The Case of the Lipstick Killer

"Poor baby," said Gwen's mom after she hung up the phone. That Jackie is a real bitch. Just like her last girlfriend in Fresno. I hope she learns her lesson from this fiasco. I guess all I can do is be here for her and help in any way I can. That's what mothers are for. This Jackie bitch needs to pay for what she did to my daughter," said Gwen's mom with hate in her voice.

JACKIE MORRISON'S RESIDENCE 975 HAZEL LANE, PIEDMONT, CALIFORNIA

January 28, 9:50 p.m.

It wasn't a very long drive home from the Kona Club, but Jackie was starting to feel a little sleepy. It had been a long day at work in her furniture store on Piedmont Avenue, which is about a quarter-mile from the same bar she had just had drinks at with Gwen. But work, followed up with an emotional meeting with her ex-girlfriend, can wear you out; that and the fact that she was about to leave her husband for another woman. That would be her next emotional meeting, but that would have to wait until tomorrow.

Jackie had been sleeping in a separate room for the last month or so. Brad thought it was because of his loud snoring, but the reason was much deeper than that. Jackie just couldn't stand lying next to him anymore. That was one of life's curveballs that neither of them could have ever imagined someone throwing at them. It was only ten years ago when they were staring lovingly into each other's eyes and saying, "I do."

She opened the door to Brad's room and leaned in to check on him. He was already sound asleep, or at least appeared to be. He didn't stir a bit when she opened the door.

The thrill in their relationship had been gone for a long time. Brad knew it, and she knew it. He just didn't seem to be particularly bothered by it. It was a long time coming, but Jackie realized that women made the blood in her veins jump, not men. Life's too short, so she decided she wanted to be happy, which meant being with another woman.

Her husband Brad had known something was wrong for quite a while; he just hadn't a clue what the reason was. He would be furious when he found out. He would make all the threats that jilted men make--you're not getting anything; I'll leave you with nothing, et cetera, et cetera.

As Jackie slipped into her bed, fluffed her pillow, and pulled the blankets over her, she felt heavy, like she was sinking ten feet into the bed. She plunged more than drifted off to sleep as the stress of her situation and her emotional meeting with Gwen visited its full force and effect upon her fragile soul. That plus a little alcohol thrown in for good measure.

This night, vengeance arrived unnoticed using a copied house key and a security code.

The intruder had planned everything down to the smallest detail. The unsub poured all but the last two inches of red wine down the sink and left the bottle on the counter. They then pulled a wine glass out of the cupboard, swirling a tiny bit of wine into it, and then laid the glass on its side for effect. Then an unmarked plastic container of Valium was opened, and some of the pills were spilled on the counter, laying the pill container set on its side near the drugs.

There. That looks like Jackie was sitting here drinking wine and taking Valium to build up her courage to do what she had foolishly mentioned in the recent past that she was thinking of doing. The shadowy intruder then grabbed a large butcher knife from the kitchen and quietly crept up the stairs to the master bedroom.

OAKLAND FIRE DEPARTMENT 911 DISPATCH CENTER

January 28, 11:45 p.m.

"911. What's your emergency?" said the operator, whose shift was nearing completion for the day.

"Yes. I was walking by the house at 975 Hazel Lane in Piedmont, and I heard a woman screaming. It sounded like someone was attacking her. You need to send someone quickly," said the caller, who immediately hung up the burner phone, tightened up the hoody over their head, and continued walking down the street.

JACKIE MORRISON'S RESIDENCE 975 HAZEL LANE, PIEDMONT, CALIFORNIA

January 28, 11:55 p.m.

"Open the door! Open the door!" screamed the police officer from the Piedmont Police Department.

"They're not opening up. Bust it in," said the officer to the second officer standing next to him, holding the heavy steel ram.

One smooth motion with the ram splintered the hinges and exploded the heavy wooden door into the marble entryway, and several officers poured into the home. Seeing that the downstairs was completely dark, they headed up the stairs in single file and into the master bedroom.

They came upon what looked like a scene from a slasher movie. Brad lay motionless in a massive pool of blood that had soaked into the mattress and was starting to migrate upwards through his pajamas. Perhaps the most notable aspect of this picture was the large butcher knife that the murderer had plunged into his chest, nearly bifurcating his heart.

