One Deadly Sister Part 8

"Fortunately, we have a good suspect in jail," the chief said.

"That reporter, Linda Call, is asking me for an interview." Moran frowned. "I can handle her but we need a response ready in case the details of Reid's statement become public. G.o.ddard, give me another briefing, I may want to point you in a different direction."

G.o.ddard opened his notebook. "You have the M.E. prelim: Towson died from a single shot to the chest from a .38, most likely a revolver, close range, died quickly. CSI found a second slug in the wall behind."

The chief said, "So, two shots were fired and one missed."

"Let me go back over some crime scene details," G.o.ddard continued. "Shooting was in the master bedroom. They found him in his underwear-t-shirt and boxers. A stylish robe was on the bed nearby. He may have been dressing or undressing. His blood was limited to the antique rug under his body except for minuscule traces leading out of the bedroom. Someone has his blood on the bottom of his or her shoes."

"Caught in his shorts suggests someone he knew. No defensive or scrimmage wounds. So, no struggle," the chief added.

"...the bedspread, blanket, and sheets were all pushed down onto the floor. On each nightstand was an empty wine gla.s.s. The victim's prints and one set of unidentified prints were on the gla.s.ses. A trace of lipstick was found on one gla.s.s."

Moran interrupted, "So, a female is involved- presumably."

G.o.ddard continued, "Yes, s.e.xual activity is the obvious inference except there is no trace evidence of recent s.e.x on that bed. There was a hairbrush and a toothbrush with Towson's prints in the master bath. A second hairbrush and toothbrush with unidentified prints were in a small leather travel kit suitable for a woman keeping a few toiletries at his apartment. We're going after DNA, of course. Here's the kicker, the unidentified prints in the bathroom don't match those on the wine gla.s.ses."

"Wait a minute," Moran said. "There are two sets of unidentified prints? Tell me again, G.o.ddard, because that doesn't fit. You said the bed was messed up and a wine gla.s.s was on each nightstand. I get that picture so far, but the prints on the wine gla.s.ses don't match the prints found on the female items in the bathroom."

"Indicating a second woman," G.o.ddard suggested. "I say woman because of the lipstick trace on the rim of the gla.s.s. As expected, there are the usual other unidentified prints around in other places. In the kitchen, CSI found a large shard of a cup under a cabinet recessed toe-kick apparently undetected, out of sight. We figure whoever picked up the other pieces overlooked it. That one piece had an oily film on it, smelled like insecticide. Reid's prints are on that shard, remember he admitted he dropped a cup."

"The apartment wasn't disturbed otherwise, no apparent robbery," the chief said. "On the face of it, Towson was murdered between two, the time on the service receipt, and six when Tony Hackett went to the apartment to pick him up."

"M.E. says he has no problem with that timing and thinks closer to six," G.o.ddard said. "Hackett was to meet Towson to take him to a banquet for a campaign speech. Towson didn't answer the buzz. Hackett phoned, no response. The maintenance man let him in. Hackett called out, walked around, and saw the body in the bedroom."

"Did you check out Hackett?" Moran asked.

"He's in the clear, I believe. He was in Tallaha.s.see overnight Friday," G.o.ddard said, "and headed back around noon. We checked his phone. He called Towson three times from the Turnpike. Last attempt was around five. He got no answer the last time so was concerned and drove straight to Towson's. The rest agrees with what the maintenance guy told us."

"We sent the rug and Reid's clothing to the lab. We're waiting for the follow-up report from CSI," the chief said. "We're interviewing every occupant of the building."

"I talked to Tammy," G.o.ddard said. "According to her, she met Reid at the restaurant around twelve-thirty. Reid left after thirty minutes saying he was going to find Loraine. Tammy went back to her office. So Reid's whereabouts are unknown from one o'clock until I picked him up at six-thirty."

"I like Reid for this, but an immediate concern here is Barner," Moran said. "Get more men on that angle, Chief. If he's alive, then find him. If he's dead, find his body. There may be a larger plot. What do you think, G.o.ddard?"

"Barner could be the murderer and he ran. First, he just happens to service the Towson's apartment a couple of hours before the shooting. And then-he's missing. Or, maybe he got in somebody's way and his body is now sprawled out in his house. I'd like to search it."

"Great idea, but you can't," Moran said. "We'd never get a court order to go in there, not this early. And if he's involved in the murder, we can't risk any findings being tossed out by the judge." He turned to G.o.ddard smiling. "Yes, too bad you can't search his house."

"If that's all, I need to get back on the street." G.o.ddard left knowing exactly where he needed to go next. He looked up Sonny Barner's address.

