The Theory of Death

by Faye Kellerman

  “I told you that the door was unlocked.”

  “You can’t go into a house just because the back door happens to be open. That isn’t an invitation to come on in!”

  Dixon looked down. “I didn’t kill her.”

  “Okay, suppose that I believe you. I want to know what exactly you did once you were inside.”

  “I told you, I shook her. She didn’t respond.”

  “Afterward. For instance, did you look around the room for her math papers?”

  “I saw her and freaked out.”

  “You didn’t answer the question, Alistair. Once you were inside her house, did you look around the room to try to find her math papers?”

  Tears spilled out of his eyes. He nodded yes.

  “Did you look at her computer?” The kid didn’t answer. “We’ve recovered the hard drive. Even if you erased your search, we’ll find evidence. Not to mention fingerprints.” When Dixon remained quiet, Decker said, “Unless you wiped the keyboard down. The question is, did you wipe it down perfectly?”

  He was met with silence.

  “Did you look at her computer? Yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I just glanced because I heard noises.”

  “What kind of noises?”

  “Like shuffling.”

  “Shuffling?”

  “Shoes or slippers on a floor. Muffled. Sounded like it was coming from another room. That’s when I really got scared. I swear to God, that’s when I left.”

  “What else did you hear?”

  “Just that. I got the hell out.” He looked down.

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “No, I didn’t see anyone. I ran out and ran home.”

  Decker sat back in his chair and thought a moment. “Alistair, when you got to Belfort’s house, did you see or hear anything unusual before you knocked?”

  “No. Just the light on in her house, which I thought was a little unusual given the hour.”

  “Did you hear anything unusual?”

  “No.”

  “Were there any cars parked in front of the house?”

  He thought for a moment. “Not right in front of the house. I remember thinking how empty the street was.”

  “So there were no cars parked on her street?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “So think about it for a moment. It was under a week ago. Do you remember any cars parked on Belfort’s street?”

  “Well . . .” Dixon cleared his throat. “I remember passing parked cars on the way to her house.”

  “That’s a good start. Now think back to her street. Were there any parked cars on her street?”

  Dixon closed his eyes. “I’m not sure if this is a false memory or . . . I believe . . . there was a car in front of her neighbor’s house . . . or maybe it was two doors down . . . on the right side.”

  “Good. Do you remember anything about it?”

  “No model or license plate, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Nothing caught your attention?”

  “No.”

  “What kind of car? Van? SUV? Sedan? Truck?”

  “Minivan.”

  “A minivan?” Decker was hoping for the mysterious late-night sedan.

  “Yeah, a minivan.” Dixon opened his eyes. “Yeah, I remember now. It was in front of the neighbors. I remember thinking that the car was clean for being parked outside. You know what snow and grime do to cars in the winter. It wrecks them. The car had obviously been garaged.”

  “That’s very good, Alistair. Really good. Do you remember anything about the minivan other than how clean it was?”

  “Not really.”

  “Was it a light or dark color?”

  “Everything looked dark because it was nighttime.” He paused. “It wasn’t white. Maybe black or dark blue. I wouldn’t swear to it.”

  “But you saw a minivan parked near Belfort’s house?”

  “I think so.”

  Decker said, “Let’s go back to the crime scene.”

  “Do we have to?” When Decker didn’t answer, he said, “What do you want to know?”

  “How long were you on Dr. Belfort’s computer before you heard the noise?”

  “About five minutes.”

  “Did you find the data for Dr. Belfort’s stochastic oscillator indicator on her computer?” McAdams asked.

  “Everything was encrypted.”

  “How did you pull up her files?”

  “They were already on the screen. She must have been working on them when, you know, it happened.”

  “We have her computer,” Decker said. “We can verify whatever you are telling us.”

  “So verify it. I’m telling the truth.”

  “Maybe you are this time, but you’ve been lying to us from the get-go,” McAdams said. “Why should we believe you now?”