To add a touch of weirdness to the macabre scene, the murder victim had lipstick on his cheek, where the killer apparently kissed him after killing him. It looked like a lipstick kiss someone would put on a romantic Valentine's Day card. Only there was nothing romantic about this blood-soaked scene.

"He's dead, but get the EMTs in here to confirm it," said the officer as he placed his fingers on the deceased victim's neck. "Let's check the rest of the upstairs bedrooms."

Two officers opened the door to Jackie's bedroom and rushed in when they saw someone asleep in the bed. They were met by a very groggy Jackie, who didn't even have the presence to sit up in bed after being surrounded by yelling voices and bright lights exploding in the darkness. She managed to hold one of her hands up to shield her eyes. She was confused by what was happening around her.

"Ma'am," yelled one of the voices. "Can you understand me? Are you hurt?"

Jackie was non-responsive and had a dead-pan expression on her face.

"She's out of it," said the officer. "Get the EMTs in here to check her out."

Brad was pronounced dead at the scene. The EMTs had checked Jackie out, and they didn't find any injuries. But she was groggy from something. They transported her by ambulance to Highland County Hospital for further checking and observation. They would keep Jackie overnight.

OPD sent a team of crime scene investigators from the Criminalistics Division to collect evidence from the upstairs and downstairs crime scenes.

After a restless night with little sleep, Jackie woke up and was surprised to find herself in a hospital room. It wasn't until she tried to adjust her blankets that she noticed they had handcuffed her to the bed.

What the...

It would take a while for the full ramifications to sink in, but Jackie's life had just made a permanent turn to a dark place that might swallow her up forever if she wasn't able to figure out what the hell had just happened.

HIGHLAND HOSPITAL, OAKLAND

January 29, 9:45 a.m.

Detectives Marco D'Agosta and Fran Wheeler walked into Jackie Morrison's room with pads in their hands and purpose on their minds. The detectives knew from experience that Jackie was probably guilty of brutally taking her husband's life. It was almost a cliché, but it was usually the spouse that was guilty.

"Mrs. Morrison, I'm Detective D'Agosta, and this is my partner, Detective Wheeler. Are you feeling up to answering a few questions for us this morning?"

"I guess so. Can one of you please tell me why someone handcuffed me to this goddamn bed? Am I under arrest for something?"

"Ma'am," started Detective Wheeler, "your husband is dead."

"What?" screamed Jackie. "I just saw him last night asleep in bed when I got home. What happened? Did he die in his sleep? He seemed fine when I talked to him the day before yesterday."

"Your husband was murdered in his bed. When we found him, he was lying in bed surrounded by a large pool of blood with a large butcher knife from your kitchen stabbed into his heart," said Detective D'Agosta.

"Oh, my God. Who could have done something like that to Brad? My poor husband."

"Ma'am, we have to inform you that you are our prime suspect at this point. We found an almost empty wine bottle and a half-empty container of Valium on your kitchen counter," said Wheeler.

"What? I don't even have any Valium. I wasn't home last night. I worked late and met a friend of mine, Gwen Stein, after work for a few drinks at the Kona Club. You can check with her. She'll verify I was with her."

"But that doesn't prove that you didn't come home after the Kona Club and kill your husband after you got home. You see what we're saying, Jackie?" said Wheeler. "Give us her phone number, and we'll check with here today to at least try to confirm that part of your story."

"Gwen's cell number is 510-555-8347. She's at work, but she answers her calls when she's working," Jackie said shakily.

"Our crime scene team collected a lot of evidence, but it will take a few days to get back the results from their testing. We'll talk to you again when we know more about the evidence," said Wheeler. "Oh, one more thing. Did you have a complete set of knives in the butcher block on the counter of your kitchen, or was anything missing?"

"No, it was a full set of knives. Nothing was missing," replied Jackie.

"That's funny because one of your butcher knives is missing. It will probably turn up. Maybe it got put in a drawer or something.

"In the meantime, we'll be back a little later to ask you some more questions after we check with your friend. As a precaution, we're going to leave these cuffs on until we either rule you in or rule you out as a suspect in this case," said D'Agosta as the two detectives left Jackie's room.

OAKLAND SOUP AND SANDWICH SHOP

123 JACK LONDON SQUARE

January 29, 11:40 a.m.

"Hello, this is Gwen."

