda teaching me- giving me private lessons and all but she's... I'm sorry...I've been speaking about her in present tense... I mean she was great."

My interest piques at the mention of hidden agenda. I loved hidden agendas- those are the things cases strive on. "What other motives could she have for tutoring you?"

"Well, she comes in here, teaches me and I introduce her to my roommate. They hit it off and banter about faith about the time. My roommate's very rich. Heard of Adreana Valerio? The owner of the famous Italian restaurant chains, Valerio's, in New York State? He's her son, Angelo. Get him into our church and wham! Funding!"

"Where's he?" I ask, "Gone back home?"

"No, probably with his girlfriend in North Port..." Lenny catches himself, shaking his head, "Sorry, I just assume he had a girlfriend in North Port. He always drives up there, sometimes staying for the weekends or so."

Angelo Valerio- roommate, got along well with Jenn who was most likely sent to convert him because Lenny was probably not up to the task. I take note of all these and it is then, my subconsciously wandering eye catches sight of some textbooks strewn on the floor.

"Is Botanical Science one of your majors?"

Lenny gazes lazily at the pile of books, "Oh, those. Nope. I ain't smart enough to get into one of UB's most prestigious department," he parenthesized 'prestigious'. I have a feeling he has a disdain for everything authority and elitist which makes me wonder why, like Ursula, he is still with BOL. "Those are Angelo's and when I mentioned his babies earlier on- I meant his plants. He studies Botanical Science and Bio-Engineering- I think his majors are heading in the direction of genetically engineered plants or something creepy like that. I don't know... weird stuff to me. I'm a lowly Arts Student who doesn't do anything but waste taxpayers' money and make life interesting by protesting everything and anything."

I suddenly recall something about North Port which is actually a small town just above Bayport, about twenty kilometers northeast of the University. It used to be part of Bayport many years back but the community has since grown larger and a few years ago, it broke away from Bayport.

Also, more importantly, I remember the leaf. I haven't check it out yet because I don't know where to start looking but I'm sure the boys back at the police laboratory will be able to come up with something if I give them some clue. I nod at the books and glance at Lenny briefly, "Mind if I just browse through them?"

"Sure, go ahead. Look at whatever you want. I don't care." Lenny shrugs and sits back in his chair, eying me cavalierly.

I kneel down next to the pile of books- they sure are well-used. Either they are pre-loved or Angelo is a conscientious student. Yellow post-it notes are stuck to the pages of one of the books- a journal about greenhouse tropical plants and, out of curiosity, I flip through it. Sometimes, serendipity seems orchestrated such that one can reach a breakthrough just by random chance. Unable to suppress a slight smile when one of the post-it notes lead me to a section on the cultivation of Beaumontia Grandiflora- Herald's Trumpet, I scan through it, my smile elongating as I read the description of the plant and study the picture.

Powerfully perfumed huge white flowers shape like trumpets surrounded by thick-veined, glossy, dark-green leaves.

The match is almost perfect although I can't be a hundred percent certain as it is only a fragment of the leaf that I've found. And there must be plenty of other plants out there with similar kinds of leaves. But because it is Angelo's textbook, that he has marked the page and that Jenn was getting closer to him, it definitely qualify as a lead.

"You know where's Angelo and if he has a greenhouse around here?"

Lenny curls his lips up, "Nay, you can try Northport."

I arch my brows. Right. Try Northport. Knock on every door of the approximately population of ten thousand and hope Anglo answers one of them. Cracking my neck, I place the journal back carefully and hand my name card to Lenny.

"If he comes back, tell him to give me a call."

"Like he will." Lenny chuckles lowly, "It must be bad luck for him if you want to find him."

"Just tell him I need his help in identifying a plant." I deadpan. Thanking Lenny, I make my way down to the Department of Botanical Science. Lenny's right to say that it is one of the most prestigious courses to get into. I wouldn't claim that the University of Bayport is a top-notch University; in fact, some of its departments are mediocre, if you are feeling particularly lenient in your assessment. However, it is excellent for its Applied, Marine, Botanical and Social Sciences programs, the last included Criminology. The only Arts program worth spending time in is perhaps History, as Bayport has always been a town which, even as it looks forward, is fascinated with its own heritage.