  “I swear I’m telling the truth now.”

  “So prove it,” Decker said. “Take a polygraph. While it won’t eliminate you as a suspect, it’ll go a long way in helping us decide whether you’re being truthful or not.”

  “I am being truthful. I admitted being there. But I didn’t kill her.”

  “I already have a few people who are willing to take—”

  “Who?”

  “Can’t tell you that. What I want to know is can I count you in?”

  A deep breath in and out. “Sure. I’ll take a polygraph. I didn’t kill her. Can I go now?”

  “Not quite. I’m still in a quandary—do I charge and hold you for a day courtesy of the great state of New York? Or . . . do I let you go.”

  “I didn’t kill her.”

  “You could be a flight risk. You’re single with no ties to the community. Plus, I can actually put you at the crime scene by your own admission.”

  “I . . . did . . . not . . . kill her.”

  “I believe you. But I’m still going to charge you for obstruction of justice, illegal entry, and tampering with a crime scene. I have to put you through the legal process. It would be negligent if I didn’t.”

  Dixon withered. “Please don’t do this to me.” Silence. “Please, Detective. I’ve cooperated with you.”

  “And that’s precisely why I’m not going to charge you with murder.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  “Why are you doing this to me? Please!”

  “You know, I’m going to cut you a break right now. I’ll let you call your lawyer on your cell phone so you can get started on getting out of here.”

  “I don’t have a lawyer. Do I look like I can afford a private lawyer?”

  “Then the state of New York will get one for you. I tell you that when I Mirandize you.”

  “I didn’t murder anyone. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I do believe you, Alistair, but I’m still going to hold you for a while. Stand up.” The young man broke into tears when Decker started reading him his rights. “Try not to take it too hard or too personally. If you’re innocent, one day this’ll be a great story to tell your children.”

  “I’m gay.”

  “First of all, being gay doesn’t preclude having children. Second of all, a night in prison will give you street cred, Dixon. People are going to start asking you lots of questions. It’s not going to be a pleasant time for you, son. You need to toughen up a bit. A night in the cage will go a long way toward achieving that goal.”

  CHAPTER 34

  IT TOOK LESS than three hours for Alistair Dixon to be released on his own recognizance. By that time, it was almost nine in the evening and Decker still had to finish paperwork. When he came home, he was famished and worn out. He glanced at McAdams, who had left the station house before the official booking, two hours earlier. The lad was sitting at the dining table, open books in front of him.

  “Rina said she’d be back at ten.” Tyler checked his watch. “Which was five minute
s ago. How did the booking go?”

  “He’s already out. Any idea where my wife went?”

  “She didn’t say. Just that we should wait for her to come home for dinner. I hope it’s soon. I’m starving.”

  “If she waited for me, I’ll certainly wait for her.” He pulled out his phone in the kitchen and made a quick call to Kevin Nickweed. Then he returned to the dining room. “I’ll just take a quick shower. Be back in a few.”

  “What’s with the secretive phone call?” McAdams said.

  “No secret at all. Just didn’t want to disturb you. I called Kevin about the CCTV tapes on the night of the murder. There are no security cameras on Belfort’s block, either on the street or on the houses. That’s to be expected. Most people here don’t even have alarms. The closest camera is at the intersection of Forest and Main, which is three blocks away. But it’s a big intersection.”

  “You’re hoping to find the minivan.”

  “I’m sure I’ll find a minivan. I’m hoping it’ll be an important minivan. I told Kevin to pull the tape. See if we have any luck.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I shouldn’t be long. Just want to get clean.”

  “Yeah. Take your time, boss. A hot shower is very therapeutic.”

  When Decker came back into the dining room, Rina had returned and the table had been cleared and set. She came out of the kitchen with a smile and kissed his cheek. “I heard you arrested someone for the professor’s murder.”

