To Die For

by C. M. Sutter

  “Go ahead.”

  “Can I have some privacy?”

  Frank chuckled. “No. We call the shots here, not you. Make the call and keep it under three minutes.” He jerked his head. “Do it now.”

  We waited as Paul made the phone call and instructed his mother about which steps to take. Minutes later, Bill, the daytime jail officer, walked in.

  “Right this way, Mr. Harper. I’ll show you to the medical examiner’s office.”

  I took Paul’s phone then thanked Bill. “We’ll be a few minutes behind you.”

  We exited the interrogation room after Bill and Paul turned the corner, then we entered the observation room where Lutz sat scratching his chin.

  “Looks like you have your work cut out for you. Catch up with Harper and stick by his side until the ID is complete. Walk him to a holding cell and make sure Debra lets you know when his attorney arrives. You’ll need a group powwow. After that, start digging and find out if any funny business was going on in the family, and I’ll start pulling warrants.”

  Frank and I exited the jail wing and followed the right hallway to the medical examiner’s office. A viewing area was to the left of the autopsy room. Bill and Paul had been waiting outside Don’s office for our arrival.

  “We’ll take it from here, Bill. Thanks, pal.” I knocked before tipping my chin toward the door. “It’s right through here.”

  Don called out from his office, and the introductions were made once we entered.

  “Go ahead and wait in the viewing room,” he said. “I’ll open the curtain.”

  We escorted Paul to a stark, closet-sized area where a bench filled most of the space. Opposite it, a large window took up the wall. Frank stood on one side of Paul, and I stood on the other. More times than I cared to admit, people had actually fainted when identifying bodies.

  I asked Paul if he was ready, and with a deep breath in, he nodded. I pressed the button at the side of the window, which alerted Don that he could open the curtain.

  On the other side lay Eileen Harper. Above her and tilted toward us, a mirror was mounted to the ceiling. From our position, a side view was all any person would see otherwise. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the mirror enabled the person identifying the body to make an ID either way.

  I gave the mirror a quick look then turned to Paul. He’d gone white. Frank and I held him by the arms for support.

  “Paul, you need to verbally say if that’s Eileen or not.”

  His voice caught in his throat before answering. “Yes—yes, it’s her.” He closed his eyes while tears ran down his cheeks.

  I pressed the button again, and the curtain closed.

  “Let’s take a seat in Don’s office. You’ll need to sign a few documents.”

  Paul had still never asked how she died, and that was the largest red flag of all, making him look guilty as hell. Paul reviewed the death certificate, confirmed that the information about Eileen was correct, then signed the paperwork that Don slid across the desk to him.

  “Do you have any questions, Mr. Harper?”

  “Yes. How do I bury my wife when I’m sitting in jail?”

  “Your wife will be embalmed and then placed in cold storage for the time being. Anything beyond that is between you and the police department. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  We escorted Paul to a holding cell. He told us the name of his attorney so I could tell Debra, then we left him to think about the results of his lack of cooperation.

  After returning to the bull pen, we sat at the back table and began the task of putting together a timeline. Frank and I would interview the neighbor who saw the black sedan the morning of the murder, and our officers would search the alley and every dumpster with a fine-toothed comb.

  I made a call to Don since I’d forgotten to ask earlier. “Hey, buddy, what’s the TOD you’ve given Mrs. Harper?”

  He asked me to hold while he went back to his desk and checked what he’d written on her death certificate.

  “I’ve estimated her time of death to be between seven and nine a.m.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I wrote that down and tapped my pen against the sheet of paper.

  Frank frowned. “What are you thinking?”

  “We can obviously narrow the TOD down a bit by finding out when the school bus comes. The kids were gone, so the murder happened after that. The fastest way is to ask Paul.”

  “We can’t ask him shit. He’s lawyered up.”

