Deadly Guild (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 3)

by Renee Pawlish

  The kitchen was quiet when I walked in the door. I kicked off my shoes and padded through the house. I found Harry in his home office. It’s sparse, white walls with one black-and-white picture of the mountains above his desk, a file cabinet in the corner, one bookcase with business books. He’s a big ’70s music fan, and Foreigner was playing. I stood in the doorway and watched him for a second. He was concentrating, staring at the monitor, and he didn’t hear me. I love the way his eyes look when he’s thinking, the crow’s feet around the edges. For some reason, it’s sexy to me.

  “Hey there,” I said.

  He jumped and spun around in the chair. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  I nodded. “You look like you’re concentrating hard.”

  “I’m glad you’re home.” He turned the music off. “Just some contracts for work. It’s nothing.”

  Harry owns his own consulting company, and he sometimes keeps long hours. He stood up and walked over to me. He gave me a gentle kiss, then said, “You look tired.” He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed, then whispered in my ear, “I missed you.”

  I let him hold me for a second, then stepped back. “It was a crazy day.”

  “Yeah, for me, too.”

  “I’m beat.” I pointed at his desk. “You finish whatever you need to. I’m going to bed.”

  He waved a hand at the computer. “It can wait.”

  We went into the bedroom, undressed, and crawled under the covers. I laid on my side, and he wrapped an arm around me. My mind still raced.

  “Diane called today.”

  “Oh?”

  I told him about the call.

  “Wow, she actually said all that?” he said.

  “Yes. It surprised me.”

  He moved his arm and rubbed my neck. “I’d say that’s a really positive thing. She’s making some effort.”

  “Did you have anything to do with that? Did you talk to her?”

  He chuckled. “No, I didn’t. That was all on her own.”

  I shifted my head on the pillow. “It was good to hear. I needed that.”

  “Yeah, you did. You don’t need to blame yourself.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  He kept rubbing my neck. Exhaustion finally set in, and I was soon asleep. I didn’t have any nightmares.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Marilyn had been poking around another clandestine chatroom when she noticed there was a message from the group. That was odd, because contact was limited, and since they had met earlier in the day about her deed, she didn’t expect to hear anything until tomorrow at the earliest. For Teddy to make contact now, it must be something important. She checked the message, and was told to be in the chat room at eleven p.m. That would be easy to do. Her husband wouldn’t be suspicious; she was a night owl and was on the internet a lot when she couldn’t sleep. He’d be in bed, oblivious to what she was doing. That seemed to be their way. She thought about her husband for a moment. They had been in love, once. Not anymore. But they kept up appearances, and they did occasionally have fun together. She shook her head to clear away those thoughts and left her office.

  She spent the evening wondering what had happened, what was going on in the group to prompt a special meeting. As she ate dinner, she puzzled through options and landed on one she hadn’t dared allow herself before. What if Teddy said they all could kill again? She’d been pondering whether she could do it again. She went back to last night. The exhilaration she’d felt had been astonishing. She had tried to compare it to something. She’d gotten high back when she was in high school, so long ago. Marijuana was okay, and she’d even tried cocaine. She enjoyed the feeling, the rush, but this was a thousand times better than that. Another deed, though? It would be a huge risk. Was she willing to take it? She’d been careful the other night, but what about a second time? So much was running through her head that even her husband noticed she was distracted. She brushed him off and went back to thinking about her deed. She’d never allowed herself to think about doing it again.

  Could she?

  After dinner, she watched TV for a while. Her husband was early to bed and early to rise, and he retired to their bedroom by nine. Marilyn fixed a Scotch and went into the study. For once, she wasn’t on the internet. She sat in her chair, listened to Mozart, and stared into space. At eleven o’clock, she logged into the chat room.

  Teddy: The Guild will now come to order.

  Teddy asked everyone to adhere to the rules of the group. A round of agreement from all the members. Marilyn stared at the screen and waited for Teddy’s next move.

  Teddy: Did any of you watch the news channels this evening?

  Everyone said no, except for Brad Pitt.

  Brad: Yes, I saw Channel Four.

  Teddy: Did you see the story about Jonathan Hall?

  Marilyn sipped her drink. The name meant nothing to her.

  Brad: Yes, he’s the son of Carlton Hall.

  That name Marilyn knew. He was the lieutenant governor of Colorado, and she’d met him and his family. She set down her glass. What did this have to do with the group?

  Teddy: Correct. Jonathan Hall, Carlton’s son, was killed down on the South Platte. He was homeless. This was a certain someone’s deed.

  He was careful in how he phrased things. The chat stayed silent for a moment. Marilyn stared at the blinking cursor. Then someone spoke up.

  Joe: Daffy, how could you be so careless???

  Marilyn could almost feel his anger. No one was supposed to kill a high-profile person.

  Daffy Duck: He was a homeless guy! How was I to know that he was the son of the lieutenant governor? It’s not like he had that written on his clothes, and I didn’t search for an ID.

  Pete: Didn’t you research your victim at all?

  Daffy Duck: Of course I did. I watched homeless people for a while, watched where they hung out and where they went. I spied on that guy for a week or two. Trust me, he was never with anyone except other homeless guys. There was no way I could’ve known who he was.