  “We arrested someone but not for the murder, unfortunately.” Decker had dressed in sweats. “But he was at the scene and in the house illegally. Plus he never called the cops. Where were you, by the way?”

  “I teach an evening class two times a week.”

  “Of course.” He smiled. “Need help in the kitchen?”

  “Sure. There’s a platter of salmon over buckwheat. Salad’s in the fridge.”

  “I’ll get it,” McAdams said.

  “Thanks.” Rina regarded her weary husband. “I’m glad you’re making progress.”

  “Two steps forward and one step back.”

  “Better than the other way around.”

  “I don’t think it’s him by the way,” Decker said. “The guy we arrested. Alistair Dixon.”

  “The RA?”

  “What a memory.”

  “Why don’t you think it’s him?”

  “He’s sneaky and a weasel, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would drag a body up a hill, shoot the woman in the head, and be cool enough to go on with his life. Plus, he agreed to take a polygraph.”

  “I agree with you, for what it’s worth.” McAdams put down the tray and the bowl of salad. “He’s a terrible liar. When he finally started talking, he talked details.”

  Decker dumped salad on his plate then topped it with two fillets and a spoonful of buckwheat. “After his meeting with Dr. Zhou, he said he walked over to Belfort’s house. He remembers seeing a minivan parked on the street. He also remembers that the van was clean, meaning it had recently been washed and garaged.” He turned to McAdams. “It might not be significant, but let’s see if the neighbor owns a minivan. If he or she doesn’t, let’s check out Ferraga or Rosser and find out what cars they drive.”

  “Right,” McAdams said. “What about Zhou?”

  “She was at Bagelmania at around six in the morning. And as of right now, I don’t have a clear motive for her killing Belfort.”

  “So she’s out of the running?” McAdams said.

  “No, but she’s not at the top of the list. But as long as you have DMV on the phone, check her vehicles as well.”

  “Who is on the top of your list?” Rina asked.

  “It changes. Right now I’m really interested in Dixon, but I’m also really interested in Ferraga and Rosser. Both have motivation. Ferraga loved her too much: Rosser hated her too much. Anyway, call up DMV, Tyler. Find out their vehicles.”

  Rina said, “Can you let the boy eat first?”

  “No.”

  McAdams said, “He just wants to steal my salmon. He’s ravenous.”

  “I’ll guard it for you, Tyler.”

  “Thank you, Rina, someone cares.” He got up from the table and went inside the kitchen to use the house phone.

  To Decker, she said, “Don’t you dare put your fork anywhere near Tyler’s plate.”

  “Who? Me?”

  “I bet you were the type of kid who ate the fudge ribbon out of the chocolate ripple ice cream.”

  “And I bet you were the type of kid who lectured my type of kid on the meaning of fairness.”

  “Yes, I was a goody-goody.” She paused. “I really don’t miss that aspect of my personality and I have you to thank for it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You have a bit of psycho and liar in you. Not enough to be callous and amoral, but enough to get your job done.”

  “As I recall, you were always a pretty good liar.”

  “Just for shalom bayit.”

  “So now you’re just justifying your bad behavior. I just may have to steal his fish.”

  “You will not.”

  “How did your class go?”

  “Big turnout tonight.”

  “What was the topic?”

  “The Purim story. I think they thought I was serving free booze.”

  McAdams came back. “Zhou drives a Toyota. Rosser drives a Lexus, Ferraga drives a black Beemer. But Rosser’s wife, Shannon, has a dark blue Sierra minivan, and Ferraga’s wife, Olivia, has a Sienna minivan in black.”

  “That is interesting. What about the neighbor?”

  “Michael and Kristen Canterbury. Neither owns a minivan. But that’s only one person on the block.”

  Decker pondered over a forkful of fish. “Maybe we can get Alistair Dixon to remember a few more details about the minivan.”

  “Maybe.” McAdams sat down and speared a piece of fish. “This is good.”

  “Thanks.” Rina thought a moment. “Which one had the older-model minivan?”