Barner's small house was on a corner lot visible from two sides, exposing any vehicle parked on the street. G.o.ddard drove up a dirt driveway at the rear and parked unnoticed in the ragged carport. At the rear door, he found an undemanding key-in-k.n.o.b lock. He slid a plastic card along the jam, and the bolt moved enough to open the door.

All he needed was a minute inside. No detailed search, just a quick check, for a dead body or signs of a struggle, and G.o.ddard would be out of there. He walked through the kitchen and dining area to the spa.r.s.ely-furnished living room at the front. The place was standard bachelor-mess. Two old pump shotguns were resting in the corner of a hall closet. He held them up and smelled them. He didn't know why, habit he guessed. The murder weapon was a .38 revolver, not a shotgun. Neither had been fired recently. Another door off the hall opened to a small bedroom jammed with boxes, tools, hoses, and containers smelling of chemicals.

He found something interesting in the other bedroom. On the computer desk was a large framed photograph of a naked woman. Beautiful with full b.r.e.a.s.t.s, sitting upright and posed looking into the camera, with her hands resting on her spread knees. Looped over one corner of the picture frame like a souvenir, was a real blue bra. Matching panties were hooked on the other side. They didn't look new.

G.o.ddard started to walk away when he realized something about the photo. He leaned closer. He recognized the woman, at least he recognized her face. It was Tammy Jerrold.

He studied the photo for signs of a paste-up, but it was seamless. Indeed, it seemed to be Tammy posed there. Probably digitized software was used to put her head on someone's body.

G.o.ddard's only concern was Barner possibly lying dead in the place. On his way out through the kitchen, he paused at the refrigerator; covered with cards, notes and an interesting newspaper clipping. The old clipping from the society page showed Senator Towson in his tuxedo standing with a group of people and Tammy Jerrold at his side. The image of Towson was crossed out with a red felt-tip. Interesting, but there was no dead body in that house.

Driving back downtown, he was waiting at a traffic light when a lipstick-red Miata dashed across the intersection directly in front of him. He had noticed the little convertible with the top down and bearing Pennsylvania plates earlier that day and had followed it for a while, watching the driver's short brown hair scattering about in the wind. He knew who was driving. He turned and followed.

Sandy Reid pulled into a s.p.a.ce in front of the real estate office. The dark grey Impala she had noticed following her pulled across behind her, blocking her. Easy to spot a cop even in an unmarked car, she thought, they always sit up so straight.

She watched him walk up to the side of her convertible, and open his jacket slightly to show the badge clipped on his belt. Hot looking cop, she decided. Get him a decent sports jacket and he could model for GQ. She looked up at him. "You don't want to look in my trunk, do you?" He didn't look amused.

"License, and please remove your sungla.s.ses, Miss."

"Of course, is it sergeant or lieutenant?" She reset her sungla.s.ses on top of her hair, reached for her purse, and found her license. "Can I get out of my car, please?"

She didn't mind him throwing glances down her blouse, but he was over six feet, and she wanted to deny him the psychological advantage of standing above her. Besides, her denim skirt had ridden up and a flash of legs about now might be useful; there's more than one way to swing your legs out of a car. Let him pretend not to notice.

G.o.ddard stepped back to let her out. He looked at her license and then at her: twenty-six, brown hair, hazel eyes, five foot nine, 120 pounds.

Behind the sungla.s.ses, his eyes were unreadable, but with the slight movement of his head, she could guess where he was looking. He was taking his time. He's hetero, that's a plus. "Everything in its proper place? Do you want me to turn around a couple of times?"

"Sorry, was I staring?"

"I imagine you're just trying to estimate my weight to compare it to my license. Cops can't be too careful these days." She noticed him looking down at her left hand. "I'm his sister. Not his wife. Not his mother." She took a slight step toward him, checking him out a little. She had a thing about smells. Up close, this guy smelled gorgeous. Love to see his eyes.

"Welcome to Florida, Miss Reid," he said routinely. "What's your business in Park?"

"You can check my ID but really that's it. My business isn't your business. Before we go any further, I'd like for you to identify yourself."

"Detective Sergeant G.o.ddard. You can stop the performance. I checked with Pennsylvania and you're not a lawyer.

"I'm not performing-impudence comes naturally to me. And I never said I was a lawyer. I signed your logbook as Sandra Reid and asked to visit Raymond Reid. I know you detectives watch for clues like that."

"You requested special treatment in the visitor room, you were at the InnTowner earlier asking questions, running around since, and right now you're outside Tammy Jerrold's office. Obviously, you're trying to worm your way into a murder investigation. I'm not going to allow it. I don't want anyone, even an attractive woman, messing around in police business. You think you've some special status in this?"

"Yes, very special, I'm a citizen. Check that with Pennsylvania."