"Yes. Is this Gwen Stein?" asked Detective Wheeler.

"Speaking. How can I help you?"

"This is Detective Wheeler of the Oakland Police Department. We are investigating a homicide. Jackie Morrison told us that the two of you were together last night having drinks at the Kona Club on Piedmont Avenue until sometime after 9 o'clock. First of all, I'd just like to verify that my statement is correct."

"A homicide?" said Gwen. "Who was killed?"

"The Oakland Police responded to a 911 call and found Jackie Morrison's husband, Brad, stabbed to death in his bed. They found Mrs. Morrison sleeping in a separate bedroom. She seemed to be under the influence of something, maybe alcohol or drugs of some kind, because she was confused and unaware of what was going on. She's currently in the hospital for observation.

"We're just following up as part of our investigation to confirm if she was, in fact, with you last night having drinks at the Kona Club," said Wheeler.

"Oh, my God. She really did it," said Gwen.

"What do you mean 'she really did it'"? asked the detective.

"She was going to leave him so we could be together, but he threatened to take everything and leave her with nothing. No house, no car, nothing. Jackie said he had a hefty life insurance policy, so she would make it look like a home robbery gone wrong so she could get the insurance money. But things got weird, and she broke up with me out of nowhere and left me with my head spinning."

"So you two were romantically involved?" asked Wheeler.

"You'd better believe it. For a while, we couldn't get enough of each other. We'd meet for lunch at Jackie's place, my place, in her car. She was a wild woman."

"Do you think she is capable of doing something like this?" asked the detective.

"I didn't think so at first, but she started expressing some dark and disturbing thoughts. So now I'm not sure. Maybe."

"Would you be willing to come down to the station at some point and give us a formal statement about all of this, Miss Stein?" asked Wheeler.

"Sure. Why not. Just let me know when.

"But I don't know why Jackie would say that we were together last night. She broke up with me about a week ago, and I haven't seen her since."

"I'll be in touch about having you drop by the station to give a formal statement, Miss Stein. Thank you. Good-bye."

Gwen had a barely noticeable smirk on her face.

Good luck, Jackie, you heartless bitch. Don't expect me to be your alibi. That might destroy this beautiful mess you just fell into.

HIGHLAND HOSPITAL, OAKLAND

January 29, 2:35 p.m.

Detective Wheeler came alone this time, and as she entered Jackie's hospital room, she was wearing a stern look on her face. She didn't like being lied to--not one bit.

Jackie had been watching some mindless soap opera on the TV and smiled when she saw the detective enter her room.

"So did you get ahold of Gwen as I asked you to?" said Jackie before Detective Wheeler got three steps into the room.

"Yes, I did. I gave Gwen a call, and she said you're making the whole thing up about the two of you having drinks last night. She said it never happened."

"What?" replied Jackie in a stammering voice. "That's a lie. We were together. We recently broke up. Yeah, I know. I'm married. So what? I decided I prefer being with women, and I was going to ask my husband for a divorce. Anyway, Gwen couldn't handle the fact of our breakup, so she wanted to get together over drinks and talk it over. She was determined to change my mind. She refuses to accept the fact that I no longer want to be with her. She said some pretty dark things."

"That's funny. Gwen said the same thing about you wanting to kill your husband for the life insurance money. Supposedly, he said he was going to leave you with nothing. That's a pretty powerful motive for murder, Mrs. Morrison."

Jackie was sitting rigidly upright like she had a board strapped to her back.

"I can't believe any of this. Why would Gwen say something like that? Why would she lie? I don't get it."

"Look, Mrs. Morrison--"

"Please call me Jackie, Detective. Oh, I know. I know. Go to the Kona Club and talk to the bartender. He'll tell you we were there together last night. I made a silly comment about the Hawaiian shirt he was wearing. He'll remember that. His name is Douglas."

"Well, we'd love to talk to Douglas to verify your story. We really would. Unfortunately, he was found in his car early this morning with his throat cut. He won't be talking to anyone ever again," said Wheeler.

"Jesus," whispered Jackie. "I was just talking to him last night. He seemed like a nice guy. Don't tell me you think I had something to do with his death also."

"We're just starting the investigation into his death. Between that and your husband, it looks like we'll be busy in the coming days," replied Wheeler. "But we think that whoever killed the bartender also killed your husband."

"How do you know that?" asked Jackie.