  Marilyn watched the screen, her Scotch in her hand. She didn’t realize her hand was trembling. Brad Pitt and Daffy Duck began arguing, Brad’s comments littered with swearing. Marilyn had never been fond of so much swearing.

  Teddy: Please stop, all of you. This is not how we conduct ourselves.

  Marilyn had long ago put a voice to his typing, and to her he sounded sophisticated, with the trace of a British accent. Even now, the way he worded things. So calm, and yet so in control.

  Teddy: The police are now calling Hall’s death suspicious, and they are asking for the public’s help. They are treating this case very seriously. Daffy, are you sure there were no witnesses, no one that could trace anything back to you?

  Daffy Duck: I’m positive. I didn’t make any mistakes.

  Pete: You’d better be damn sure. This could bring us all down. And you know what, I won’t let that happen.

  Marilyn didn’t know what that threat meant. Even though she had plans for what she would do if things got too close to her, she’d never really thought seriously about it. Would she have to actually implement her plans?

  Brad Pitt and Daffy Duck began arguing again.

  Teddy: Stop, before someone reveals something they shouldn’t. Regardless of how we got here, this situation can only be resolved in one way. The Guild is now terminated. We will all go our separate ways, and no one must speak about this again.

  Joe: Wait a minute. I haven’t had my turn.

  Teddy: I do apologize, but it has to be this way. We cannot risk anyone getting caught, and now, with police involvement in Daffy’s deed, we cannot proceed.

  Joe: That’s not fair! Others got their turn, and I listened to them talk about how great it was. I want my chance. I’m finally ready to act, and I have to do it.

  Teddy: No.

  Joe: You got to experience this, now it’s my turn.

  Brad: Joe, get over it. You can’t jeopardize everyone.
<
br />   Joe: Shut up, Brad. You got your turn.

  Teddy: This discussion is over. Please adhere to the group rules. This group shall go no further, and I will be shutting down this chat room. I wish you all the best. It’s time to sign off.

  Marilyn saw that Joe Smith tried to say something else, but then the chat ended. She sat back and stared at her monitor. This was a stunning turn of events. She felt for Joe, not being able to experience what she had. And she’d wondered about him. He was, in her opinion, brash. He came across impulsive. What would he do? He had sworn to the Guild rules, but he was so upset about not getting his turn. Would he adhere to those rules? Another thought crossed her mind: Did Teddy secretly know who they all were, and would he be able to stop Joe, or any of them, if they acted irrationally? Marilyn realized she would never know.

  As she listened to the music, she felt a sudden sense of loss. Even though she had never met any of these people, had no idea if they were men or women, they had become like friends to her. She looked forward to their discussions, and to hearing how things had gone for them. She wondered if the others felt the same about her. She was sad to see it all end.

  She picked up her Scotch glass and drained it, then shut down her laptop and went into the kitchen. She left her glass there and went to bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  On my way to the office the next morning, I stopped at the apartment on Race Street to see Rachel Ingalls. It was early, and when I rang the apartment, no one answered. I kept at it until someone buzzed me in. When I went upstairs, Rachel answered, her hair askew, face drawn.

  “What do you want?” she muttered.

  “Are Misty Chandler and Gwen Pruitt here?”

  She didn’t have any fight in her. “Yeah, hold on.”

  A minute later, two young women, both in T-shirts and shorts, plodded to the door. I introduced myself, and they stared at me. Both looked worn out.

  “You both know Nicole Lockwood?”

  “Yeah,” both said.

  I went through the same questions I had with Rachel the previous day, and the only extra information I got was that Misty knew the same guy, Chuck, that Lola did.

  “Do you have a last name?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “They don’t give last name, you know?”

  “What does he look like?”

  “I don’t know, kind of heavy, thinning hair.”

  “Average,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  I pushed them a bit, but they didn’t have any more information. I left, at least knowing Misty had confirmed what Lola had said. I drove to the station and was sitting at my desk when Oakley walked in with the folding knife in his hand. He held it up, and had a hopeful look on his face.

  “What did you find out?” I asked him. I’d caught up on a little sleep, but still felt I was dragging a bit, and the coffee I was drinking was fresh and black.

  “Forensics did some overtime work on this one, since it has to do with the lieutenant governor’s son. They said there’s DNA from a couple of different sources, and none of it belongs to Jonathan Hall.”

  I tapped a staccato beat on my desk with a pen. “If the vic owned the knife, wouldn’t we expect his DNA on the knife?”

  “I would think so.”

  “Me, too.”

  Oakley studied the knife through the baggie. “There’s traces of human blood on it. None of the DNA samples match to anything in the databases.”

  I held out my hand and he handed me the bag. I twirled the knife around. “It’s fancy, but I know next to nothing about knives. Can you get something like this at a Walmart?”

  He shook his head. “No, you can’t. This is a custom-made knife.” He put his hands to his face and drew his fingers down over his mouth. “I worked on that last night, searched the internet, made a lot of phone calls, learned more than I ever care to know about knives.”

  “How can you tell it’s custom-made?”

