“You said she drowned?”
“Yes, are you hard of hearing?”
Jimmy ground his teeth and swallowed his temper. “Any other evidence of trauma to the body?”
“She fell down the side of a hill. So, yes, she had wounds on her body consistent with that. If she hadn’t drowned, she likely would have succumbed to her injuries.”
Jimmy felt for Katie Carpenter. Tumbling down a hill, being tossed about like a rag doll. That would have been a horrible way to go. “She likely would have?”
Needham shook his head. “Don’t go reading any more into this. Now, is that all?”
“But that’s what I’m paid to do,” Jimmy said sharply. “Was there anything that stood out from the autopsy worth mentioning?”
“I ruled her manner of death as accidental.”
“I’m well aware of that.” Jimmy paused to gather his thoughts on how to rephrase his inquiry to cull out more specifics. “Were there any marks on her body that might indicate foul play?”
“Again, she rolled down a hill. There were bushes and tree branches, rocks.”
Guess that’s a no. “Did you gather anything at the scene that you found suspicious? Let’s start with how she appeared when you arrived.”
“That a question?”
“Yes.” Jimmy sighed, agitated.
“She was in running gear,” Needham said without missing a beat. He might not deal well with the living, but his memory was impeccable. “A white T-shirt, red shorts, teal running shoes.”
“It’s September, a little cool for shorts.”
“Again, I’m not sure if there’s a question in there.”
There really wasn’t, and Jimmy continued. “Was there anything about the scene, about the body, that you felt when you arrived?”
“Felt? I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
There was always a feeling at the scene of a death, but there was a different quality when something was off or hinky. Needham would be well aware of what Jimmy was getting at and was just being obtuse. “At first impression, did you believe it was an accident?”
“Feelings and beliefs have very little to do with the job, Mr. Voigt. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
“Amuse me,” he spat.
A glint flashed in Needham’s eyes. “Very well. On scene, I was curious why she didn’t have a phone on her or an MP3 player.”
“And why’s that?”
“She had wired earbuds in her ears—at least one of them. The second one was dangling from her. I assume it fell out from the fall, but she could have already removed it before her fall. I’m not clairvoyant.”
Jimmy wasn’t touching Needham’s arrogant comment. But why would Katie have earbuds and not have them plugged into anything? “Did the police ever find her phone or an MP3 player?”
“You’d best be asking them, but I don’t think so.”
One earbud in, the other out—that could indicate a struggle with someone. A long reach, but a possibility. And where was Katie’s phone? Sean had given him so little info before sending him into the lion’s pit.
-
Chapter 7
SWEATING THE DETAILS
Sean walked into the Albany police station and found it was like stepping through a portal to the past. When he’d worked there—what felt like a lifetime ago—he’d been scraping by financially, and now he was abundantly wealthy. But if he had never been a detective, then the rest of it—Sara, his inheritance, and the PI firm—probably never would have come to be.
He and Sara went to the front desk and found a few uniformed officers he didn’t recognize, but there was one familiar face watching them approach.
“Good morning, Gloria,” Sean said.
“Why, Sean and Sara McKinley, as I live and breathe.” Gloria Nash was a civilian and handled general inquiries and routed phone calls for as long as Sean could remember. She was a beautiful woman in her early fifties, and someone who was always quick to smile, with a hearty laugh that infected a room.
Sara was grinning. “How are you doing these days?”
“Oh, you know. It’s all good. Always is. That’s all I’m letting come to me.”
“Wonderful. You haven’t changed a bit.” Sara nestled closer into Sean’s side, and with the contact, Sean felt a tad guilty. He had everything—the love of his life, money, and a job that was his passion—and even he wasn’t as optimistic as Gloria here.
“Nope, no way. Can’t let this world bring you down.” Gloria studied them. “You two are looking good, though you always have. How’s being PIs treating you?”
The phone rang on her desk then, and she excused herself to answer.
Sean looked at Sara and put an arm around her waist. Yes, he was super blessed.
“Sorry ’bout that,” Gloria said. “Got a job to do.”
“Hey, no need to apologize,” Sean said. “And speaking of jobs, we’re working on a case right now and would appreciate talking with Commander Delarosa.” It was always best to clear inquiries past the big dog to avoid the appearance of trampling on any toes.
“The commander’s in meetings all day. Is there anyone else you’d like to talk to?”
Not an ideal position, but Sean didn’t see they had much choice but to proceed around Delarosa. Katie’s death had already been two weeks ago. He leaned in toward Gloria, giving the nosy uniformed officer next to her a look to mind his own business. “We’re investigating the death of a woman named Katie Carpenter—”
“And you’d like to talk to the detective who was assigned to the investigation.” Gloria was still the mind reader she’d been when he was on the force.
“We would,” Sean confirmed.
Gloria glanced at Sara, back at Sean. “Only for the two of you—no one else.” Her face cracked into a grin, and she started clicking away on her keyboard. “Okay, that case was assigned to Detective Langstaff.”
