“Down! I’m sorry, Detective.” Cynthia tugged on the leashes. “Yes, I decided to keep them. The company is delightful, and it gives me something to do.” She started heading toward the house. “Please, come inside. I need to get them some water.”
We followed her in and sat in the same chairs in the great room while she cared for the pups. She came back several minutes later, carrying a tray with three glasses of lemonade, condensation running down the sides. The ice cubes sparkled. She’d placed a glass stirrer in each and a lemon slice clung to the rims. Until now, I hadn’t realized how thirsty I’d become.
She picked up two glasses. “Lemonade? It’s made with fresh-squeezed lemons, not the dreadful powdered mix.” She handed us each a glass.
I sipped mine but really wanted to gulp. “Thank you,” we said in perfect unison.
“Now, you’re here to give me an update?” She leaned back on the sofa, crossing her legs. “Is there anything new?”
I placed my glass on a coaster on the coffee table. “Mrs. Harrington, we’re making progress, but there hasn’t been an arrest yet.”
She nodded. “All right. Do you have any potential suspects?”
“We can’t discuss that now, but we’ll let you know when we’ve made an arrest,” Bernie said.
“What was your husband’s relationship like with your sister?” I asked.
She stared at her glass as she stirred her lemonade. The stirrer made the ice cubes tinkle on the sides of the glass like wind chimes. We waited.
She looked up. “As I mentioned before, they’d had an affair a number of years ago.”
Bernie and I nodded.
“Go on,” I said.
“Well, he admitted something to me, after much prodding on my part, I might add.” She replaced her glass on the coffee table and studied us. “They’d had an encounter since then.”
Bernie frowned. “Are you saying they had a one-night stand?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Yes.”
“When?” I asked.
“He said it was last year, but I suspect it was more recent. And more than the one time.”
“Has something else happened?” Bernie asked.
“There comes a time when you have to make a change. His infidelity. I was done with it.”
“Why are you telling us this now?” I asked.
“I asked him to leave. I need to think. Without him.”
My eyebrows shot up. “When did this happen?”
“A few days after you were last here.” She shrugged. “We’re seeing a marriage and family therapist.” Her eyes filled. “I will never know what happened between them. Quite honestly, I’m not sure I want to.”
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what to say. She was better off without him, but she wouldn’t be ready to hear that yet. Wasn’t my place to tell her, anyway.
Bernie coughed. “Thank you for the lemonade, Mrs. Harrington.”
We left and got back in our car with Bernie behind the wheel. “I bet you’re not surprised about his infidelity again.” Bernie backed down the driveway.
“Of course not. Are you?”
“Not at all.” He stopped at the end of the driveway. “Why don’t we drop in at Tenley’s to see if he’ll give us a swab without a search warrant?”
“Sure. I’m game.”
Bernie parked in our usual visitor space near the leasing office. I rounded the corner toward the stairs leading to Tenley’s apartment and ran right into his bony chest.
“Detective Cupid!”
“Hey, Mr. Tenley,” I said. “Do you have a minute?”
“Always got a minute for you, Detective Cupid.” He winked, then noticed Bernie. “And Detective Cupid’s partner.” He laughed.
“Right.” Bernie pulled the consent form from his pocket. “Can we step into your apartment, please?”
“Okay.” Tenley sprinted up the steps, two at a time, and unlocked the door. We all entered the apartment and sat on his filthy furniture. I didn’t smell weed this time. No beer bottles sat on the table. The place looked tidy. In fact, Tenley did, too.
“We’d like your consent for a DNA test.”
“Huh? DNA?” He leaned away, narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“We want to determine if you’re Jamie’s biological father,” I said. “We need your permission to do the swab and DNA test.”
Tenley patted his pocket. “For child support?”
“I don’t know about that. It’s part of our investigation,” I answered.
“Why did you ask about child support?” Bernie asked.
“I hit the Lotto!” Tenley patted his pocket again, grinning broadly. “I’m gonna be rich.”
“Congratulations,” I said.
So much for fairness in life. I’d won maybe five bucks on the Lotto in the last ten years and he hit the jackpot?
Sheesh.
“Maybe I’ll do something for Jamie.”
Bernie pushed the consent form forward and offered Tenley a pen. “All right. We just need you to sign this.”
Tenley picked up the document and read it or pretended to. He signed it, placed the pen on top, and slid them both back to Bernie. “How long it take to come back?”
Bernie shrugged. “It depends on the backlog. Could be a few weeks.”
“Where do I go to get the test?”
“Detective Bernard will swab the inside of your mouth now and then it will get sent out to a lab for processing,” I said.
Bernie pulled on disposable gloves before removing the test kit from his jacket. He swabbed Tenley’s mouth, dropped the stick into the tube, and sealed it. “That’s all there is to it.”
“What about Jamie?” asked Tenley.
“We swabbed him already,” Bernie said.
Tenley was frowning. “I wonder why Beatrice used my name on the birth certificate but told me somebody else was Jamie’s father?”
“Good question,” Bernie said.
