TIL DEATH

by Annette Dashofy

  “Where?” Pete asked.

  “To Cheryl Vranjes’ house.”

  “Why?”

  “I have something I want her—and you—to see.”

  Cheryl Vranjes answered her door wearing a worried expression. Pete had seen the look before when law enforcement appeared on the front stoop. Once again, she ushered them into her living room. “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”

  Baronick looked entirely too serious. “Thank you but that won’t be necessary.” He held up his phone. “We have another video we’d like you to look at if you don’t mind.”

  Pete eyed him. We do? But he kept quiet. The detective was up to something.

  Cheryl’s trepidation was replaced with eager excitement. “I don’t mind. I’m happy to help.”

  Baronick moved shoulder to shoulder with the woman and gestured for Pete to join them. Pete positioned himself behind and between them as Baronick queued up a video on his phone.

  The dark, poor quality image showed a parking lot with only one car. Pete didn’t recognize the location. This wasn’t the same footage Agent Graley had presented. The back door of the car opened, and a man in black stepped out, keeping his face shielded from the camera.

  Cheryl gasped, touching fingertips to her lips.

  The man in the video jogged across the screen. Baronick paused the video before the guy moved out of camera range. “What do you think?” the detective asked Cheryl.

  “That’s him. It’s that man again. The same one who killed Elizabeth.”

  Baronick avoided Pete’s eyes to look down at their witness. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” She looked up at him. “I thought you said there wasn’t any other film of the killer.”

  Pete thought the same thing.

  Baronick’s expression changed, morphing from deadly serious to disappointed. “There isn’t.” He hit play on the phone again.

  The man in the video stopped and turned to face the camera, which zoomed in tight. He reached up, flipped back the hoodie covering his head, and looked straight into the lens.

  It was Baronick.

  Cheryl gaped at the detective. “What in heaven’s name?” She pointed at the phone. “That’s you.”

  Pete took a step back, waiting for Baronick’s explanation.

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

  “But…why?”

  He shot an apologetic glance at Pete before putting his phone away and facing the confused woman. “You positively identified the man in Agent Graley’s video as the same man running from the scene of Elizabeth Landis’ murder. You said he moved the same. I’m sorry, ma’am, but I didn’t see anything discernible in his gait. I wanted to prove—” He held up a finger to stop her protest. “—or disprove that you weren’t able to determine the identity using the grainy security footage available.”

  Cheryl appeared ready to tear into the detective. She started to dispute his trickery several times before clamping her mouth shut. She huffed. After thinking over what he’d said, she must’ve reconsidered her earlier statement. “I guess I was wrong,” she said, her voice low. She glared at Baronick. “You tricked me. But you proved your point. I’m just a stupid woman.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “Quite the opposite. I know you were sincere when you identified the man in the first video. And I know you’re not the kind of person who’d want to see the wrong man go to jail for something he didn’t do. Or go free for something he did do.” He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I wanted you to be sure.”

  “Clearly, I’m not.” Cheryl shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. This just means we’re no further ahead or behind than we were a couple days ago.”

  Pete saved his argument of the last statement until after they’d thanked Cheryl for her time and were inside Baronick’s unmarked sedan. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “I think it was pretty clear.”

  “What’s clear is you’ve just discredited one of our main witnesses for the prosecution. Whose side are you on?”

  Baronick faced him. “Cheryl Vranjes discredited herself the moment she made a positive ID on the other video. No one could say for certain that guy was the same one she remembered from nine years ago. If she’d gone into court with that story, Imperatore would’ve ripped her testimony to shreds.”

  One thing Zoe’s new office had going for it was the quiet. Paulette made handprinted signs and taped them to the door, inside the elevator, and next to the building directory in the lobby, but so far, people weren’t dying to find the coroner’s office.

  Zoe winced at the memory of Franklin’s voice and old joke.

  Paulette left to meet Lauren, making it even quieter. Alone, Zoe untangled the knot of cables and cords to reconnect the pair of computers. One for her. One for Paulette.

  Zoe flinched at a soft thud and flutter. She spun toward the lone window to find a pigeon on the exterior sill. It stared at her through the streaked window as if wondering what the hell this human was doing, invading the bird’s private space.

  “Hi,” Zoe said to the miffed-looking mass of feathers. “Sorry if my company annoys you. I hope to be only a temporary visitor.”

  It continued to watch her accusingly. Which led her to conclude there was such a thing as too quiet. She skimmed through her phone to find the head-pounding playlist she’d created for late hours at the farm when she’d been getting the house ready for habitation. Not only did the hard-driving music keep her awake and working, but it blocked all the things that went bump in the night. She set the phone on the windowsill, thinking the beat might scare away the pigeon.

  But, apparently, it liked rock.

  Humming along to the tune, Zoe positioned a computer tower beneath the dented and marred gray metal desk she’d claimed as her own. She crawled under it, wishing she’d mopped the grimy linoleum before starting the task, and sat, hunched and cross-legged, sorting out the connections.