Of all people, was what Sean thought. What he said was, “Thank you, Gloria. Is Roland in?”
“He is, and he’s in character.” She laughed.
Roland Langstaff had a tendency to shoot off at the mouth and exaggerate things. Hopefully, their most recent history with the detective would work in Sean and Sara’s favor—not against. They might have helped Roland get the necessary evidence to bag a killer a couple years ago, but they’d also weaseled themselves into an open police investigation to begin with. “Do you think we could talk to him?”
“Let me see what I can do.” Gloria got on the phone and pleaded her case. A few moments later, she hung up, another grin lighting her face. “He’ll be right down to retrieve you.”
Like we’re the detective’s pets or something…
“Thanks,” Sean said, knowing that retrieve would have been Roland’s word choice.
Gloria waved a hand of dismissal. “Don’t mention—” The phone on her desk rang again, and she excused herself and got back to work.
Sean and Sara moved to a seating area that lined the front windows of the station and sat.
After ten minutes, Sean started tapping his foot. “He’s making us sweat it out.”
Sara put a hand on his arm. “Don’t let him get to you.”
“Easier said than done.”
Twenty-five minutes had passed by the time Detective Langstaff graced them with his presence.
Sara was the first to stand. Sean followed and held out his hand to the detective, who didn’t seem inclined to shake it.
Be civil, Sean coaxed himself.
Eventually, Roland shook Sean’s extended hand—curt and rapid. “So, what can I do you for you?” Roland put his hands on his hips and looked down on them like they were bugs to squash. One would think he’d be more gracious, considering they had solved on
e of his cases for him.
“How are you doing?” Sara countered in a sugary voice.
Roland narrowed his eyes at her. “Only reason you’d ask me is if you wanted something. I have a feeling this is going to be good. Come with me.” He turned heel and headed toward the bullpen.
Sean looked at Sara and raised his eyebrows as they followed.
Roland pulled over a chair from a nearby desk so that two were next to his. “Please, sit.”
Apparently, there was no existing gratitude for their help, but rather a bitter grudge for their interference.
“Hey, Sara. Sean.” Alvin Doyle, another detective they had worked with, waved a hand, smiled at them, and he headed over. Too bad Alvin hadn’t been assigned the Carpenter case. He was soft-serve ice cream to Roland’s Titanic-sinking iceberg.
“How are you two doing?” Alvin asked.
“Great. Thank you for asking.” Sean might have slipped in the latter as a plug intended for Roland, who hadn’t even bothered to ask how they were, but he was still sincere. “What about you, Alvin? The family?”
“All doing good.” Alvin smiled and grabbed a coat from the back of a desk chair and headed out, leaving them with Roland.
Roland leaned back in his chair, shoulders squared, hands clasped on his lap.
He might think he is intimidating…
“We understand you were tasked with the recent case of Katie Carpenter,” Sara began unswayed by Roland’s air of superiority.
“Sure, and it was ruled an accident.” In true Roland fashion, it seemed the man was ready to fight. Even Sara’s natural charm had no effect on him.
“Some people aren’t so sure,” Sean laid out, earning a glower.
“Her friends just want answers,” Sara slipped in, ever the mediator.
“Which they have, and apparently don’t want to accept. I can assure you that it was an accident.”
Sean bit back the urge to ask if Roland had personally witnessed the “accident,” but part of him could understand where Roland was coming from. If Sean had done his due diligence and concluded it was an accident, it would be next to impossible for anyone to change his mind. He just wasn’t sure he trusted Roland’s due diligence. “What makes you so positive it was an accident?”
“I investigated,” Roland deadpanned. “I spoke to those in her life, and no one stood out as suspect or with a reason to want her dead. And the medical examiner ruled her manner of death as accidental.”
Again Sean had to keep quiet. He had no respect for the detective hiding behind the word of someone else—even if that was the ME. Sean had thought closing the case in less than two weeks must have made it clear-cut. But with Roland being the badge behind the investigation, Sean was feeling that wasn’t necessarily true.
Roland continued without prompting. “The path where she fell from hugs the edge of the ravine.”
“Okay, but the fact she ran there every day, was familiar with the terrain, didn’t make you question the fall?” The words—and implied accusation—were out before Sean could censor them, but he was tired of tiptoeing around Roland’s delicate ego.
“Anything could have happened that day—”
“I agree,” Sean shot back.
“What I’m saying is Carpenter could have twisted her ankle, tripped on something—on her own shoelace, for that matter. She could have been startled by something—any number of things—but there was no evidence to support that she met with foul play. As you know, there’s only so much that can be done, and there are other cases that need our attention.” Roland’s gaze drifted to the pile of folders on his desk as if to emphasize his point and excuse his shoddy police work. He went on. “It’s not like there was a knife wound or gunshot or anything. We’re talking about a girl who fell, wound up facedown in the river, and drowned.”
Drowning was often dubbed the perfect murder method, and Sean settled his lips in a thin line. As if sensing a storm, Sara leaned forward, her voice tight when she spoke. “She didn’t die from the fall?”