The Department of Botanical Science occupies one of the older buildings to the back of the University. To get to the department, I have to walk past a few greenhouses which protected the plants from the wintry conditions. As I hurriedly make my way there, I called Con Riley, asking him if he could get some experts to compare the fragment I have found to the leaves of the Herald's Trumpet. To an untrained eye like mine, there are only similarities. But a botanist will be able to spot the differences.

In winter, most of the University's departments would be closed but someone would always remain behind in the DBS to look after the plants, 24 hours a day, every day. DBS too have a nickname we non-DBS like to refer to it by- Department of Bull Shit. It isn't meant to sound crass of course but we figure that they may need a lot of manure and manure is effectively bull shit.

I am wondering who I may approach as I walk along the hallway of the first storey of the department when I notice a door which is slightly ajar. Well, it may be sign thus I pace towards it. Echoes of my footsteps reverberate from the end of the hallway and back, sounding hollow and eerie. I realize just how empty the University is. Whoever is in the office must have heard it too for she swings the door fully open and sticks her head out, putting on her glasses which are hanging around her neck.

"Can I help you?"

I smile and hurry over. From the plaque on her door, I am informed that she is Professor P. Marion. The memory wheel in my head turn and I recall that she has won some award for Bayport growing super-size desert roses during my second year. Yes, I know. It is pretty amazing the amount of facts which get stored in my memory bank whether I want them to be deposited or not.

"Hi, Professor Marion. I am Frank Hardy, Priv..."

"Yes, yes..." Professor Marion hastily rushes me, giving me a brief once-over with her wrinkled gray eyes, "I know who you are. The whole University knows who you are. You are the first person in many years to obtain a first class honors for Criminology here and your father is Fenton Hardy, owner of Hardy Investigations, right?"

"Yes, except that I'm now co-owner as well." I try to sound casual but somehow am betrayed by the tone of boyish pride in my voice. She hears it as well for she smiles slightly, almost mockingly. The combination of steel gray eyes, graying brown hair pulled tightly back into a bun, pale skin and unruffled skirt and blouse outfit makes her seem more imposing than her small frame which I estimate to be no more than five feet four inches.

"Well, then, what do you want?"

I sum her up to a lady of little time and lesser patience for niceties. Thus, I flash the pictures of the leaf fragment in front of her, arranging them into a fan, and smile as politely as I could.

"I am hoping you can help me out here. Could you identify from which plant this leaf could have come from and whether the University grew any of it in any of its greenhouse?"

She casts me a curious look before taking the pictures from my hands and narrows her eyes in contemplation.

"I cannot be sure but they aren't native to Bayport, that's for sure. It's winter now, nothing's growing except evergreens around here."

"If I say it could come from a plant called Herald's Trumpet, will you agree with me?"

"Beaumontia Grandiflora?" She twists her lips this way and that, "Why, they are tropical plants... but yes... it could come from the Trumpet... looks a little like the leaves but they could look like a dozen and one other plants too since all you have here is a fragment. And the Trumpet's very rare. " She hands the pictures back to me, shaking her head apologetically, "Sorry. You can do a DNA match though. DNA identification, as you know, is not just a tool to identify human corpses and culprits."

I slip the photos carefully back into the inner pocket of my coat and smile at her tediously," Yes, I know. But if it does belong to the Herald's Trumpet, where may I find it around Bayport at this time of the year?"

"From the florist if you order it really early and are willing to pay a lot of money for it? Or you can find some growing in our tropical greenhouses all the way in Northport."

"Northport?" I keep the excitement bubbling in my stomach away from my response and succeed this time, sounding like someone who is only curious, at least to my ears, "We have greenhouses there?"

