A Dread So Deep

by Anita Rodgers

  Kathy’s cheeks reddened. “What? Well, aren’t you going to do anything?”

  Daniels bobbed his head. “Sure, we’ll check into it.”

  Kathy clutched her hankie. “But—”

  Daniels tapped his fork on his pie plate. “But what?”

  Her mouth opened but only warm air escaped. She fanned her face to cool her burning cheeks.

  Davis hunched over the table. “How long had you been seeing Logan?”

  She squirmed in her seat. “A while.”

  “How long is a while?”

  Kathy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t see why that matters.”

  Davis shrugged. “So, a few months then?”

  Sweat broke out on her forehead and she blotted her brow with the hankie. “Yes.”

  Davis snorted. “But you didn’t know that he was also seeing Melanie Campbell? And others?”

  Kathy rose to her feet as though powered by the air. She dabbed her eyes. “Since you’re investigating his death, silly me thought you’d want to know that Melanie tried to kill him. Us.” She glared at them. “But it’s plain you don’t give a whit who killed Phillip.” She stuffed her soggy hankie in her handbag. “Sorry I interrupted your evening.”

  “What do you think we can do?” Davis sighed. “Maybe if you’d reported it when it happened, something could’ve been done. But now?”

  Kathy glared but her face sagged. Stumped for an answer, she tossed her red mane and marched to the exit.

  Daniels chuckled. “Well, I guess she told us.” He tracked her through the window until she disappeared from sight. “She's spunky. What’d she say her name was, Scarlett?” Davis didn’t laugh and neither did Daniels. “You believe her?”

  Davis shrugged. “No police report, can't prove anything.” She pointed at him with her pen. “Check on the truck though, see if he got any work done on it.”

  Daniels frowned. “Really?”

  She sighed and nodded. “Gotta do our due diligence.” She stared at the pie case, tempted to try the chocolate crème.

  Daniels hung onto his grump. “Who stalks detectives on their dinner break?” He drained his coffee cup. “If she really thinks Campbell tried to kill them, why didn’t she come to the station and file a report a week ago when he died?”

  Davis kept staring at the pie case and shrugged. “I dunno, Pete.”

  Daniels scraped his plate with his fork. “Coming to a coffee shop to report a crime. That’s a first, huh?” He flagged down Scotti. “We’re gonna need more pie here.” He shook his head at Davis. “Logan sure had a weird power over women.”

  As though psychic, Scotti brought Daniels a second apple pie a la mode and a piece of chocolate crème for Davis.

  “Weird doesn’t begin to describe it.” Davis took a dainty bite of pie and the flavor exploded on her tongue. She groaned. “Oh my God, Daniels. This pie.”

  Daniels laughed. “See? You’ve finally learned the secret of pie.”

  “Let’s run a check on Conlan, see where she was the night Logan died.” She forked off a big bite of pie. “And don’t forget to check on the truck.”

  Daniels clucked his tongue. “Sorry, I can’t hear you, I’m on my dinner break.”

  Chapter 26

  DAVIS HAD EXPECTED Cornelia Logan’s home to be on par with her son’s. Instead, they pulled up to a modest bungalow on a quiet street in an older neighborhood. The house needed a paint job and could’ve used a new driveway too. But the Sycamore in the front yard was lovely and the wide porch welcoming.

  Hurried footsteps responded to the ringing doorbell. The heavy oak door opened with a tug and a whoosh. Cornelia stepped back to let them enter. “Come in, come in. I wondered if you’d changed your mind.”

  Shod in flats, she seemed much smaller to Davis. And without the designer suit, her shoulders had shrunk and stooped. Cornelia led them into a small living room crowded with dark furniture and depressing artwork. On a TV tray next to a wingback chair was a half eaten frozen dinner—some kind of pasta dish that looked like glue to Davis.

  Cornelia swept an arm at the sofa. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ve just put on a pot of coffee and it should ready in just a minute.”

  Daniels squeezed onto the sofa, sitting at an angle to accommodate his thick legs. Davis perched on the opposite end. “I’m afraid we can’t stay long. We have a few more stops to make before our day is through.”