“Ultimately, she did. She didn’t possess enough strength to help herself, did she?”
There was no doubt Roland wasn’t losing any sleep about closing the case, but Sean had this undying urge to poke holes in the detective’s findings. Not only did Sean want to prove Roland wrong, but if someone had killed Katie, he felt obliged to find her justice.
-
Chapter 8
THE LONG STRETCH
Sara could feel the pressure closing in on her as she sat in the bullpen—the familiar feeling she’d had while working for the Albany PD. What the public didn’t realize was taking down the bad guys wasn’t the only stressor for a cop—budget restraints also were. And she could sense its presence today, a life force of its own. It was likely money that had hurried along the closure of the Carpenter investigation. Maybe Roland was the product of his environment—the rotating door of cases waiting for attention paired with unauthorized overtime—but she held no respect for the man before her. She had a goal, though, and that meant pushing her personal feelings for the detective aside.
“Detective Langstaff,” she began, addressing him formally in hopes it would be conducive to her and Sean’s purpose. A flicker danced across his eyes that confirmed it just might, but he was also guarded. “We appreciate you taking the time to talk to us about the case. Please believe me when I say that. Don’t we, Sean?” She looked at him, and he nodded.
Roland dipped his head as if inviting her to proceed. As Jimmy would say, the wheels were greased.
Sara continued. “I can see how you could conclude Katie died as the result of an accident. After all, her injuries were consistent with the fall. And it’s certainly feasible she wound up facedown in the Hudson and drowned.” More flattery with a splash of empathy.
“That’s right.” Roland unclasped his hands and swiveled his chair left to right, right to left, left to right.
“How was she dressed?” Sara wanted to get a sense of the scene.
“Running gear,” he offered. “It was rather clear that she had been running. Her boyfriend confirmed that Carpenter ran that path every morning.”
“Every morning?” Sean repeated.
“That’s right. She’d set out at six and stay at it for an hour and a half.”
If running on that path was an everyday occurrence for Katie—and she was aided over the edge of the hill—her killer knew her routine. Not only that, but the killer would have to be familiar with the trail in order to know where to strike. “Where did the accident occur exactly?”
Roland described the area, giving them more to go on than Mirela had, and Sara nodded, recognizing right where that was. It was isolated and the perfect spot to execute a murder if one were so inclined. If she recalled correctly, there would also be places for the killer to hide and lie in wait.
“Listen, I know what you guys are probably thinking.” Roland swiveled more, his chair creaking its complaints. “Someone who knew her routine could have been waiting for her, but I assure you, nothing on the path indicated that. And no one gave me any reason to suspect they had reason to give her a shove.” There was the trace of amusement in Roland’s voice—as if being pushed down a hill to one’s death was a ride everyone wanted to take.
Sara conjured up the image of the twentysomething decked out in running shoes, T-shirt, running pants, possibly shorts, headphones and— cell phone? Katie’s boyfriend had answered hers when Mirela had called, but did that mean anything? “Did she have a phone on her?” she asked, curious if one had been collected and handed over to Katie’s boyfriend. They didn’t yet know the extent of their relationship.
“Nope. No MP3 player either, but she had earbuds.”
“And you didn’t find that odd?” Sean interjected.
“Figured whatever she had th
em in got swept away in the river.”
Or was taken by her killer—her own boyfriend? Sara felt a touch of nausea. “Who found her?” she asked.
“Another jogger. They stopped to take a rest, looked over to the river, and spotted her lying there.”
Bad timing, or had they given Katie a shove? “What was this person’s name?”
“Lucy Fletcher. She’s a public school teacher. Surely, you don’t think she pushed Katie off and then reported the death?”
Sara opened her mouth to speak, but Sean beat her to it.
“Stranger things have happened.” Sean’s voice was riddled with sarcasm, but appropriately so. Roland needed a little dose of his own treatment from time to time.
“Uh-huh.” Roland grimaced. “Well, she checked out. There’s no way she pushed Katie.”
“When did she find Katie?” Sara asked.
“It was called in just after seven in the morning. Time of death was estimated to be between six and seven.”
That was probably one of the easiest time-of-death calculations the medical examiner had to make, given Katie’s routine. “You’ve been an amazing help,” Sara said, all proper. “But do you think it would be possible for us to get our hands on the case file itself?”
“I’d have to clear it by Delarosa, but if I get the go-ahead, sure.”
Sara nodded. “All we can ask for. Thank you.”
“Just promise me if you find something that indicates Carpenter was murdered, that you come to me,” Roland requested.
“Absolutely,” Sara said with a smile, but her fingers were crossed behind her back.
“Since you’ve been so kind,” Sean added, maybe going a bit over the top with sarcasm.
“Ha-ha.” Roland rolled his eyes.
The two saw themselves out and waved to Gloria on the way by.
Sara nestled up to Sean as they walked to his Mercedes. “I smell a rat.”
Exercise Is Murder Page 3
