“After you dropped me off, I made some calls, and James Hackenberg’s alibi checks out. There’s no way he could’ve driven his BMW to the motel.”
“Good work. One thing about Julia Nelson. Tell me about her hair.”
“Her hair?” he repeated. “It’s short brown. Why?”
“Eve Godwin has long gray hair.” I told him about my conversation with Chuck Ames, including his mention of what he thought was long gray hair. “All along, I’ve been assuming the killer was a man, but what if a woman murdered Nicole Lockwood? What if a woman pulled her hair back into a ponytail and tucked it under a wig, but the wig slips when she was dumping the body out of the car, and her gray hair falls out? Is that a stretch in my logic?”
“There’s some sound logic there. But if we now think the killer might be a woman, could it be Hackenberg’s daughter-in-law? Sounds like she would’ve had access to his car, too.”
“Yeah, maybe. Does she have gray hair?”
“I’m going to speak to them now. You find out what you can from Eve Godwin, and let’s see where that leads us.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll call you back soon.”
I ended the call and raced back to the Cherry Hills neighborhood. This time I flashed my badge at him and told him I had another appointment with Hackenberg. He hesitated, and I forcefully told him to let me in. I hoped if he called Hackenberg, by then I’d be at Eve Godwin’s house. I drove through the neighborhood and pulled into her drive. My heart raced as I rang the doorbell and waited. What seemed an eternity later, Eve opened the door and looked at me with surprise.
“Detective … I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.” She smiled sheepishly.
“Spillman.”
She nodded once, perfunctorily. “Yes. That’s right.” She held the door and didn’t invite me inside.
“Do you have a few minutes?” I asked. “I have a few follow-up questions.”
“So soon?” She glanced past me, seemed to search for words, then sighed impatiently. “I suppose I could spare a little time. I do have a meeting to get to.”
“May I come inside?”
She paused, then opened the door wider. “I guess.”
Her earlier friendliness was gone. She led me back into the living room, and we sat in the same places as before. She put her hands in her lap and looked at me. She didn’t offer me a drink. I glanced around the room, fully took it in this time. A few pieces of abstract artwork hung on the dark, wood-paneled walls, and some sculptures adorned shelves on either side of a large fireplace.
“You have some beautiful pieces of art,” I said, trying to put her at ease.
“Thank you. My husband and I have attended some auctions in New York. We particularly like Michele Vargas.” She gestured at a painting in dark blues and greens.
“It’s quite stunning,” I said. I took another moment to look at the paintings, and saw her breathing slow down. I started with an easy question. “When I was here before, you said you were home Tuesday overnight,” I said.
“That’s right. My husband can confirm that. Have you talked to him?”
I shook my head. “When I called his office, he was unavailable.”
“He’ll corroborate what I said.”
“I hate to say this, but he could lie for you.”
“Why would he do that?” The reply came a little too fast.
“You’re sure no one else can verify your whereabouts overnight Tuesday?”
“No.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “And you visited the Hackenberg house once while they were gone?”
“Yes, Detective, to drop off some mail. That’s what I told you.” A little snippy.
“What day was that?”
“Um, it must’ve been Thursday.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember for sure.”
“Do you know the Princeton Motel?”
Something flickered in her eyes. “No, I do not. Princeton. Isn’t that in New Jersey?”
“No, it’s a motel on West Colfax.”
“Detective, we went over this.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I couldn’t tell you the last time I was on that side of town. It’s not anywhere I would go.”
We stared at each other. The house was eerily quiet, almost spooky. My gut was churning, telling me I was on the right track.
“Mrs. Godwin, before we go further, I need to advise you of your rights.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“I’m sorry, but I have to do this. You have the right to remain silent …” I continued to recite her Miranda rights. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?”
“Yes, of course.” Her look was cautious.
I went on. “Do you own any guns?”
“I do not. What are all these questions about, Detective?”
I slid to the edge of the couch, tense. “We’re looking into the murder of a prostitute. She was killed at the Princeton Motel. In the process of our investigation, we have video from a nearby surveillance camera, placing Mr. Hackenberg’s car at the scene. Only he couldn’t have been there. He was out of town.” I paused, and she stared at me. “It would appear someone borrowed his car and used it in a crime.”
She rested her palms on her thighs. “And?”
“We also have footage from a doorbell camera from a house in the neighborhood near the motel. It shows someone in a BMW with Hackenberg’s license plates stop on the street, and someone gets out and steals plates from another car. I watched the video. The person could’ve been a woman.”
“Detective, this is all fascinating, but what does it have to do with me?”
I went for it. “Did you use Hackenberg’s car, switch the plates, then go to the Princeton Motel and kill Nicole Lockwood?”
She stayed cool. “What a preposterous suggestion.”
Something about her manner hit me, and it suddenly dawned on me where I’d seen her. At the community meeting a week ago. She’d asked me questions about homicide investigations. Looking for information to help her commit the perfect crime? My blood turned cold, and I went on high alert.
