by John Misak
Saturday at 10AM. Then again, that’s usually when the parkway was jammed, when you couldn’t figure out a reason for it to be.
I drove up to the Mullins residence, and decided to stay a few houses away before going in. I guess you could say I got a little nervous. After all, if I got caught carrying on an investigation while under suspension, I was in deep shit. Okay, so I was already in deep shit, but I really didn’t feel like shoveling some more on top of myself. I had to be smart. I could go in to speak to Sondra on a personal level. There was no law against that, but then I wouldn’t be able to ask too many questions. In essence, I would be wasting my time. No, I had to go for broke. I had to squeeze her for every ounce of information she had. Then maybe do a little more squeezing of a different variety.
That was only if things went really well.
You can stop laughing at me now.
I guess it took me a solid fifteen minutes before I pulled up to the gate of the Mullins residence. I felt like a jackass pulling up to a house like that with such a tacky car. I felt like a pimp. Probably looked like one too.
I pressed the button by the gate.
“Mullins residence.” The voice wasn’t Steve’s this time.
“Detective Keegan to see Mrs. Mullins.”
There was a short pause. The gates opened. I drove slowly up to the front of the house, threw my cigarette out the window, and got out of the car. I was dressed casually, in jeans, a white shirt, and a pair of tan loafers. I felt like a civilian, and hated it.
A burly brown-haired man came from the front door to greet me. He was dressed similar to the way Steve was, in tan pants and a white polo shirt. I figured that was the Mullins security uniform.
“Mrs. Mullins is playing tennis right now. I’ll take you over there if you like, Detective Keegan.”
“That’d be fine.”
We walked around the side of the house and came to the tennis court where Sondra, dressed in a short skirt and a white sweater, was returning balls from a machine. She had a spring to her stride and a ... um ... bounce as well. It was nice.
“Where’s Steve?” I asked.
“He’s off for the week.”
“Are you the other one, the one who was sick last week?”
“Yes. Name’s George.”
He extended a thick hand. I shook it. His grip was like a vise.
“Well, George, I would appreciate it if you could get me the video tape for Monday and Tuesday if it’s not too much trouble. I’m sure Steve told you about it.”
He seemed to think about that for a moment.
“He didn’t. But as long as Mrs. Mullins doesn’t have a problem with it.”
“I appreciate your help.”
“No problem.” George was a nice guy. Dumb as a stump perhaps, but a nice guy regardless. We walked over to the fence, and Sondra noticed us standing there. She motioned for one of her people to stop the machine, and walked over.
“How nice to see you, Detective Keegan.”
“Hello Sondra. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course. Let me just get cleaned up. I’ll meet you in the sitting room.” She was sweating, and I would have preferred she stay that way. I liked women with a little sweat, especially if I was the one who caused them to get that way. Of course, that didn’t happen too often, so I had to savor it.
“Okay.”
I was waiting in the sitting room for about ten minutes when Sondra walked into the room, wearing a pair of black slacks and a button down purple shirt. She had a generous amount of buttons open, giving me just a peek at heaven. She sat down in the chair across from me, went to her cedar box of cigarettes and lit one. This was becoming standard procedure. She lights a cigarette while I stare at her tits. I could deal with that.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“Well, I was hoping that you’d have some news for me.”
“What sort of news?”
“Anything. Has anyone come to talk to you?”
“Well, I’m sure you know your partner came down yesterday.” Of course I didn’t.
“Okay. I didn’t. I’ve been out of the office for a day or two on personal business. What did he have to say?”
“Nothing much. He wanted to know if I had any other information, and then he asked for copies of the will and anything else pertaining to the estate.”
“Did you give that to him?”
“Well, I didn’t have everything he needed. My lawyer is going to fax me the rest.”
“How did he look?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he hasn’t been feeling very well. Actually missed a day of work. Did he look sick?”
“He didn’t seem to.”
“Did he come alone?” I asked.