  I nodded. “Right. Okay, I’ll call the school district, get the time the bus reaches that stop, and then we’ll ask the neighbor when she saw the black sedan. If the time is in the ballpark of the murder, then we may have something.” I looked up the number, told them the neighborhood in question, and said I wanted to know when the bus for the elementary school stopped at the route that served Ridgewood Court. I was told the bus picked up students there at five after eight. I wrote that down, thanked them, and hung up. Flipping the pages of my notepad, I looked for the entry Paulson had passed on about the woman he talked to during the knock and talks. “Here it is. A neighbor who lives three doors down saw the black sedan. Shit, I don’t have an address.” I opened my desk’s center drawer and pulled out the cell numbers of our officers and detectives. Paulson was one of the four officers sent to search the alley.

  I entered his number and pressed the call pad. “Paulson, it’s McCord. I need the house number and name of that neighbor who saw the black sedan driving down the street yesterday morning. Yeah, I’ll hold.” I looked at Frank, who appeared ready to write. “He’s checking his notepad.” Paulson returned to the call in less than a minute. “Sure, go ahead. Ann Stills. Cream City brick walk-up with dark-green shutters on same side of street, house number 5450. Got it. Thanks, buddy.” I watched as Frank wrote it down, then I clicked off the call. “Let’s head out.”

  Frank grabbed his cell phone off his desk. “I’ll let Debra know to call my cell when the attorney shows up. He can wait for us to return before talking to Paul.”

  Chapter 14

  It was pushing eleven o’clock by the time we left the precinct. The Harper house was less than ten blocks away, and I’d already called the neighbor, Ann Stills, to let her know we were stopping by.

  Frank parked at the curb, and we followed the sidewalk to her front door. An antique doorknocker was centered at eye level, and Frank gave it two good clanks.

  The woman who opened the door appeared to be in her late thirties, and her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. “Detectives?”

  We showed our badges.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Frank said. “I’m Detective Mills, and this is my partner, Detective McCord.”

  “Please, come in. I feel a bit embarrassed now about mentioning that car.”

  “Why is that?” I asked as we followed her to the living room.

  “Well, it could have been nothing at all, and now it seems like a big deal. First, I explained what I saw to an officer, and now, two detectives want to know more about it.”

  “It’s standard procedure, ma’am. After all, there was a murder just a few houses away. We want everyone in the neighborhood to feel safe,” Frank said.

  She wrung her hands. “I thought Eileen’s death was an isolated incident, and I’m still finding this really hard to believe.” She gave us a questioning look. “How are Paul and the kids holding up?”

  I took over, and that opened up a new round of questions. It seemed like Ann knew the Harpers from more than a passing wave from down the street.

  “Were you close to the family?”

  “We got together now and then. I have a son in middle school who’s a few years older than Kohl, but they still hung out.”

  I pulled out my notepad and pen. “What was your take on the family dynamic as a whole?”

  She gave us a thoughtful smile. “Honestly, they seemed like the perfect family. Paul is crazy about those kids and such a dedicated worker.”

  I thought it was a strange comment since
she didn’t mention Eileen.

  Ann chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, my husband is a good man, too, but he isn’t focused enough to stick to any job longer than a few years. So far, he’s been lucky that he always finds work.”

  “How did the relationship between Paul and Eileen seem?”

  Ann looked surprised. “Oh, there’s no way in hell he had anything to do with her murder. Paul loved Eileen, and she loved him.”

  I tapped my notepad as I stared at her. “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Yet he didn’t even ask how she died,” Frank said.

  “Is there a right and wrong way to act when you’re in shock, Detective Mills?”

  I changed the subject since I didn’t want the conversation to go sideways. “Okay, let’s talk about the black sedan.”

  She sighed. “That’ll take all of a minute.”

  I gave her a nod. “Just tell us everything from when you left the house yesterday.”