“You were at the DPD community meeting last week,” I said. “You were full of questions.”
“I don’t recall that.”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m sure it was you.”
She studied me for a minute, her lips a thin line. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” she suddenly said. “I need to use the bathroom.” She stood up and hurried out of the room.
“Mrs. Godwin?” I called after her. I hesitated, waited and listened. The house remained still, the windows buttoned up so tightly I couldn’t hear anything outside. I glanced at my watch. Had she just gone to the bathroom, or was she using the phone? I put my hand on the butt of my gun, stood up, and called out to her. No answer. I called again and got no reply. Blood pounded in my ears. I walked toward the front entrance and glanced into the foyer. I heard nothing, and saw no one. She’d said she was going to the bathroom, but I found a powder room off the foyer, and she wasn’t there.
Where had she gone?
The night I’d rushed into Diane’s house flashed in my mind, racing through her house, wondering where she was. I felt the same apprehension now as I had then. I quickly brushed that aside. I had to do my job. I pulled out my gun, then called out again and walked carefully toward the kitchen. I saw nothing but my own fuzzy reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator. I quickly canvassed the rest of the first floor, eyes and ears alert. I didn’t see Eve or anyone else. I went to the stairs, called out, then walked up to the second floor. I stood on the landing and called her name yet again.
Silence.
I headed down a wide hallway in search of the master bedroom. I passed several smaller rooms, glanced in each one, and determined they were empty. I finally found the master bedroom, a huge suite dominated by a king-size, four-poster bed.
“Mrs. Godwin?�
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I raised my gun and moved into the room. I walked past a chest, a large dresser, and double doors that were open, exposing a huge closet. Another nearby door was closed. I went to it and knocked.
“Mrs. Godwin? Open the door.”
At this point, I didn’t expect an answer. My breathing was short, nerves on edge. I put my hand on the knob, raised my gun, and twisted the knob. I pushed the door open and glanced inside.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Eve hurried upstairs and went into the bathroom. Acid roiled in her stomach as she shut the door. Her breathing came in short gasps, and she fought not to be sick. She walked to a large counter, rested her hands on the edge of the sink, and stared into the mirror.
How could she have been so stupid not to think of a doorbell camera? And one that picked up the license plate number from Hackenberg’s BMW. She had never considered a doorbell camera for her house. It was set so far back from the road, in a gated community. Why would she? But others did. She shook her head as she stared at herself. She was so certain she’d thought of everything, but not that.
Eve had always thought she’d never get caught. She’d had the courage to go through with her deed. Now she had to have the courage to carry out her back-up plan, the one she’d assumed she would never need. Thoughts of her husband ran through her mind. He was a dullard, but he’d provided her with a lot. She didn’t feel love for him, but she did hope that he wouldn’t get in too much trouble, although he deserved it, after cheating on her so routinely. He didn’t have a clue what she’d done, so he should be safe. She wondered if he’d miss her. Probably not too much.
No more time to reminisce, she thought. The detective would come looking for her soon.
Eve crouched down and opened the bottom cabinet drawer. She rummaged around in the back until she found a small package tucked under facial supplies. She pulled out the envelope, tore it open, and shook out a small baggie. Cyanide. Daffy Duck had told her where to buy it online, but she never really thought she’d have to use it. She had read up on different types of poisons, how fast they acted, and where she could get them. She chose cyanide in part because, if inhaled, it could kill within minutes. She opened the baggie, and with a trembling hand, poured some of the powder on the countertop, then took the envelope and cut a couple of lines as she’d seen people cut lines of cocaine in the movies. She kept a hundred dollar bill with the envelope, and she quickly rolled it up. She swallowed hard, bent down, and before she questioned herself, she snorted the two lines of powder. There was a second of nothing. Then she felt it. She fell to the floor and gasped. Her lungs fought for air, to no avail. She stared at the ceiling and thought, So this is what death feels like.
Chapter Thirty-Three
When I entered the bathroom, Mrs. Godwin was lying on the floor, facing the vanity cabinet.
“Mrs. Godwin! Eve!” My gun was still on her. I moved carefully to where I could see her face, keeping a distance so she couldn’t trip me. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her mouth open, some spittle at the corners. I nudged her and she didn’t move. Then I saw a baggie with powder on the counter.
“What the hell?”
I holstered my gun, bent down, and grabbed her. “Mrs. Godwin!” I shook her and tried to get her attention. Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head. Then her body quivered and was still. I felt for a pulse, but she was gone. I didn’t know what she’d ingested or how, so I was not going to perform CPR. The process of helping her could kill me.