"Yes, we needed to expand but there isn't enough space here for more greenhouses. A lot of our students come from Northport so we thought we may want to open up a second campus there for some of the sciences but it hasn't come through yet as the directors hasn't approve. The greenhouses are there though- our students make use of them. You'll find them along Saint Lucia to the west of Northport- you cannot miss it, not with the sun reflecting from the glasshouses and into your eyes." She gesture around as if trying to paint me an air map. I haven't updated myself with the happenings in my University as I come here in the evenings purely for lab and then, all I want to do after is go home and sleep.

"Thank you, Professor. See you around. The plants are lovely, by the way. I walked past the greenhouses here on my way here."

It is then she smiles wider and her eyes actually twinkle, "You saw the desert roses? They are extremely beautiful this year."

I don't know if I have or not because I would not be able to recognize it. I just thought I'll throw in some random compliment as she doesn't seem like she is testing me with any trick questions.

"Yup, amazing."

"Looks like there's some hope still for you." She nods her head, studying me cryptically. Cold, skeletal fingers seem to be stroking my spinal cord. I shudder.

"Desert roses are tropical plants too. If you need to know about them, call on me anytime. You can get my email address from the University staff database."

"Sure... no probs." I reply noncommittally, "Have a good day."

"Yes, good day to you too. If you make your down to the greenhouses at Northport, you will find Professor Stuart there at Carhig building, level 3, room 3-01. He can help you." She bids me farewell, sounding fifty degrees warmer than her earlier tone.

I stop by a quiet diner and order some piping hot soup, fish and chips, and hot coffee, slowly taking my lunch as I note down everything I have discovered thus far into my PDA and scan through them, hoping to see some discernible links. Maybe Jenn was killed for money. Maybe she and Angelo became lovers. Or maybe she crossed Angelo, and Andreana Valerio, a reputed dragon lady, decided to take her out. I think I have watched too many episodes of Sopranos. However, if the second scenario is true, then I have just given myself two likely suspects.

Angelo and Patrick.

Before I can give my mind a good workout, my cell phone sang. Accepting the call, Con Riley's low, rather nasal voice greets me. His cold is worsening and I almost pity him.

"We got an expert to identify the leaf, Professor Marion from the University. She was shocked when we called on her..." He pauses for a moment, as if he expects me to comment on something. I merely wait for him to continue.

"She said it's a definite match but she said identifying the leaf doesn't identify the plant it came from and we need to use DNA. Any samples that you found which we could test against?"

"Not yet..." I drawl, sipping my coffee, "Maybe you can check with the florists in town to see if any of them ordered in Herald's Trumpets recently and sold them to anyone."

"Sure, in fact, we are a step ahead of you. We are already doing that. You?"

"Oh, I'm checking out some greenhouses. Maybe adopting a new hobby. No, seriously, the University has got some greenhouses in Northport and kept some Herald's Trumpets in them. I'm going there to see if I can find anything. Secondly, you will do good to run some background checks on Patrick Hutson and Angelo Valerio... he's the son of Andreana Valerio..."

"Of the restaurant chain?"

"Yes, of the restaurant chain. Seems like Jenn was pretty friendly with him- trying to evangelize him into the church because of his money."

I can almost hear the clockworks clicking against one another in Con's mind as the silence prolong, "Hmm, how did you find that out?"

"She gave tuition to some of the University kids in her church. There's this particular one, Lenny Cranell, whom she gave private tuition to in order to get to know Angelo Valerio who's his roommate. Glanced through his books and found a journal on tropical plants with post-it notes stuck on the pages relating to Herald's Trumpet. I read the description and saw the pictures and that was why I asked you to find out if the fragment I found was indeed part of a Herald's Trumpet leaf. In the meantime, you'll want to check out Patrick Hutson's and his church's financial status as well. For them to go after Angelo's conversion the way they did, I smell something fishy."

Another pause.

"I'll see what I can do. You find out what you can."

"Sure. Bye." I disconnect the call and leave the money on the table, snapping my fingers to gain the waitress attention. She sullenly walks over to collect the money, brushing by me rudely as I make my way out. Good customer service is rarer than sightings of UFOs. Just a little peeved by it, I drive all the way to Northport blasting my radio to almost full volume.

It is jazz and thus, I can't be guilty of noise pollution.