  Cornelia’s smile drooped. “Oh?”

  Daniels employed his usual charm and grinned at her. “Not that we wouldn’t love to avail ourselves of your company. But such is police work. Always busy, busy, busy.” He shimmied to the edge of his seat. “But we are anxious to see what you have to show us.”

  Cornelia’s face sagged. “Not even time for a cup of coffee?”

  Daniels warmed her with a smile. “Sorry ma'am, we’ll have to take a rain check.”

  Cornelia bowed her head. “I see. All right, then.” She pulled a spent cartridge out of her pocket. “This.”

  Daniels took the cartridge and examined it under the lamplight. He scrunched his face. “Ah, and why did you want us to see this?”

  Cornelia’s hands fluttered like captured birds. “Because I found it there. That morning. On Phillip’s bathroom floor.”

  Davis opened an evidence baggie for Daniels who dropped the cartridge inside. “You found this cartridge in your son’s bathroom on the day you discovered his body?”

  Cornelia’s deep hazel eyes shimmered with tears. “Yes!” She blotted her tears with a finger. “I stepped on it when I”—she exhaled sharply—“when I tried to pull him from the tub.”

  Davis studied the cartridge with a healthy dose of skepticism. “It was just lying there, on the floor, by the tub?”

  Cornelia bobbed her head. “Yes, that’s exactly right. You see, he was killed. It wasn't an accident.” She stabbed a finger in the air. “Now you can prove it.” Davis pursed her lips but said nothing. “Don’t you believe me?”

  Daniels reached over and patted Cornelia’s hand. “It’s just that we’re a little confused. Phillip drowned.” He flicked a look at the cartridge. “He wasn’t shot.”

  The fire in the old gal’s eyes remained. “Well, what if they’d held a gun on him? Made him take the pills and the liquor?”

  Daniels nodded. “Sure, that’s possible.” Davis pinched Daniels and shook her head. Daniels shifted in his seat, snatched the evidence baggie out of Davis’ hand and eyeballed it. “You make a good point. Okay. We’ll add this to the evidence and see how it comes out.”

  Her face brightened with hope. “So, I did the right thing? By giving it to you?”

  Daniels assured her she’d done the right thing and said it could be the very thing to break the case. Davis stood and eyed the door. “If that’s all, then we should be going.” She bumped Daniels with her foot and he lumbered to his feet.

  Cornelia batted her eyelashes at Daniels. “You’re sure you can’t stay for coffee? I have some wonderful chocolate chip cookies I’d love to share.”

  Daniels raised his brows at Davis.

  Davis tugged on Daniels’ sleeve. “Thanks for the offer, but we have another stop to make and we’re running late as it is. Have a good night, ma’am.”

  She stood at the open door as they walked toward the car. Daniels muttered, “We could’ve had one cookie.”

  Davis got behind the wheel. “You never have just one cookie.” She stared at the house and Cornelia waved to her. She waved back then eyed the evidence bag in her partner’s hand. “No way in hell we can use that as evidence. She took it from the scene. No chain of custody or proof where it came from.” She switched on the engine. “And I have my doubts about where she found it.”

  Daniels cocked his head. “You think she’s making it up?”

  Davis wheeled away from the curb. “I don’t know. But I didn’t see any bullet holes in Logan’s bathroom, or Logan for that matter. Did you?”

  WEARY AND PALE, CHRISTINE L
ogan invited them into the living room. On their first visit Davis, hadn’t really appreciated what a beautiful house it was—high ceilings, crown molding, elegant fixtures. Something you’d expect to see in a design magazine. But it was cold too—like no one lived there.

  It was nearing 7:00 p.m. so Davis picked up the interview where she’d left it on the day Logan’s body was discovered. “You decided to visit your aunt even though your husband was due back that night?”

  Christine’s pale skin was translucent and Davis noticed the throbbing vein in her throat. “We’d had an argument. I didn't want to see him and I suppose he didn’t want to see me either.”

  “What was the argument about?”

  Christine raised a hand, then let it drop into her lap. “The usual nonsense that married couples argue about. I wanted one thing and he wanted another.”