"Because we found evidence at both crime scenes that is consistent with both homicides."

"And what would that be?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Morrison. I can't discuss the details of any open cases with you," said Detective Wheeler.

"And does this evidence have anything to do with me?" asked Jackie.

"We'll know for sure when the lab finishes its tests."

"And you're not at liberty to discuss it with me."

"That's correct."

"It would be pretty stupid of me to kill someone who could be my alibi, don't you think, Detective?"

"Yes, it would. But I've found that common sense goes right out the window in murder cases, especially ones involving love triangles," replied Wheeler.

"One other thing, Jackie. It appears that one of your knives is missing from the butcher block in your kitchen. We've got the one knife that the killer used to kill your husband, but then there's one more open slot where another knife should go. The crime team checked your kitchen drawers and your dishwasher in case it got put in either place. You wouldn't happen to know what happened to that knife, would you?"

"I have no idea, Detective. If it's not in the kitchen, maybe the killer took it. But it was there before. I had a full set of knives."

"All right. That's very strange. But for now, I've decided I'm going to kick you lose for until we get deeper into our investigation. But I'm going to insist that you not leave town. We'll probably be getting ahold of you with more questions."

Detective Wheeler pulled out her key and took the handcuffs off of Jackie.

"No problem, Detective. I don't have anywhere to go anyway. Is it okay if I stay with my new girlfriend? I don't want to stay at my house where someone murdered my husband."

"You have a new girlfriend?" asked Wheeler.

"I do. Is there a law against that? Why do you think I broke up with Gwen?"

"Well, you know what that means, right, Jackie?" said Wheeler.

"How should I know? You tell me."

"I'm going to need to talk to her also. Can I have her contact information, please?"

"I guess that makes sense. Her name is Hokulani Kahue. She goes by Lani. Her cell phone number is 510-555-3944," said Jackie.

"Okay. I'll be giving Lani a call.

Detective Wheeler shook her head as she turned to leave.

Jesus Christ. I feel like I'm Alice in fucking Wonderland.

NIKKI FONTAINE INVESTIGATIONS

GRAND AVENUE, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

February 3, 2024

It was raining, and it was cold. Jackie Morrison's gloomy attitude matched the dark clouds dripping from the sky. It was windy, and she was having a hard time keeping her umbrella from inverting inside out. She opened the door to the office and quickly closed it to keep the cold air and rain from following her inside. She wiped her wet feet on the mat just inside the door and looked for someone to approach.

Nora greeted Jackie with a smile and asked if she could help her.

"I hope someone can help me. The police think I murdered my husband. The

only problem with that is, I'm innocent. I didn't do it. I need you to find out who did it. I don't plan to spend the rest of my life in prison."

"Why don't you have a seat right here at my desk and let me get some information from you, and then we'll see if there's something we can do to help," said Nora as she sat back down and pulled out a yellow pad of paper to use for writing notes.

Nora sat there, taking copious notes as Jackie recited the events of that foggy night almost a week ago.

Twenty minutes later, Nora excused herself and walked into my private office with her yellow pad and information on Jackie's case.

"We've got a live one, Nikki. The police have accused this poor lady of killing her husband, and I believe she's innocent."

"Okay. Leave me your notes and give me about ten minutes, and then bring her in, and we'll talk."

"Thanks for waiting, Mrs. Morrison. I wanted to review Nora's notes before I talked to you. Please have a seat."

"Thank you, Miss Fontaine. I hope you can help me."

"I'll sure try. Okay. According to Nora's notes, you had a few drinks with your ex-girlfriend at the Kona Club on the evening of January 28. Then it says you left to go home sometime between 9 and 9:30 p.m. After you got home, you looked in on your husband, and he was asleep in the master bedroom, and you went to another bedroom, where you went to bed. The next thing you remember is being awakened by the police shining flashlights in your face and asking you lots of questions, and that they found your husband dead in his bed with a butcher knife stuck into his chest. You told Nora that everything that happened that evening after you left the Kona Club is very foggy, and your memory is very vague.

"You say that you were feeling the effects of the two drinks you had consumed while at the Kona Club. After the ER physician admitted you to Highland Hospital, they found your blood alcohol level was.14. You're lucky you didn't get pulled over on the way home. You would have been facing a DUI." "I'd rather be facing that than a murder charge."