  “Okay. I drove Travis to his bus stop since I intended to go to the store immediately after dropping him off. I’d forgotten the envelope filled with coupons, so I went back home, parked at the curb, and ran inside. I came back out and got in the car, and that’s when I saw the black sedan. It wouldn’t have stood out if the guy wasn’t driving so slowly. It almost made me want to stop him and ask if I could help. It was like they were looking for a particular house.”

  “And you’re one hundred percent sure it was a sedan and not a coupe?”

  “Yes, I know the difference. My car is a sedan as well.”

  “Okay. Do you recall the time?”

  “Hmm.” She looked up and to the left as if she was doing the math. “Probably about seven fifty-five.”

  I jotted that down, and it fit within Don’s timeline. I continued the questions. “You’re sure there was more than one person in the car?”

  “Positive, and they were both men.”

  Frank took another turn. “How good of a look did you get at them or the car?”

  She rubbed her wrinkled brow. “When they passed me, I remember seeing long scrapes down the length of the driver’s side.”

  “That’s good. Anything else, like windshield or bumper stickers, make, model, or year?” I asked.

  Ann shook her head. “Only that the car must have been older since I saw rust below the doors.”

  I nodded. “Okay, how about the men?”

  “Um, younger, I guess.” She closed her eyes and pressed her temples. “Yeah, twenties and kind of disheveled. They didn’t look like anyone I know from this neighborhood.”

  “Hair color?”

  “I think one was blond.”

  “Any chance that you caught a partial plate number?” Frank asked.

  “Sorry. I was more curious about them, and even then, it was just a matter of seconds before they turned the corner.”

  That comment raised my curiosity. “Really? Which way?”

  “Left, in the direction of the alley.”

  That was a real lead—Ann had possibly caught sight of the killers, and it was something we could work with.

  We thanked her for her time, left our cards, then walked to the alley and met up with our officers.

  “Find anything, guys?” I yelled out when I noticed Paulson standing knee-deep in a dumpster. Jefferson shook several evidence bags and got our attention. “Over here, Detectives.”

  Frank and I headed his way. “What have you got?”

  He cocked his head toward the bags. “The typical things you’d find in an alley, but the commander said to pick up everything.”

  The bags contained a dozen or more various cigarette butts, a condom wrapper, several nails and screws, wadded-up gum foil with the chewed gum inside, two pennies, and one dime.

  I rolled my eyes. “So no smoking gun—literally or figuratively?”

  “No, sir, but we still have two dumpsters to look through,” Paulson said as he hooked his leg over the side and climbed out. “Bentley, you’re taking the next one.”

  “Not even a drop of blood beyond the garage?” Frank asked.

  “Sorry, Mills, but we didn’t see any.”

  I jerked my chin at Frank. “Let’s keep going and come out on the next street. We’ll circle around to the cruiser from there.” I yelled back at the guys as we continued on. “Finish those dumpsters and head in.”

  Frank kicked rocks as we walked. That meant he was tossing something around in his mind.

  I gave him a side-eyed glance. “Say what you’re thinking.”

  “Working on that timeline in my head.”

  “Let’s hear your theory.”

  “I’m thinking the guys in the sedan circled the neighborhood for a while until they saw Eileen walk out with the kids and Paul leave for work. As soon as the house was empty, they forced open the back door, meaning they parked somewhere in the alley or near it and walked to the house.”

  “I’m listening. Go on.”

  “They hid somewhere until she returned from walking the kids to the bus stop. Most likely, she came in through the front and didn’t realize the back door had been breached.”

  “Right, and then they ambushed her when she went into the kitchen.”

  “Exactly. Remember the laundry room had that utility closet? It may have been big enough to hide inside.”

  “Let’s take a look.”

  We walked up to the house, ducked under the police tape, and entered with the key we took from Paul. The house remained as it looked yesterday, with the addition of flies buzzing around the dried blood. The scene would have to remain that way until we finished going in and out. When we reached the kitchen, a metallic scent clung to the air.