The detective wasn't used to challenges. "You're pretty savvy with all this. I'm curious, would it violate your civil rights if I asked what you do up there."

"As a matter of fact, it would. But, I'm going to answer the question since we've taken such a liking to each other. I do grunt work for a firm of criminal attorneys. With white-collar crime, I find dirty little secrets hidden in records and reports. With blue-collar cases, I locate witnesses and talk with cops when possible. We're usually on different sides, but sometimes it's to our mutual advantage to trade info. Did I mention I'm very good at this stuff?" She gave him a grin. "You need any help these days?"

"You may have been the darling of the police force up there, but you've absolutely no authority here and you can't scurry around questioning people. If you do there will be a problem."

Her face colored with anger. "I don't like your insinuation. My relations with the Philly police are strictly professional. I don't drink with cops, don't date them, and don't hang in cop bars," she said it sharply. "You must be thinking of one of your local badge bunnies."

"Hey, slow down woman. I didn't mean anything...." He took a deep breath and removed his sungla.s.ses. "...you misunderstood. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking of anything like that."

She stared at him. Loved his steely eyes. He appeared contrite, so she cooled a bit. "This is how it is. I'll scurry around questioning anyone who cares to answer me. If they don't want to talk to me, they can say no. You see, you don't get to say no for them in advance. As for my authority, you can check that with the Supreme Court. Are we done here?"

He handed her license back. "I'm being straight with you, Miss Reid. We have some real problems here and don't have time for this. If you interfere in any way with my investigation, I'll deal with you. And I'm the one who gets to define interference, not you. If you don't like it, you can debate the judge regarding the Supreme Court, and why you think you have a const.i.tutional right to mess around in police business."

"Nice try, Detective, but my personal problem trumps your job problems. You're holding my brother for a crime he didn't commit. On the day of the murder you couldn't just let him wander away, I realize that. But by now, you should have crime scene reports, lab reports, and plenty of evidence that points elsewhere. Would you like to make a bet? Would you? I'll bet my ability to set fire to the media against your evidence. We'll see which of us folds first."

"You're not going to push the police around."

"I'm not pushing. You're pushing. I'm holding my ground."

He frowned. "You really think you can handle this crime stuff, don't you?"

"Don't feel bad. Big-city Philly didn't know what hit them either. You better get this tiny burg ready for me. Why don't you admit you don't have enough evidence to deny him bail? He's new in town. He doesn't know all those people he named in his statement and how they're connected. How could he possibly come up with that Loraine in a thong? That whole setup had to come from her, just as he told you."

"Our investigation is-."

She interrupted, "If you guys think if you can't find the real killer you can always fall back on my brother, forget it, it ain't gonna happen. You'll love reading my interviews and watching me on TV. Innocent people will be embarra.s.sed and everyone will wonder how the h.e.l.l the guys with badges let things get out of control. I can get real loud."

"Sounds like a threat."

"Of course it's a threat. Geez Louise, what do you think we're doing here?"

She turned her back to him and leaned far over the convertible's door to lift her briefcase off the seat. She could feel his eyes on her. She stretched out farther and took longer than actually necessary. No question in her mind where his eyes were and no chance he would forget her. She straightened and slowly walked into the real estate office.

Chapter 12.

Thursday morning at eight, the chief was getting his first coffee and G.o.ddard sat thinking about his encounter with Reid's sister. You can ignore some people, they just blend into the background noise, and some you need to deal with. Sandra Reid didn't give you any choice. She had so easily placed herself right in the middle of the case, his case. She was so quick to blaze away at the slightest imagined offence. Yet somehow, it seemed refreshing coming from her. Not bad looking either.

"What are you grinning about, Chip?" The chief settled in behind his desk.

G.o.ddard recalled what Sandra Reid had said about her brother's statement. "Think about it, Chief, we catch Reid, and he's spouting off a bunch of names in a scenario he couldn't possibly have put together on his own."

"So overnight you've lost interest in Reid. What happened to change your mind?"

"I don't know. It's just that he doesn't know all these people and how they relate. How could he possibly dream up a tale of Loraine Dellin in a thong? I keep coming back to her. She and Reid have s.e.x-her ex-husband is shot."

"I get your point, but Reid does know her, and does know Tammy and Towson from the party. He had a week to put a plan together after getting involved with her."

"But he mentioned Sonny Barner too. Barner's at the bottom of the social visibility scale. How did Reid know the guy even existed?"

"Okay, you've got me on Barner. Oh, you should know they're taking away Reid's loaner cellphone today. Moran told me he got nothing from the tap. Reid phoned his sister up there, his boss down here, and that's pretty much it."

"I don't think Moran has ever gotten anything useful from his cute loaner-cell phone trap."

"Loraine Dellin phoned me late yesterday," the chief said.