  Daniels leaned forward. “Could you be a little more specific?”

  Christine’s eyes didn’t quite meet his. “Phillip wanted me to quit working at the Community Center.” She gave a tight smile. “I don’t actually work there, I volunteer as a painting instructor. For the children.” Her eyes gleamed. “They love learning how to create things with color.” She smiled at them. “It’s important for children to have creative outlets, don’t you think?”

  Davis interrupted with an exaggerated yawn. “Excuse me. It's been a long day.” She glanced toward the foyer. “Could I trouble you for a cup of coffee?

  Confusion clouded Christine’s face. “Coffee?” She stood a little reluctantly. “Of course. It’ll take a few minutes. Do you mind waiting?”

  Davis yawned again. “Not at all. I haven’t had a good cup of coffee all day.”

  Christine nodded and left the room. Her footsteps quickly faded toward the back of the house where the kitchen was situated. Davis darted to the foyer and stuck her head out.

  Daniels trailed after her. “What are you doing? And how come we ask for coffee here but turned it down at Cornelia’s?”

  Davis poised in the archway checking the foyer and the staircase. “If she comes out, stall her. No. Go in the kitchen and keep her there.”

  Daniels cocked an eyebrow. “Why? What are you gonna be doing?” Davis rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Daniels gaped at her. “Detective by-the-book Davis is gonna search without a warrant?”

  Davis pushed him toward the kitchen. “What exactly would we get a warrant for? Misappropriated evidence taken from a crime scene?” She pushed him again. “Just go and stall her.”

  Daniels shuffled to the kitchen, grumbling. When she heard their muffled voices she dashed upstairs to the master bedroom. Pausing only for a few seconds to cock an ear. She ducked into the bathroom—still blindingly white. If possible, whiter than the last time she’d seen it. The stained bath mat was replaced with a new one and she wondered what Christine Logan had against color.

  She scanned the room. Nothing at eye level, so she dropped to all fours. And proceeded to check every inch of the place. Nothing—not even a nick in the wall. If a gun had been fired in that room, it was a magical gun with disappearing bullets.

  Irritated she’d been bullshitted, she rushed down the stairs with just enough time to sit on the sofa and grab a magazine before Daniels and Christine returned. Davis shook her head at Daniels. Christine poured the coffee and offered them fancy cookies that smelled like heaven.

  Daniels whipped out his notepad. “Okay, so back to the interview. You and your husband had a fight?”

  Christine patted her chest as if to calm herself. “A fight? No, it was an argument.”

  Daniels nodded. “Right, he wanted you to quit teaching the kiddies to paint.”

  Christine bit her lip. “Yes, it started there but then it went into forbidden territory.” She drew back as they leaned in—pulling her lips inward as though she could retrieve the words and unspeak them. “Phillip had a problem. He drank too much and took pills to help him sleep.” She grimaced. “Which led to him needing other pills to give him a lift. I was worried about addiction and wanted him to stop taking them. Not all at once, I knew he’d have to do it slowly. But I was worried about his health, you see?” She twisted a white linen napkin in her lap. “But he didn’t like being told what to do and it made him angry.”

  Davis had never eaten a cookie so light and flaky. It made her mouth tingle and she could’ve eaten the whole plate of them. “Right. So, first, it was about your volunteer work but then it went off on his drinking and drug problem?” She wiped her hands on a napkin. “But nothing about Michael Shaw?”

  Christine blinked and took a little too long to respond. “Michael Shaw? Why would we argue about him?”

  “So, you know him?”

  Christine nibbled on a cookie. “He works for Phillip.”

  Davis nodded. “According to Martha Fren, Shaw quit a week before your husband died.”

  Christine furrowed her brow. “Phillip never mentioned that to me.”

  “How well did you know Michael Shaw?”

  She stirred her coffee with a delicate little spoon that was too pretty for such a mundane task. “We didn't socialize with him if that's what you mean.”

  Davis reached for another cookie. “Were you aware of the tension between Shaw and your husband?”

  Christine smoothed her napkin over her lap. “Was there tension between them?” She smiled thinly. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised—Phillip frequently got upset and fired people for no reason. Usually, he hired them back after he cooled down.”