  Frank wrinkled his nose. “After decomp, that’s the second worst odor we deal with.”

  I had to agree as I lifted my hand and held it under my nose. I jerked my head toward the laundry room closet. “Let’s see how much room is inside.” Making sure I didn’t step on anything other than clean tiles, I entered the laundry room and pulled open the double louvered doors. I glanced at Frank. “The water heater and softener are inside, but there’s enough room for two guys if they went a buck eighty or less.”

  “So it’s doable as a hiding place?”

  “Yep.” I stepped out, took a few pictures, and closed the doors. “That’s where I’d hide if I were them.” I pulled my notepad from my pocket and wrote down the estimated closet size. “I’d say that’s three feet deep and four feet wide.” I looked to Frank for confirmation.

  “I’d go along with that.”

  “Okay. Let’s head back to the station.”

  Chapter 15

  Once at my desk, I studied what we had so far, which was simply Ann’s account of a random vehicle driving slowly through the neighborhood. We couldn’t even put out a BOLO for the vehicle or an APB for the killer or killers. We had next to nothing to use as a description of either man. Our only lead was that two men were driving down a public street, possibly at or near the same time a vicious murder was taking place, and that wouldn’t even get us near the courthouse steps, let alone land the case on the docket for a hearing. We had no proof that either of those men did anything wrong.

  I called our crime lab, and Mike picked up right away.

  “Crime lab, Mike Nordgren speaking.”

  “Hey, buddy, have you gotten any hits on the prints found at the house or a match on that blood smear by the back door?”

  “The blood belonged to Mrs. Harper.”

  I let out a disappointed sigh. “How about prints, then?”

  “Family members, nothing else.”

  “Damn it. We’re striking out on everything. Okay, Bentley will be bringing down a couple of evidence bags soon, and as far as I’m concerned, the cigarette butts might be the only items worth checking for DNA. Speaking of that, was there any under Eileen’s fingernails?”

  “Sorry, but no. The perp caught her off guard. She didn’t even have a chance to scratch h
im. Saying she fought for her life actually means she ran for her life until she literally ran out of steam.”

  “And blood.”

  “Unfortunately, that too.”

  I thanked Mike then stared at my notes. I grabbed my pencil and crossed off the entry about the blood smear and prints.

  Seconds later, Frank’s cell phone rang. By the conversation from his end, I knew he was talking to Debra, and she hadn’t realized we were back. He hung up and motioned toward the door.

  “Come on. Paul’s attorney is here.”

  Less than ten minutes later, Frank and I sat face-to-face with Paul Harper and his attorney, Nick Reynolds.

  As with most attorneys, Reynolds began with an overabundance of bravado. He told us we had nothing to hold his client on and demanded Paul’s release. After we explained Paul’s unusual behavior yesterday—how he’d lied to us about his timeline and the fact that he never asked how his wife died—we told Reynolds in no uncertain terms that we intended to arrest Paul for obstruction and lying to police, and we’d likely add conspiracy to commit murder to the mounting charges. Attorney Reynolds said he needed a minute to talk privately with his client, so Frank and I stepped out and waited in the hallway.

  With my arms crossed over my chest, I leaned back against the wall and huffed. “Maybe we’ll get somewhere now.”

  Five minutes later, a knock sounded on the inside of the interrogation room door—our cue that they had finished saying what needed to be said. We walked in and took our seats.

  “Well?” I asked. “We have better things to do than sit here and have a staring match. What’s up?”

  The attorney spoke on Paul’s behalf. “He’ll tell you what he knows if he’s released into my custody today.”

  I laughed. “Before Paul would be released into anyone’s custody, we’d have to substantiate his story. He already wasted half our day yesterday with his bullshit excuse for why it took him more than an hour to get home after our officer called him at work.”

  Reynolds nodded at Paul. “Go ahead.”

  “Fine, I lied about why it took me so long to get home. I didn’t stop for gas, but that would be easy enough to find out.”