I stood back and quickly dialed 911. I identified myself, and asked for backup and an ambulance. The dispatcher said she’d send emergency personnel right away. I ended the call and glanced around the room. I didn’t see any signs of other poisons or pills that she might’ve taken, but I wasn’t going to check drawers. I suspected Eve had killed Nicole Lockwood, and I wanted everything properly documented. I smelled lavender, felt a crushing silence. I had been too late. I gave her one last look, then went downstairs and onto the porch. While I waited, I called Spats. He didn’t answer, and I suspected he was still talking to Hackenberg’s son and daughter-in-law. I tried Ernie next, and when he picked up, I told him what happened.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m fine.” The truth was, I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t going to admit that.
“I’m on my way,” he said, then was gone.
I stared at the Godwins’ perfectly manicured front lawn, my mind momentarily tortured. I still didn’t want things to end this way. My nerves were on edge, the danger I’d felt looking for Eve Godwin reminding me of that night at Diane’s house and chasing Welch. I closed my eyes and gulped in a few breaths. A minute later, I heard sirens, and soon two squad cars and an ambulance arrived. I shoved my regret aside and trotted down the driveway.
“Detective Spillman, Denver Homicide,” I said to the first officer, a short, muscular man. A taller woman with braided hair hurried up beside him. I showed them my badge and told them the situation. “I’ll be joined by one of my partners soon.”
After that, I let the officers take over. We were in Cherry Hills, which was not my jurisdiction. I followed them upstairs and showed them Eve Godwin’s body, and the EMTs confirmed that she was dead. I explained in detail to the uniforms what had transpired, and by the time I finished, two detectives from their department had shown up. They took charge and began working the crime scene, and I went back downstairs to the foyer, where I saw Ernie at the front door.
“That’s my partner,” he said to the Cherry Hills cop at the front door. Once his identity had been verified, Ernie strode over and stared at me. “How ya doin’?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “I’m …”
“What?” he asked in a low voice.
“She told me she had to go to the bathroom. Maybe if I had followed her …”
“Don’t go down that road again,” he said. “You have to stop second-guessing yourself.” He put hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “You hear me?”
“Yes.” I took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand.
“Go over everything again.” I did, and he nodded his head when I finished. “I would’ve played it the exact same way.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Spats called, and I told him what had happened. He swore when I finished.
“All I was going to tell you was that Hackenberg’s son and daughter-in-law have a good alibi for Tuesday night. They spent the night in Vail, plenty of witnesses. I guess that doesn’t matter now.”
I heard a commotion out front. “Spats, I need to go.”
“You want me down there?”
“No, Ernie and I aren’t doing much. I’ll see you at the station later.”
“See you there. I’ll give Rizzo an update.”
I thanked him, and Ernie and I headed to the front door.
“It’s my house! Let me in.” A tall man in a dark suit fitted to perfection was standing at the door, arguing with the police officer.
“Are you Mr. Godwin?” I asked.
“Yes. This is my house. Who are you?” Godwin was average height, with a thick head of gray hair, square shoulders, and an air about him. “What is going on? Where’s my wife?”
Ernie and I led him onto the front porch.
“Just a moment,” I said.
The policeman was already rushing inside and returned with one of the Cherry Hills detectives, a woman named Cotton. Her long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her nails were bright red, a touch of lipstick. Godwin was flustered and kept asking what was going on. Cotton stepped in, put a hand gently on his arm, and introduced herself.
“Detective Grace Cotton,” she said. Ernie and I stepped aside and listened. “You are Mr. Godwin? May I see your ID?”
“My ID? Well …” He was flustered as he took out his wallet and showed her his ID.
“Thank you. I’m sorry to tell you this, Mr. Godwin,” she went on, “but your wife is dead.�
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His eyes darted back and forth, then his jaw dropped. “What? I don’t understand. I just talked to her a little bit ago.”
“It would appear she poisoned herself.” Cotton told him what happened. “I also have to inform you that these detectives,” she gestured at Ernie and me, “believe she’s a suspect in the murder of a woman on West Colfax.”
He stared at me. “I don’t understand.”
I glanced at Ernie. I’m sure he was wondering the same thing I was: why wasn’t Godwin protesting more? Cotton looked at me, then back at Godwin.
“I’d like for you to identify your wife, and then would it be all right with you if these detectives ask you a few questions?” she said.
Godwin’s jaw tensed. “Yes, anything to clear this up.”
Cotton took him upstairs, and they returned a few minutes later. Godwin was pale. Cotton moved back and listened as I took over the conversation.
“Where was your wife Tuesday overnight?”
“She …” he hesitated. “We were home all night.”
I pursed my lips and crinkled up my face sadly. “Mr. Godwin, I know this is difficult, but I need you to tell me the truth.”
He looked shaky, and he reached out until his hand found the porch railing. He backed up and leaned against it. “This is all so crazy.”
“Please, Mr. Godwin,” I said mildly.
“She called me earlier today and asked me to lie for her. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t ask.” He was sheepish. “I was in Boston Tuesday night. I just got back home this morning.”
“Why would you lie for her?” Ernie asked.
Deadly Guild (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 3) Page 18