  Rocking to the beat, she didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. The fist pounding on the open door startled her half out of her skin. Rearing up, she banged her head on the desk and wasn’t sure if the boom was part of the song’s crescendo, a new dent in the gray metal, or the sound of her brain bouncing inside her skull.

  “Are you okay?” Pete’s chuckle made the inquiry lack sincerity.

  She backed out on her knees, her head aching, and pushed up to stand. “No. Don’t surprise me like that.”

  He entered, lugging a box. “I called out, but you must not have heard me over the music.”

  Rubbing her head and wondering if she had a concussion, Zoe crossed to the window—the pigeon had flown the coop—and hit pause on her phone. “It was too quiet.”

  “I thought you liked quiet.”

  “On the farm, yes. That’s peaceful. In a hundred-plus-year-old building, on a floor that’s otherwise deserted? Not so much.”

  He looked around. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said, heavy on the sarcasm.

  “You’re not funny.”

  Pete jiggled the box. “Where do you want this?”

  “Anywhere. I’m not planning to unpack much. Paulette’s trying to get us a real office in the Courthouse Annex.”

  He thunked the box on top of another. “Speaking of Paulette, where is she?”

  “Having lunch with Lauren Sanders.” At his raised eyebrow, Zoe explained about Lauren’s proposed tribute.

  Pete nodded his approval. “I guess that means I can’t whisk you off for lunch right now.”

  “Or later either.” She swept an arm around the room. “Too much work to do. And I can’t exactly come in tomorrow to do it.”

  “How about you help me unload all the stuff in my Explorer, and then I’ll get takeout for us.”

  On cue, Zoe’s stomach grow
led. “Deal,” she said.

  As Pete deposited the last pile of books, Paulette and Lauren returned from their lunch meeting, chatting like old friends. Zoe hoped Lauren hadn’t pried any sensitive information from Franklin’s secretary. Even though Lauren was doing a feature, she was an investigative journalist at heart—and was very good at her job.

  Paulette took one look at the additional boxes piled on the desks and lining the walls. “Looks like I have my work cut out for me.”

  “How much do we really want to unpack though?” Zoe asked. “I’d rather not get too comfortable here if we’re going to relocate in a few days.” She glanced at Pete and grinned. “I’m getting tired of moving.”

  “I have no idea how long we’ll be here before something opens up in the Annex.” Paulette gathered a stack of books from the desk she’d claimed and dumped them on the floor next to it. “I thought you were going to hook up my computer while I was out.”

  “I was busy.”

  Lauren backed toward the door. “I’m having flashbacks to a story I did on hoarding. A stack of boxes fell over and killed an elderly woman. You all have fun getting settled in.”

  “Coward,” Zoe called to her.

  “Self-preservation.” Lauren pointed with her chin at Pete. “I have some questions for you. Mind if I stop by your station later this afternoon?”

  “Questions about what?”

  “The serial killer who may be responsible for Elizabeth Landis’ murder.”

  Zoe watched his jaw clench. Lauren might be safer with the boxes than with Pete if she hounded him about his least favorite topic.

  Lauren must’ve taken his silence as a “yes.” She fluttered a hand at him and darted out of the office.

  He looked at Zoe. “What can I bring you for lunch?”

  She gave him a flirtatious grin. “You know me as well as I know myself. I trust your judgment.”

  He turned to Paulette. “You heard that, right? I have a witness.”

  “I did, indeed.”

  “Speaking of witnesses…” came Wayne’s voice from the door.

  Zoe wheeled toward the newcomer, who clamped a folder under one arm and lacked his usual smile.

  But he wasn’t addressing her. He was looking at Pete. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Seems to be a lot of that going on,” he grumbled.

  “My sister told me where I could find you.” Wayne glanced Zoe’s way. Now he smiled, but she had a feeling it was as veneered as his teeth. “I think that broom closet in the hospital would have been bigger than this.”

  Before she could make a wisecrack, his attention reverted to Pete. “Seriously. We need to talk.”

  Pete nodded. “You can walk to the deli with me.”

  After the pair left, Paulette’s gaze met Zoe’s. “What in heaven’s name was that about?”

  “I wish I knew.” Or maybe she didn’t. “Let’s get our computers hooked up so we can get some work done this afternoon.”

  “What’s going on with my sister?” Baronick asked as he and Pete strode the half block to the Main Street Delicatessen. “She sounded distracted on the phone.”

  “She’s working on something.”

  “What exactly is she working on?”

  “I don’t know. She said she has a hunch.”

  Baronick grunted.

  “You didn’t come here to talk about your sister. What’s so urgent?”

  They reached the deli’s entrance. Baronick led the way in, withdrew the folder from under his arm, and set it on an unoccupied table. “Place your order. I’ll show you this while you wait for your food.”

  Pete hated games—unless they involved professional sports teams, preferably from Pittsburgh—and he especially hated when Baronick played them. But the detective’s grim expression told Pete he needed to pay attention to whatever was inside the folder.

  And Zoe was waiting for lunch.

  He ordered a BLT and fries for Zoe, a ham and swiss on rye for himself, plus two coffees. After paying at the register, he rejoined Baronick who’d taken a seat. “All right. What’s this all about?”