  He held up a hand. “The blade is hand-forged, the handle is made from something special, although I don’t know what. I was going crossed-eyed from looking at all the variations, so I stopped researching. One thing I did discover.” He nodded toward the knife. “If you look on the bottom end of the blade, near the handle, there’s a little mark on the metal.”

  I peered closely through the plastic and saw a tiny symbol. “What’s this? A couple of ‘P’s?”

  “Something the person making the knife put in when he forged the blade. It took me a while to track down the symbol, but there’s a guy here in town who makes knives: Pete Palmer. He owns a small hunting and fishing supply store on the corner of Zuni and Alameda. It opens at ten. Unfortunately, I have a meeting with the chief and the lieutenant governor this morning.” He scrunched up his face unhappily. “Can you believe this? They’re pushing me hard now, want to know in less than twenty-four hours what kind of progress we’ve made.” He snorted. “Hall thinks because we had a press conference, things are going to magically turn around on this. All we’ve gotten from the tip line so far is a bunch of stupid rumors, everything from a guy reporting his neighbor as the killer to, I kid you not, a Russian conspiracy. And of course we have to check out everything, because there might be something that really is a good lead.”

  “Nothing good?”

  He shook his head with a wry smile. “Not so far. It’s taken a hell of a lot of extra time, though.”

  “Yes,” I sympathized with him. “Been there, done that. If only people understood how investigations really went.”

  That brought a laugh. I continued to twirl the bag between my hands. “I got a name of the john who was with Lola.”

  “The hooker from the motel who reported the murder?”

  “Yes, that one.” I told him about my conversation with her. “Tell you what. I need to stop at a coffee shop, see if I can find this guy, and then I’ll go by Palmer’s shop.” I set the knife down. “I want to know what’s going on with this.”

  “That’d be great. What have you found out on your investigation?”

  I gnawed my lip. “We managed to track down a guy that Nicole was seeing when she was underage. Get this, he’s a cop.”

  He rubbed his hands over his face again. “Man, with everything going on these days, that’s not good.”

  I nodded. “You got that right.”

  “You think someone found out about them, so he offed her?”

  I thought about that. “I’m not sure. We interviewed him last night, and I’ve got Ernie looking into him more. We need to canvas the area around the Platte again, take his picture and see if anyone recognizes him. That homeless guy might know more than he’s saying, and a picture might help.”

  “If you can find him.”

  “I looked for him last night, but no luck.”

  “I’ll get some detectives on it today. What’s he look like?”

  I described the old man, then said, “I emailed you Culbertson’s picture. And I gave Ernie and Spats the rundown a little bit ago. Spats went to West Colfax to see if he can find anyone who saw Culbertson there the other night. If we could place him around the motel, let him know someone saw him …”

  “He might cave and confess?” Oakley finished as he went over to the coffeemaker in the corner and returned with a cup of coffee. “I didn’t get a ton of sleep last night, and I’m sure that’s going to be the case until I can get this resolved.”

  “I’m right with you.”

  “Do you figure this cop offed Jonathan Hall?”

  “I don’t know. I’d ask Hall if he knows Culbertson, or if he thinks Jonathan knew him. Maybe Culbertson had a beef with Jonathan and killed him.”

  “I’ll ask him, and ask around, too, to see if I can find a connection between Culbertson and the Hall’s son.” He didn’t look happy. “I appreciate the help, even if I didn’t seem like it yesterday. I don’t want this to ruin my career.”

  I brushed that off. “Get prepared for your meeting with the chief, tell them tha
t you’re tracking down all the leads from the tip line, but don’t tell them you’re wasting a bunch of time on it. That’ll only make them angry. I’ll follow up on this,” I pointed at the knife, “and let you know what I find out.”

  “Thanks.” With that, he left.

  Lola Tyndale had said that Chuck, the man she was with when they saw Nicole dumped in the motel parking lot, hung out at a coffee shop near Colfax and Wadsworth. My research showed a Starbucks nearby, and I stopped there for coffee and watched for a man she described: average height, a little heavy, with thinning brown hair and brown eyes. Nicole had said Chuck wouldn’t be getting coffee too early, so I thought I’d spend what time I could there. Whenever I saw a man like that, I paid attention to his left fourth finger to see if he wore something like a class ring. No one fit the bill, so I finally left. On my way to the hunting and fishing shop, I called the station and asked for surveillance on the shop. That way, I could channel my resources elsewhere.

  Sharply at ten, I was at the hunting and fishing shop Oakley had told me about. I had no idea of the shop’s name, as the sign above the door read, “Supply.” I walked in, and a man with light hair and a goatee stood behind a counter at the back. The shop was packed with all sorts of hunting and fishing supplies, rods, nets, camping equipment. I smelled leather and oil.

  I walked up to the counter, and he looked at me curiously. “May I help you?”

  I showed him my badge and introduced myself. Before I could say more, he said, “Homicide?”

  I nodded and put the bagged knife down on the counter. “Do you know anything about this knife?”

  He stared at the bag for a moment as if it might bite him, then finally picked it up. He turned the knife around in the bag, then nodded. “Sure, this is a specialty knife that I make.”