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Authors: Mark Mynheir
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going to talk with Jamie's best friend, Ashley Vargas, she begged me to tag along. I filed several cogent and passionate objections to her coming with me—none of them being the true reason. She finally agreed it would be best for me to do the legwork alone, even if one of my legs was hobbled.
Since Ashley worked as a dancer or “entertainer” with Jamie at Club Venus on Orange Blossom Trail, I knew all too well the world I was entering. The fundamentalist schoolmarm had no clue who or what I might have to deal with. We might get into some sensitive areas regarding David's relationship with Jamie, and that could be a bit dicey. Pam would hamper any serious discussions. She said she was ready to hear everything, but I wasn't convinced.
David was less of a mystery now, although I hadn't exonerated him yet. I definitely wanted to know more about Mario, but that would come in due time. I needed to know who Jamie DeAngelo was, how she was linked to David, and what—exactly—was the nature of their relationship.
Pampas's report stated they were involved in a sexual relationship, but he didn't have much corroborating evidence, other than Jamie's history as a dancer, one arrest for prostitution two years before, and her being on David's bed when she was murdered. While that theory was probably correct, I needed something more tangible before I'd say that with conviction, especially since she was fully clothed and lying on top of the covers at the time of death.
I arrived at Ashley's complex, the Fox Croft Apartments, just off State Road 528 at Narcoossee Road near Orlando International Airport. I grabbed the file and checked her picture again. Blond, young, and attractive, Ashley was around the same age as Jamie, twenty-three. She drove a green Honda Civic, which I spotted in the parking lot, so odds were good she was home.
The day after the bodies were found, Pampas got a brief one-page statement from Ashley. Nothing revealing in it, just that she and Jamie had worked together and Jamie had known David for a few months. Since Ashley was the only friend listed in the report, I hoped she could enlighten me about Jamie DeAngelo.
Ashley lived in apartment 311, and there was no elevator. Lovely. I scaled the first set of steps and took a break on the landing to the second floor. I was as winded as if I'd just hiked Everest. The same round that broke my arm also ripped into the right side of my chest, collapsing both lungs. The other took out my hip and pelvis.
They said I was lucky to survive. I didn't feel so lucky. Recently I had been able to increase my aerobic endurance by the pool workouts dear Helga developed for me, but this little jaunt revealed how out of shape I really was. I made it to the top; Helga would have been proud of me. Maybe I should have planted a flag up here in her honor.
I took a left from the stairs and found Ashley's apartment. The television blared so loud I had to pound twice before she came to the door.
“What do you want now?” She swung the door wide and stood with one hand on her hip, the other on the edge of the door.
“My name is Ray Quinn.” I flipped out my wallet with my badge and ID. “I'd like to talk with you about Jamie DeAngelo.”
She glanced at the badge and opened the door wider. If she'd taken the time to actually read the ID, it clearly stated I was a retired Orlando cop. I had several stories prepared about why I was here asking questions, but since she didn't ask, I didn't offer.
“I'm sorry.” She rubbed her eyes. “I thought you were the manager again. He's been on my case since I moved here.”
“No problem. Do you mind if I come in?”
She waved me in as she sauntered toward the television and turned it off. It looked like Springer had another lively show going on. Too bad we had to miss it.
Ashley directed me to a small kitchen table next to a freestanding birdcage containing an animal I was loath to correctly identify. (I'm not a big nature guy.) I think
Since Ashley worked as a dancer or “entertainer” with Jamie at Club Venus on Orange Blossom Trail, I knew all too well the world I was entering. The fundamentalist schoolmarm had no clue who or what I might have to deal with. We might get into some sensitive areas regarding David's relationship with Jamie, and that could be a bit dicey. Pam would hamper any serious discussions. She said she was ready to hear everything, but I wasn't convinced.
David was less of a mystery now, although I hadn't exonerated him yet. I definitely wanted to know more about Mario, but that would come in due time. I needed to know who Jamie DeAngelo was, how she was linked to David, and what—exactly—was the nature of their relationship.
Pampas's report stated they were involved in a sexual relationship, but he didn't have much corroborating evidence, other than Jamie's history as a dancer, one arrest for prostitution two years before, and her being on David's bed when she was murdered. While that theory was probably correct, I needed something more tangible before I'd say that with conviction, especially since she was fully clothed and lying on top of the covers at the time of death.
I arrived at Ashley's complex, the Fox Croft Apartments, just off State Road 528 at Narcoossee Road near Orlando International Airport. I grabbed the file and checked her picture again. Blond, young, and attractive, Ashley was around the same age as Jamie, twenty-three. She drove a green Honda Civic, which I spotted in the parking lot, so odds were good she was home.
The day after the bodies were found, Pampas got a brief one-page statement from Ashley. Nothing revealing in it, just that she and Jamie had worked together and Jamie had known David for a few months. Since Ashley was the only friend listed in the report, I hoped she could enlighten me about Jamie DeAngelo.
Ashley lived in apartment 311, and there was no elevator. Lovely. I scaled the first set of steps and took a break on the landing to the second floor. I was as winded as if I'd just hiked Everest. The same round that broke my arm also ripped into the right side of my chest, collapsing both lungs. The other took out my hip and pelvis.
They said I was lucky to survive. I didn't feel so lucky. Recently I had been able to increase my aerobic endurance by the pool workouts dear Helga developed for me, but this little jaunt revealed how out of shape I really was. I made it to the top; Helga would have been proud of me. Maybe I should have planted a flag up here in her honor.
I took a left from the stairs and found Ashley's apartment. The television blared so loud I had to pound twice before she came to the door.
“What do you want now?” She swung the door wide and stood with one hand on her hip, the other on the edge of the door.
“My name is Ray Quinn.” I flipped out my wallet with my badge and ID. “I'd like to talk with you about Jamie DeAngelo.”
She glanced at the badge and opened the door wider. If she'd taken the time to actually read the ID, it clearly stated I was a retired Orlando cop. I had several stories prepared about why I was here asking questions, but since she didn't ask, I didn't offer.
“I'm sorry.” She rubbed her eyes. “I thought you were the manager again. He's been on my case since I moved here.”
“No problem. Do you mind if I come in?”
She waved me in as she sauntered toward the television and turned it off. It looked like Springer had another lively show going on. Too bad we had to miss it.
Ashley directed me to a small kitchen table next to a freestanding birdcage containing an animal I was loath to correctly identify. (I'm not a big nature guy.) I think
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