I studied Tenley, noting his concern. “It doesn’t make sense. Maybe you should think about the money, seriously, in case he’s your biological son.”
“Like open a bank account?”
“For starters.” I didn’t have much hope the guy was going to do anything but drink it up and buy weed with the rest, but I guessed miracles could happen. “Maybe get some investment advice. My sister’s husband is an accountant. He might be able to help, or at least point you in the right direction.”
Tenley nodded. “Okay.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out the ticket, and kissed it.
“Did you sign it yet?” Bernie asked. “I heard that’s what you should do first.”
Tenley examined the back, smiled, and turned it over and showed us. He’d signed it. I didn’t know why, but that surprised me. Somehow, I’d found myself rooting for him. Hey, maybe he wouldn’t blow it all in an instant. Perhaps he was growing on me.
“Are we done?” Tenley hopped up. “I was gonna go cash it in.”
“We’re done.” Bernie stood and headed to the door. “How much did you win?”
“Almost two hundred thousand dollars!” He bounced on his toes and led us out.
Holy shit! Lucky guy.
“I’ll call you with the information I get from my brother-in-law. Congratulations.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Detective Cupid. You all right.”
I returned the smile, still feeling a little bitter about it, though.
As we made our way to the car, I recalled what Tenley had said the other day regarding him getting another chance at reunification services. CPS wouldn’t have checked DNA since both he and Beatrice indicated he was Jamie’s father. His name was on the birth certificate as well. Although this wasn’t part of the investigation, I’d planned to speak to Mac about whether there was a way for him to complete his services. First though, we needed to confirm he was Jamie’s biological father.
“Well, I think we’re done for the day. I know I am. By the way, I’ll be a little late for work
tomorrow. Doctor’s appointment.” Bernie tossed me the keys. “You can drive.”
On reaching the station, we dropped off the DNA kit and I headed over to Mac’s house. We had dinner together and I told Mike about Tenley’s situation. Mike was glad to help and gave me his business card and the card of the financial advisor they used.
While Mike got Josh ready for his bath, I sat with Mac. She looked better than the last time I saw her. Her hair still left room for improvement, but she seemed less drained and had another drawing on her cast.
“Josh?” I pointed to it.
“Of course.” She smiled. “My little Picasso.”
I laughed. “I have a hypothetical situation for you. A CPS question.”
“Fire away,” she said, leaning forward.
“If a parent’s reunification services were terminated, is there a way to get it started again?”
She tightened her lips. “Well, I’ve had similar cases.”
“What happened?”
“Is this a hypothetical or is this a real problem?”
“It’s real. One of the people we interviewed was in a reunification program but was ejected from it.”
“And she wants another chance?”
“He. The mother of the child died. The dad, well we don’t know yet if he’s the biological father, but he wants to try again.”
“Typically, there’s no going back once they’ve been terminated. Are they moving to terminate parental rights?”
I shrugged. “Is that the norm?”
“Well, if someone’s going to adopt, I’d think that would be the next step. I’ve seen parents go in and out of rehab. The state doesn’t want to keep children with a foster family if there’s any chance a family member can take them.”
“What if they won’t offer him services again? Will he lose his son?”
“Not necessarily. Sometimes, the parent could do the therapy, parenting classes, or whatever on their own. They’d have to pay for them though.”
“Oh.” I started to feel bad for Tenley. And Jamie. Then, I remembered the Lotto win.
“Does he have the money to pay for what he needs to do? They usually don’t ... or won’t.”
“He just won the Lotto.”
“He’s the one you mentioned during dinner?”
“That’s right.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why is the child in foster care?”
“The mom was leaving him alone. Partying. Drugs.”
“And why does the dad need reunification services?”
“Drugs. I’d say immaturity, too. I don’t know.”
“Oftentimes, when someone abuses drugs at a young age they remain that age, as far as maturation goes.” Mac didn’t sound hopeful.
“In other words, they never grow up.”
“Not unless they make a real effort to do so. Extensive therapy can help some people.”
Tenley had the money to get his life on track, but would he try? Not sure why I cared, except Jamie deserved better than what he had. Damnit.
22
After arriving at the station early the next morning, I read Judge Franklin’s recent cases, starting with those of parents who’d had their parental rights terminated within the previous six months.
After hours of reading, I couldn’t find a connection between the parental rights terminations and the homicides. If parental rights had anything to do with the case, I wouldn’t have expected Menifee to be one of the victims—her rights were still intact. Also, Camp told us the judge was pro-parent, which suggested he tended to favor giving the parents way too many chances. If that had been the case, it seemed unlikely many angry parents would be out to get him—and to get him in such an ugly manner. However, there might have been a decision that drove a parent over the edge.
I wondered whether any other CPS therapists or social workers thought Judge Franklin had been too pro-parent or whether Camp alone had an issue with the late judge.
Immediately before lunch, I began reading the ME’s report for Baker. Dr. Lee estimated her time of death occurred between eight and midnight. Why was she still in the building so late? One of the CSS supervisors, Carmen Delgado, told me she also worked in the building in the evenings. Furthermore, she indicated staff often needed to work beyond normal hours to keep on top of their workloads.