“He had another man with him. A tall, thin man. Looked to be a bit older, say in his fifties.” That was probably Peters.
“You catch a name?”
“No. I don’t remember. I do know that he was a sergeant, I think.”
Definitely Peters, the scumbag. “What was their overall tone?”
“Well, they seemed to be in a hurry. The other guy didn’t say too much. He just kept looking at me. Why are you asking me all of this?”
“Well, Sondra, I have to be honest with you. Some strange things are going on. I guess you could say the department is split on how to handle this case.”
Sondra leaned forward in her chair. “You mean whether or not it should be considered a suicide or a murder?”
“Something like that.”
“No, you mean something other than that, I can tell.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. This is about me, isn’t it?” she asked. She leaned back, as if to let the brevity of it all hit her.
“Not necessarily.”
I should have known better. I walked right into this. I didn’t want to get her suspicions up, because then, more than likely, she would clam up and I would get nothing out of her.
“Then who is it about?”
“It’s about everyone. Your husband was an important man to this city and, because of that, everyone comes under suspicion. When you have so many suspects to deal with, handling the case becomes almost impossible. On top of that, you have everyone involved with the case coming up with his or her own theories and ideas on how to handle it. It is a nightmare.”
This didn’t seem to settle her too much.
“I’m being considered a suspect, aren’t I?”
“Everyone is.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
Now, I couldn’t just come out and tell her that the department was looking to frame her, because I would do nothing but get myself into trouble by doing so. Plus, I couldn’t count on the fact that she would trust me above Rick and the rest of the department. They were working behind my back. That hurt, but it pissed me off more than anything else. I tended to do irrational things when I got pissed off, so I tried to forget about them and put all my effort into finding the solution to the case.
“Well, yes, you are being considered a suspect, but you have a rock-solid alibi, and I can’t say that you have a strong motive either.”
“I’ve heard stories where the police create a motive. Is that what you came here to do?”
“Not at all. I just need information.”
“Information that you’ll use against me?”
I was in trouble, and sinking fast.
“Listen, I came here to get information to help you, not hurt you. I personally don’t think you had anything to do with your husband’s death. But I’ll need information to help prove that. I want to know who killed your husband and I want to bring them to justice.”
“That sounds nice, but I don’t know if I trust you.”
“You don’t have to trust me. You just have to tell me the truth.”
“About what?”
“About everything.”
“Like?”
“First of all, tell
me everything you know about your husband’s relationship with Harold Chapman.”
“I told you everything the first time you were here.”
“Tell me again, and try and remember everything you think might be important to this case.”
“You think Harold Chapman might be involved with this?” she asked.
“Like I said, everyone is a suspect.”
“But you suspect him more than anyone else.”
“Maybe so.”
“Harold Chapman did not kill my husband and, if that’s all you came here to talk about, then I would say it is time for you to leave.”
“Well, that isn’t all I came here to talk about, but I would like to know why you are so sure Chapman is innocent.”
“Harold Chapman might not be the most honest person I have ever met in my life, and he may have done some things that were wrong, but I could never believe that he would commit murder. That’s just not his way.”
Not his way, huh? Either Sondra was a little naive, or she knew something about Chapman that I didn’t. “Okay, so it is not his way. If that’s the case, then who do you think murdered your husband?” I asked.
“I think my husband either committed suicide, or he was the victim of a terrible accident. Nothing more.”
I wondered what led her to such a conclusion. “Right.”
“Right. So, all this investigating really doesn’t make any sense. Look, Detective Keegan, I think you are a good man trying to do your job, but I assure you, you are wasting your time trying to make more out of this situation than there is.”
It seemed that the esteemed Mrs. Mullins played from a script. Of course, I realized it could have just been my inability to let the case go at that point. She might have been telling me the straight truth right there, and I probably would have dismissed it anyway. I had lost trust in Mrs. Mullins, mainly because I had lost trust in
