Murder After Hours

by Rayna Morgan

  “The lieutenant is expecting you," the desk officer told her. "He and Detective Fisher are conducting an interview. As soon as they finish, I’ll let them know you’re here. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Lea politely declined before taking a seat. There were few aspects of police work which warranted complaint from either her father or Tom, but the quality of station house brew was one of them.

  As she waited, a woman directed the young girl at her side to the counter. “Go ahead. Tell about your bicycle being stolen.”

  It was hard to tell what caused the girl’s tears, losing her bicycle or fear of the woman’s uniform and badge. Sensing the girl’s feelings, the officer knelt beside the child. “What happened to your bike, honey?”

  Lea appreciated the officer’s effort to build trust in police at a young age. Her thoughts drifted to her own trips to the police station as a young girl.

  Her mother didn’t allow frequent visits. But on rare occasions when Warren Conley had free time from duties as Police Chief, Lea was allowed to go straight to his office from school.

  She displayed none of this girl’s trepidation. Rather, she marched up to the front desk and proudly repeated the words she memorized.

  I’m Lea Conley, the Chief’s daughter, here by appointment to see my father.

  She never understood why she had to say the words ‘here by appointment’. It sounded stuffy. Her father explained it prevented him from rushing out in the middle of an interview for fear she was in trouble.

  “You mean, when you’re grilling a suspect?” his daughter asked.

  He laughed. “That’s a rather dramatic way of putting it.”

  In Lea’s eyes, everything about her father’s work was dramatic and exciting.

  She saw police as brave men and women willing to put their lives on the line to protect the community. Heroes undeterred in their resolve to find justice. People like her father, assigned the difficult task of piecing facts together to track down guilty parties.

  Her sister showed little interest, more concerned with scoring a run at a softball game or setting a record at a track meet. Maddy was the sprinting hare to Lea’s slow, methodical turtle.

  Lea was the one who shared a mutual love of puzzles. To the chief and his daughter, solving crime was the best puzzle of all.

  The officer called her name, bringing Lea back from her memory.

  “The detectives left the interrogation room. They'll be ready for you in a moment.”

  Lea nodded. Her attention was drawn to a truck entering the parking lot. On a side panel surrounded by painted roses were the words ‘Bringing beauty to your home and office’.

  • • •

  Lea hadn’t lied to Paul when he asked her intentions with the widower. It was true she wasn’t thinking about talking to Henry. She had made up her mind to do it, given an opportunity.

  If this isn’t the right thing for me to do, she reasoned, why has the universe brought him within two feet of where I’m sitting?

  Lea watched as the man checked in. He was unshaven and had dark circles under his eyes.

  She smiled as he moved to the end of the bench, but he didn’t seem to notice her.

  She spoke tentatively, respecting the boundaries of a person recovering from tragedy.

  “Mr. Dade?”

  He looked her way, puzzled. “Yes?”

  “I heard you give your name at the front desk.”

  She walked over to shake hands.

  “Lea Austin. We don’t know each other, but I’ve seen your truck in our neighborhood. You provide gardening services for several of my neighbors.”

  He nodded absently. His eyes were unfocused.

  “Terrible news about Sandra,” she said, lowering her voice. “I knew your wife from being a client of Ian Alexander.”

  He made no effort to shake her hand.

  She withdrew it. Did he not hear me?

  She sat beside him at a respectful distance. “I can’t imagine what you're going through.”

  He lowered his head, placed his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward.

  Oh, dear! Is he going to be sick?

  He interlaced his fingers and mumbled, “How many times will I hear that?”

  Not knowing how to respond, Lea said nothing.

  After a moment of silence, he raised himself to eye level and stared at her.

  “How do you know about my wife?”

  “I’m the one who found her.”

  Emotion clouded his eyes.

  Was it pain, fear, or curiosity? she wondered.

  “That must have been difficult.” He extended a hand to acknowledge her introduction. “Call me Henry.”

  She wrapped her hands around his. He didn’t pull away.

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  He finally looked at her with eyes sunk deep in their sockets and muffled a sob.

  “I’d like to hear what you saw. It will help me get closure to know what happened.”

  A warning sounded in her head.

  Does he want closure, or is he afraid I found something which could incriminate him?

  She chided herself for her suspicions.

  This man is clearly hurting. I should provide comfort if I can.

  “This isn’t official, of course,” Lea said. “But comments at the crime scene indicate death was instantaneous. She wouldn’t have known what happened.”

  The policewoman called Lea’s name. “Mrs. Austin, the detectives won’t wait any longer.”

  “I’m coming,” Lea replied.

  She pulled back her hands and reached into her purse.

  “Please call if there’s anything I can do.” She gave him her card. “Anything at all.”

  She hurried down the hall to the interview room.

  Chapter Six

  Lea drove to the insurance company after leaving the police station. The yellow tape stretched across the front door the previous day was gone, but she still felt goosebumps when she entered the office.

  “Hi, Donna, how are you doing?”