When we were in the stairwell walking the scene, Bernie thought Baker might have been leaving for the night, but we found a car key for her Honda and a work cell phone on her desk. Had she forgotten them? It was possible, but she’d left her office lights on. If she’d left for the night she would’ve turned them, and the little heater, off even if she had forgotten her keys and cell phone. Where had she been going with her purse but without car keys? Had she been leaving with someone she knew and intended to return soon? And what did Gonzalez say about moving the “Wet Floor” signs?
On top of everything else, I didn’t even know where to begin with the Scrabble tiles. We needed more letters, but that would mean more attacks and deaths.
Not good. Darn it.
My chair shook, and I almost leapt in the air.
“Hey, Syd.” Bernie grabbed the back of my chair and shook it again. “How’s it going?”
“Nice of you to grace us with your presence. Where have you been?”
“Doctor’s appointment. I told you yesterday.”
“Oh, right,” I said, swatting his hand from my chair. “Do you remember what the cleaning guy, Gonzalez, said about the ‘Wet Floor’ signs?”
“I wasn’t there when you interviewed him, but your notes said he moved them around six o’clock.” He perched a butt cheek on the corner of my desk. “Why? Got something?”
“According to the ME, Baker died between eight and midnight.”
I showed him the report. He glanced at it.
“And he moved the floor sign at six. While she was still alive?” Bernie scrunched up his face. “Did he move the sign to the area or from it at six?”
“I thought he meant away from the area. How could he have moved it and found the body in the stairwell at six the previous evening when she hadn’t died yet?” I flipped through the reports of our interviews.
Bernie dropped the file on my desk and stood. “Unless …”
“Unless he meant at six Friday morning?” I asked. “He told me he arrived at five thirty on Thursday, before the guard leaves at six. So, he was there for over twelve hours before he moved the sign?”
“Yep. So, where was he between the time she died and six on Friday morning?”
“Beats me, but it’s something we need to ask him.” I found the notes on my interview with Gonzalez, pointed to his statement, and circled it. “He said he got mad because he wanted to watch a soccer game.”
“So, he left the building and went home, or wherever, to watch it?” Bernie asked, leaning over my shoulder to read the file. “He also said her light was on in her office, but he didn’t see her. The light was still on when we turned up.”
“Looks like he went home to watch the game, returned, and saw the mess on the stairs before he saw her body. He got angry because he’d have to clean again ... if he ever did in the first place. I have my doubts.” I ran my finger down the page. “He didn’t see her in her office and didn’t see her leave that night.”
“Because he wasn’t there?” Bernie frowned. “He didn’t see her at all until he found her body on the stairs.”
“What else could it be? How did he get back in the building if he left?”
“We don’t have any way of knowing when Baker entered the building unless she swiped her card key before the building closed and they’d have a record of that. But she wouldn’t need to swipe it, so that’s a dead end.”
“Right. Carmen Delgado told me Baker was coming in as she was leaving for the night and it wasn’t six o’clock yet, which is when the doors lock.” I picked up the list of Baker’s personal effects found at the scene and in her office and pointed to the key listed. “There
it is. And two cell phones. Her personal cell and the work cell.”
Bernie scrolled through the pile of reports and CPS case documents. “I’m wondering if she used a debit or credit card to pay for her Starbucks drink.”
“I don’t have the financial records, but she was so organized I bet she’d have kept the receipt.”
“You didn’t see it in the trash with the cup?” Bernie flipped through several pages.
“Nope. It wasn’t in her purse or briefcase either.”
“Yeah.” Bernie pushed the papers aside. “Are you sure you don’t have the financial records?”
“No. Thought you had them.” I continued reading the autopsy report.
“Be right back.” He left my cubicle, returned with another stack of papers, and wheeled my guest chair from the corner to the side of my desk.
I looked up. “The autopsy report says Baker had recently been pregnant.”
He raised his eyebrows. “She had another baby?”
“It doesn’t say she delivered a baby full term. Just that she’d been pregnant.” I circled it, then leaned back in my chair.
“Abortion?”
I shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Harrington? You think he knocked her up again?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. It could go to motive if he knew. We don’t know how well Cynthia and Baker got along. The facial bruises tell us Baker had some type of altercation that night. But, with whom?”
“Her sister? Maybe that’s what the call was about,” Bernie said.
“Seems unlikely, but it is possible. Cynthia’s a little delicate, unless she’s putting on a good act. On the other hand, that call could’ve concerned anything. For all we know, Baker and Harrington could’ve been planning a surprise party for Cynthia.”
“Yeah, right. He would’ve told Cynthia when we were there. She got pissed when he said he didn’t remember what he and Baker talked about.”
“Yeah. Harrington’s being deliberately evasive. All right. Let’s see if we can identify Baker’s primary care physician.”
Bernie stood. “I’ll call Cynthia. She may know.”
“I’d be surprised if she did. I don’t know Mac’s physician’s name and she doesn’t know mine.” I turned to my computer and began completing the search warrant. “I might as well get started while you carry on.”
The Protector Page 15