"Really? What'd she want?"

"Don't know, I had already left. She left a callback."

"I've got to get her statement. Even without the s.e.x-with-the-killer angle, the ex-spouse is always at the top of the suspect list. Why don't you call her back now? Tell her you'll send me over there to let her know about the investigation. Imply that it's a courtesy call. If I can get her talking, maybe we can get some unrehea.r.s.ed answers. Such as, did she actually tell Reid all that bulls.h.i.t? Also, does she admit to s.e.x with Reid? Maybe eliminate her as a suspect and nail him. She'll be a little off guard because she doesn't know what's in Reid's statement. Okay?"

"Okay, except for one thing. Loraine Dellin has never been caught off guard in her entire life."

Detective G.o.ddard sat at one of the white round tables on the enclosed white porch that ran across the back of Loraine Dellin's white house, watching her arrange a teak tray with gla.s.ses and a pitcher of iced tea. From the porch, he could see out to the patio and pool area and on across to the s.p.a.cious backyard. Sliding gla.s.s doors connected the porch to a family room and kitchen area. Another gla.s.s door opened from the porch into the living room. Nice location, sitting on what pa.s.sed for a hill in Florida. From the second floor, there was a slight ocean view.

He knew this house, had played here as a child back when she and Al were first married. Towson was entering politics and this porch had been a popular gathering spot. As he recalled, she received this house in the divorce settlement. Back then, the house was all bright and sparkling. Even allowing for his exaggerated childhood impressions, the place seemed sullied now.

Harsh sunlight flooding the porch didn't enhance Loraine either, but he had to admit she was in good shape. He tried to picture her in a thong as Reid had claimed, but the image wouldn't come. He couldn't imagine she'd actually wear one, but if she did, yeah, he'd probably look twice. "Do you use the pool much?"

"Ah, the interrogation has begun. I noticed you checking me out. I a.s.sume you're asking do I work out to keep in shape. Yes, daily at the Club."

He remembered her from before he went off to college. His father had just made police chief. Al Towson had just won the mayoral election. He won in spite of her cleverly exaggerating the bitter divorce proceedings into a major campaign distraction. She would have preferred to stay married and play the mayor's wife, but it didn't happen for her. Sabotaging his campaign seemed the next best thing. G.o.ddard was uncertain what she had been up to the last few years.

"Must be expensive to keep up a place this size."

"Is that code for my house appears shabby? To tell the truth I've been putting off some maintenance because a lot will be changed during the remodeling."

"Big plans?"

"Yes, I've decided to put a major amount of money into renovations." She pa.s.sed the tea. "Everyone calls you Chip, right?"

Of course, she knew his nickname. She had called him Chipper and wiped his runny nose right here on this porch.

"Before you start asking, I wouldn't say we remained close after the divorce, just civil. We'd chat briefly at parties and such." She turned away from him and began fussing with the gla.s.ses. "Some love never fades."

He doubted that was true but said, "Sorry for your loss. We've a suspect in custody, Raymond Reid. Have you heard of him?"

"Save the nonsense Chip, it annoys me. It's all over the papers. I'm glad that man is behind bars. That's exactly where he belongs. That's why you're here isn't it? Shall we start over?"

"Sorry Mrs. Dellin. Your name came up."

"Which town b.i.t.c.h talked about me this time?"

"It was in Reid's statement. How did you meet him?"

"Megan Emerson's little soiree a week ago," she answered. "He came on to me. I guess you'd say I let him pick me up. How about that? First time for everything, they say. He was new in town and I was a little high. I felt sorry for him, so I agreed. It might be an amusing way to the end the evening. While we were driving to his apartment, he started talking crudely. I had second thoughts. I said I had a headache and asked him to take me home. He became angry and then started his pitiful begging. As a result, I went along with it, sort of a mercy thing, if you know what I mean."

He made notes. "You were intimate?"

"None of your business but I suppose I can't deny it. I've never done anything like that before. An after-party fling for me, but he considered it the start of the romance of the century. I never dreamed he'd get serious. When he took me home, he wanted to come in. No gentleman would act in that manner. I had terribly misjudged him. I was frightened. I didn't let him in. He phoned me the next morning. Said he loved me, for G.o.d's sake, imagine. Pathetic. I tried to be civil at first, but he kept calling. During the week, he showed up at my door. He was actually right out there on my front porch. I didn't call the police because I didn't want to admit I'd been with such a person."

"You met him later at the InnTowner-poolside I understand."

"Of course not poolside, but I did meet him there. I didn't know what else to do. By then I was certain he was stalking me. There were times when he was here, outside my house, late at night trying to watch me. I couldn't go on with that. Indeed, the next time he phoned, I agreed to meet him at a neutral location."