  The two women had known each other for years, chaperoning class outings, volunteering at fundraisers, and watching their sons’ baseball games. Never had they leaned on each other for this kind of support.

  “I should ask you the same question,” the agent replied, walking around her desk to hug Lea. “You’re the one who found her.”

  “I’ve been in similar situations,” Lea said. “Whether or not that’s good, it helped me through the experience.”

  She noted remains of fingerprint dusting. “I wasn’t sure you would be open today.”

  “Ian and I both want to stay busy. It’s better than sitting home thinking about it.”

  “That’s how I feel,” Lea agreed.

  She reached in her purse to retrieve the addendum.

  “In all the excitement, I forgot the purpose of my appointment yesterday. If Ian’s got a moment, I’ll give this to him.”

  “He’s on his way. Let me get you a cup of coffee.”

  Lea gladly accepted after refusing coffee at the station.

  She followed Donna into the kitchen. “I saw Henry this morning.”

  “The poor man,” Donna said. “He must be devastated.”

  Lea detected a false ring in the woman's expression of sympathy.

  “I can’t imagine losing the love of your life,” she added.

  “I can’t imagine it either,” Donna said, “if that were the case.”

  The statement startled Lea. “Are you saying Henry didn’t feel that way about Sandra?”

  “I don’t mean to make trouble for him.”

  Donna's bitter tone left little doubt of her feelings about the grieving widow.

  “But treating a woman the way he treated her is not my definition of love.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Only from seeing him around the neighborhood. Before this happened, I considered hiring him. I
’ve killed sufficient plants for my husband to suggest I need a landscaper. He comes highly recommended by a neighbor. She can’t say enough about what a nice man he is.”

  Donna acknowledged the comment. “I don’t deny Henry can be charming. Much of the time, he treated Sandra like a queen.”

  Her voice cooled. “Especially mornings after drunken nights when he punched her or threw her across the room.”

  Lea couldn’t hide her shock. “Henry’s a spouse abuser?”

  It was hard to relate what she heard to the person Ida Allen described, but she knew abusers often appear as charming, loving people.

  Donna rubbed her arms, as if chilled. “Only when he drank. He was all right with a beer or a glass of wine. But when he hit the hard stuff, he could be nasty.

  “For a long time, I didn’t know. Sandra kept it secret. There were sick days, excuses about falls that caused bruises, that sort of nonsense. One day when makeup didn’t cover the damage, I decided to confront her. On the way back from lunch, I insisted we talk about it.

  “The poor thing broke down, right there in my car. Instead of returning to the office, I parked on a side street and let her bawl her eyes out.”

  “Was she mad at her husband?”

  “I was outraged, but Sandra was embarrassed. She even defended the jerk by blaming herself, saying it was her fault.

  “I tried to convince her the blame was his. She wouldn’t accept it. Said she knew better than to provoke him when he was drinking. Can you imagine! Her self-esteem wasn’t as strong as I thought.”

  “Did you suggest she get help?”

  “I warned her the abuse wouldn’t stop. She would end up seriously hurt, or dead. I encouraged her to contact a support group.”

  “How did she respond?”

  “She dried her eyes, freshened her lipstick, and told me Henry wasn’t the only one at fault. That’s when I found out her other dark secret.”

  • • •

  The phone rang. They moved to the outer room. A light on the console blinked.

  “That’s Sandra’s line,” Donna said. “I guess she didn't switch to the answering service last night before…”

  She gulped and pressed the button. After listening, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Wrong number. Give me a moment. I’ll tell the service to pick up calls until I’ve talked with Ian. We’ll need a temp to answer phones but until then, the service can separate well-wishers from news hounds.”

  Lea settled on the couch in the reception area, waiting anxiously to hear the story.

  After making arrangements, Donna took a seat at her desk and continued.

  “Sandra started an affair with her neighbor, Nathan Logan, at the end of last year. She claimed to be head over heels in love with him. She was planning to divorce Henry to be with Nathan.”

  “Forgive me if I’m reading something into your voice. You sound skeptical.”

  Donna smiled thinly. “I wish Sandra had been as astute in reading people as you are. The problem with her fairy tale notion is the neighbor is married with young children. From everything she told me, he adores those kids. She gushed about what a great father he is.”

  “Was that important to Sandra?”

  “In her eyes, the neighbor was more than her lover. She saw him as the perfect father for the children she wanted.”

  “Henry and Sandra have no children. I take it that means Henry is the one who didn’t want kids.”

  “He never talked about wanting a family, but Sandra hoped he’d change his mind. She finally realized if she were to have children, it wouldn’t be with Henry. Her clock was ticking. She was eager to put it all in motion.”

  “Did Henry know what was going on?”

  “I don’t think so. Knowing her husband’s temper, Sandra was cautious.”

  She squirmed. “I may have inadvertently set the ball rolling myself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told her she shouldn’t put off telling Henry. She would make things worse not letting him know her feelings. Last night, they had that conversation.”

  “Do you believe that was the trigger that set Henry off?”