  Baronick opened the folder. “We’ve lost another prosecution witness.”

  “Lost? How?”

  “Dead.” He used his fingertips to slide two sheets of paper toward Pete and spun them to face him. “Gina Wagner died unexpectedly four days ago.”

  Twenty-One

  Pete stared at the printout of the obituary. He was all too familiar with the second paper—the list of witnesses the prosecution had called at the first trial. “What happened?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “That Gina Wagner had died? No.” He fished his reading glasses from his shirt pocket, stuck them on his face, and read the obit all the way through. “It doesn’t say much. Passed away unexpectedly Monday evening.”

  “Zoe didn’t mention it to you?”

  “No.” He read the short obit again. Gina’s mother had chosen to keep the details of her life private. “She lived on the other side of Marsdale. Not my jurisdiction. Zoe probably didn’t know about Gina’s part in the trial.”

  “I guess I can’t blame her.” Baronick leaned back in his chair. “She mentioned the name to me on Tuesday when I stopped at Franklin’s office to get the autopsy reports on Elizabeth. I didn’t make the connection until I was going over the witness list this morning.”

  Pete took off his glasses. “Why’d Zoe mention Gina to you?”

  “She and Doc had just completed the autopsy. When I came in, she assumed that’s why I was there.”

  “Did they find something suspicious?”

  “No. The exact opposite. According to Zoe, there was no obvious cause of death, pending toxicology. But a young, healthy woman doesn’t usually come home from work, go to her room to rest, and never wake up. I was supposed to check with the officers who took the call and forgot about it. My bad.”

  Pete gazed out the deli’s front window at the people passing on the street, only vaguely aware of them. An apprehensive murmur arose from his gut to settle in the back of his skull.

  “Tell me what you remember about her,” Baronick said.

  “She was quiet,” Pete said, picturing the woman from the trial. She looked younger than her age, with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She also looked devastated the entire time she testified. “Smart,” he added. “And very much in love with Dustin Landis.”

  “Couldn’t have been that smart then.”

  “There are different types of smart.” The businessman who’d been ahead of Pete in the deli line collected his order and left. Pete’s would be next. “Her relationship with Landis had ended at least a year before he killed his wife. Gina had broken it off as soon as she discovered he was married. Her testimony, along with that of the other mistresses, showed his history of infidelity.”

  “He got tired of all these cute chicks dumping him because of his wife, so he bumped off the old ball and chain.”

  “Overly simplified, but yeah.”

  “Adams,” the woman at the counter called out.

  Pete stood. “Aren’t you getting anything?”

  Baronick shook his head. “Late breakfast. I’ll walk back with you. I want to hear if Zoe’s learned anything else about Gina’s death.”

  After picking up a large bag containing his and Zoe’s lunches and a carrier with their coffees, Pete headed for the door. Baronick gathered the papers into the folder and followed. Outside, the clouds had begun to split, revealing patches of blue, hopefully a good omen for tomorrow. Moving day. The home edition.

  Zoe was once again on her hands and knees, this time beneath Paulette’s desk with the secretary holding a tangle of cables over her.

  “Your lunch is here,” Paulette said to the backside sticking out from under the desk.

/>   The backside shimmied out—stirring some deeply unprofessional sensations in Pete—and Zoe’s blonde head popped up.

  “Great. I’m starved.” She climbed to her feet only to be met by a scowling Paulette who held up the still detached cords. “I’ll eat fast.”

  Paulette grunted. “You couldn’t have taken two more minutes to plug these in?”

  “Nope.” When the secretary continued to glare, Zoe added, “Hey. You already had your lunch. Don’t begrudge me mine.” She closed the short distance to her own desk in three steps and swept it clear, depositing a hodgepodge of papers on one of the unpacked boxes.

  Pete set the bags on the desk’s surface and watched as Zoe ripped into them.

  Baronick shouldered the doorframe, looking at Zoe. “Did you find out any more about Gina Wagner’s death?”

  Zoe paused, short of biting into her sandwich. “Not yet. Did you?”

  “Not about her death.”

  She followed Baronick’s gaze to Pete. “Gina was one of the prosecution witnesses against Landis,” he said.

  Zoe’s lips parted in surprise. “Why?”

  Pete didn’t reply and watched the realization dawn in her baby blues.

  Gina Wagner had been one of Dustin Landis’ lady friends. The news shocked Zoe more than it should’ve. Although Gina had helped tutor Zoe in high school, they hadn’t run in the same circles. Gina was one of the studious kids the teachers loved. Zoe? Not so much. Gina was one of the good girls, a category the teenaged Zoe could never claim. She’d changed over the years. Apparently, Gina had as well.

  Once Pete and Wayne left, Zoe finished sorting cables and setting up the computers. Paulette’s pleasure was short-lived when the promised delivery of office chairs didn’t happen. With the secretary off to do battle with the office supply store—heaven help them—Zoe dragged a stacked pair of sturdy boxes over to her desk and plopped onto them. Not comfortable, but easier on the spine than standing and leaning over her computer.