  “Know where we can find him?”

  Christine wagged her head slowly. “No, but I’m sure Martha can give you his address. Shall I call her?”

  Davis stood, closed her notepad and cast a longing look at the remaining cookies on the plate. She supposed it would be rude to ask for a doggie bag. “No need, we’re set to see her tomorrow. We’ll get it then.” She shook Christine’s hand which was cool and dry. “Thanks for your time.”

  Christine walked them to the door in silence but before they walked out she said, “You think Phillip was murdered, don't you?

  Davis just smiled and said, “We don't know what we think, yet.” But that was a lie. She thought that Michael Shaw was definitely Christine Logan’s lover. And all she had to do now was to find him.

  Chapter 27

  THE VISITS TO BOTH Mrs. Logans troubled Davis. Cornelia clearly disliked her daughter-in-law. Despite the tears and chest patting, giving them the bullet casing was likely a ruse. Davis supposed it was possible the old gal found it in the bathroom, anything was possible. But if so, where was the bullet? Not in Phillip Logan. Not in the wall.

  Given the tension in the Logan family, chances were that Cornelia had lied about where and when she found the cartridge. Davis had a vague thought that Cornelia’s resentment extended to her son. Could she have been so angry by his lack of generosity that she’d kill him? Lured him into a tub, plied him with booze, and helped him slip under the water? She had been the one to discover the body. She had been anxious to accuse her daughter-in-law. Davis rubbed her face with her hands. The whole family was so hinky that just about anything seemed possible with them—maybe they all offed him. Anything was possible.

  Jimmy was still out of town and she stared at his pillow. She missed him. But the upside was that she could work in bed without being bitched at. She studied the crime scene photos spread out before her. Aside from the dead man in the tub and the stained bath mat, there was nothing extraordinary about them. But one caught her eye—a photo of the open medicine cabinet.

  She called the crime scene tech that shot the photos. “Frankie, it's Em...is it? I woke you? Real quick question on the Logan case. I’m looking at the shot of the medicine cabinet. Just the one prescription bottle? You bagged it? Have they tested it? We still have it? You have the mat too? The one stained with the bourbon? Good. Thanks, bye.”

  Mental wheels still spinning, she called Daniels. “Pete? Oh shut up, it's not that late. I want the prescrip
tion bottle they recovered. Get it and take it to the lab. To test it. No, the whole bottle. Every, single, capsule. I don't care. No, not tomorrow, now. And bring them the bath mat too. Yes, I want it all tested.”

  Chapter 28

  DANIELS’ TIMING COULDN’T have been better—Martha was unlocking the door to Logan Construction when he rolled up. He brought a coffee for her and a box of sweet rolls too. In his experience, people were always much more chatty over coffee and sweets.

  Martha flashed a smile and Daniels figured her for a real heartbreaker in her day. She peeked into the box. “I don’t usually indulge in pastries but I may have to make an exception. These look wonderful.”

  Daniels smiled, knowing he’d scored a couple brownie points. “I get them from a little diner with homemade desserts.” He raised a finger. “Careful though, you can’t eat just one.” He waggled his brows. “Highly addictive.”

  She showed him to Logan’s office and gave him the personnel file for Michael Shaw. Her cheer over the pastries quickly faded. Her shoulders slumped as she walked slowly to the door. “You okay, ma'am?”

  When she turned toward him she still wore the cheery smile, but with effort. “Just trying to keep things going.”

  “'Til Mrs. Logan can take over?”

  Her face sagged. “Christine? No. She, well, I think they plan to sell.”

  “Is that what she said?”

  “No, but this was Phillip’s baby.” She looked around sadly. “Christine had no interest in it.”

  “That’s a shame, after all the years you worked here.”

  Martha shrugged. “Things change.” She eyed the file in front of him. “Is that all you’ll need?” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “The crew will start drifting in soon. Things get pretty hectic around here once the guys get in.”

  Daniels dropped a search warrant on the desk. “Understood. I’ll be as quick as I can. But I may need to look at more than the one file.”