  Donna’s eyes teared. “I’ll never forgive myself if I find out my meddling ended up in Sandra’s death.”

  “Why didn’t she tell Henry earlier?”

  “She wanted to wait until Nathan was ready, so they could be together to break the news to their spouses.”

  Lea was excited. She had discovered a motive.

  Proof she deserved to be involved.

  “I’ll let you get to work.”She removed the document from her bag. “Will you give this to Ian?”

  She paused at the door with one last question.

  “When you arrived, did you notice anything changed or out-of-place, other than where the body was found?”

  “The police asked the same question,” Donna said. “I’ll tell you what I told them. The only thing missing from Sandra’s desk is a rock my son painted for her as a paperweight. I can’t imagine why anyone would take it.”

  “Anything else?” Lea asked.

  Donna’s eyes roamed until they rested on her desk.

  “That’s odd,” she remarked, picking at the ragged edges of a small notepad. “It probably means nothing, but the top page of my pad has been torn off.”

  “What was on it, do you remember?”

  “Ian told Sandra to increase content coverage for several of our customers. She asked me to confirm the amounts, but I knew nothing about it.”

  “Was that unusual?”

  “Yes, in a way. It wasn’t unusual that I didn’t receive the requests directly. After Ian or I sign a new customer, Sandra handled ongoing correspondence. It freed us to work on new business or process claims for existing customers.”

  “Except it sounds like Ian had contact with those people.”

  Donna nodded. “Yes, that was odd. It was even odder that he didn’t mention it. I'm paid commissions on policy increases. Ian is usually the first to let me know.”

  “Did he give a reason for not telling you?”

  “Sandra said she would talk to him.” She stared at the notepad. “I remembered after she left with Henry and jotted a note to ask for Ian’s explanation.”

  Her sight shifted to the sports car arriving. “I guess I can ask him myself now.”

  The insurance broker paused at the door before entering.

  Lea understood his reluctance.

  He’s probably thinking of the dreadful scene he encountered yesterday. Still, instinct tells me to hold my sympathy in check. It’s possible Ian murdered Sandra. Then came to the office the next morning to play out the dramatic scene of being surprised and shocked.

  But what reason would Ian have to murder his office manager?

  I’ve heard Sandra’s secrets. Does Ian harbor secrets of his own which she uncovered?

  Perhaps, he didn’t trust his loyal employee to keep quiet.Was she possibly blackmailing him?

  “Good morning, ladies.” His smile seemed forced. He looked surprised to see Lea.

  “In all the excitement,” she said, “I forgot to give you the papers I came to deliver.”

  “Of course. Come in my office.”

  He stared briefly at Sandra's empty spot.

  “Start calling employment agencies, Donna. We’ll need a replacement right away. Clear out her desk. If there are personal items, I’ll call Henry to pick them up.”

  The women glanced at each other. His orders sounded brusque and uncaring.

  He wants everything back to normal, Lea supposed. Does he honestly believe things can ever be the same?

  • • •

  Lea took a seat in the inner office. She watched Ian pull files from his briefcase and settle in.

  He grabbed a mug with his name engraved on the side.

  “I want coffee,” he said. “May I refresh yours?”

  “Please.”

  After he left the room, she looke
d around at pictures with celebrities, gold-plated desk accessories, and engraved memorabilia.

  A man with expensive tastes.

  When he returned, she sat quietly as he reviewed the document she gave him.

  “Everything’s in order,” he said, after a moment. “Let me enter this information and your flood coverage will be effective today.”

  He turned on his computer and moved his fingers over the keyboard.

  He’s intentionally avoiding the elephant in the room.

  “I saw you being interviewed at the police station,” she said. “Did things go well?”

  “As expected. It’s not a place I’d care to revisit.”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “How was your interview?”

  “No more than a rehash of what I told the police yesterday.”

  Ian clipped her policy addendum to a file. “I hope it’s the last we’ll see of the police.”

  “There was one thing,” she said, getting his attention. “Donna found the top sheet of her notepad torn off.”

  She waited, eager to hear his response.

  His voice was clipped. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  They were interrupted by a commotion in the reception area, Donna’s expression of sympathy followed by a loud shout.

  “Ian, we need to talk.”

  Without warning, the person with the angry voice barged in, running into Lea’s chair.

  She jumped up and spun around.

  Startled, the intruder backed against the door.

  For the second time that morning, Lea was face to face with Henry Dade.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  He turned abruptly and hurried out.

  In the parking lot, he climbed into his truck, but didn’t start the engine.

  Ian appeared flustered as he tried to explain the intrusion.

  “He must have come for Sandra’s things. Poor man. He acts half deranged with grief.”

  He stood to escort Lea from his office.

  “Call me next week when things have settled down. We’ll discuss the brochure I want.”

  As he moved around his desk, he picked up an envelope which he handed to her.

  “I have something for your neighbor, Mrs. Allen. I sent her a paper to sign which she hasn’t returned. She probably lost it. Do me a favor. Give her this copy. Tell her to mail it straight back or she’ll forget.”