  McAdams checked his notes. “Rosser’s is five years old, Ferraga’s is two years old.”

  “Okay. And if the minivan was garaged, someone was taking good care of it. Who has the younger children?”

  “Right.” Decker waved a fork in her direction. “Good.”

  McAdams got up and came back with his pad. He began his search. “Rosser is fifty-seven years old and Ferraga is forty-two. Both have children, according to their bios.”

  “How old are the kids?” Rina asked.

  “Doesn’t say,” McAdams answered. “Let me just . . . hold on . . . nope, that’s not going to work.” A minute passed. “Okay, here we go. There’s an Alexis Rosser who got into Harvard a year ago.”

  “How’d you find that out?” Decker said.

  “I am connected with the university directory. So she’s probably around nineteen. Hold on . . .” His hands flew over the keyboard. “There is a boy named Steven Rosser who graduated last year. So if they are Rosser’s kids, they’re older. And even if they aren’t his progeny, he may have others at home who are younger.”

  “What about Ferraga?” Decker asked.

  “Nothing in the Harvard directory under that name. But that doesn’t mean anything, as you well know. I’m just figuring that a guy like Rosser would want his kids in Harvard.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Anyway, Ferraga is forty-two. The kids could be college-aged.”

  Decker said, “It would mean he had a kid in his early twenties. It’s possible.”

  “But all things considered, he’s more likely to have younger kids than Rosser,” Rina concluded. “A lot of the houses here have one-car garages. After dinner, why don’t you drive by both houses and see which if any of them has a minivan parked outside the house.”

  “Good idea,” Decker said. “Let me change out of sweats.”

  “First finish your dinner,” Rina said.

  “I’d like to get going. It
might be a long night.”

  “That’s why you need to finish your dinner. You can’t work on empty. And don’t wolf the food down. You’ll get indigestion.”

  “Rina, I may be getting on in years but I know how to eat, okay.”

  “Okay, darling.” She raised her eyebrows.

  The rest of the meal was silent. Finally, Decker stood up. “May I be excused?”

  “Stop it.” After he stomped out of the room, Rina said, “He does get indigestion. Just trying to save him a night of misery.”

  Tyler said, “His age is a touchy subject.”

  “I know.” She stood up and began to clear the dishes. “I shouldn’t have said anything, especially in front of you. Oh well. Like bad gas, it’ll eventually pass.”

  McAdams laughed and helped her clear.

  A minute later, Decker was dressed and walked into the kitchen, where Rina was rinsing dishes. “Leave them in the sink. I’ll do them when I get home.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m going to throw them into the dishwasher.” She turned around, straightened his tie, and grinned. “You look dapper.”

  “I’ve worn this suit a million times.”

  “You still look dapper.” She kissed his cheek. “Can I pack you something?”

  “Don’t bother. Indigestion and all.”

  “Oh, stop.” She hit his shoulder.

  McAdams said, “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  Rina turned to her husband. “I’m sorry.”

  “Ah, it’s not you. I’m just tired. I was looking forward to some R and R until someone mentioned a drive-by.”

  “Oops.”

  “It’s a good idea, damn it. Maybe you should quit your day job and work for Greenbury PD. Then again, it’s hard enough living with me. Working for me would be impossible.”

  “You’re not hard to live with . . . mostly.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Go.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips.

  He kissed her back. “I’m off. The night isn’t getting any younger and neither am I.”

  “Peter, stop it.”

  “Rina, complaining at my age is like Social Security and Medicare. It’s an entitlement. To take that right away from me is just plain un-American.”

  ROSSER LIVED IN a modest brick-and-wood-sided bungalow. And typical for the area, it had a one-car garage. The minivan, registered in his wife’s name, was parked on the street and caked with several layers of dirt and salt. The windshield was covered with a thin layer of grime. It was in the high teens outside, but with the wind chill, it felt like it was blowing zero.