by David Bishop
“I guess I’m dying to show it to somebody. I took it one day when they were out in her backyard. I got a good shot from the little deck off my upstairs bedroom. They didn’t know I took it. I was about to show it to Carla when she told me they had broken up. He hasn’t called her in a while. She tried his cell phone and told me it didn’t work any longer. When she told me about a week ago, I decided she wouldn’t wanna see a picture of them together. I need to put it in my shredder there,” she pointed, “I just haven’t done it yet.”
Paige went over to a desk built-in at the end of her kitchen cabinetry, made in a style that matched the wood in her cabinets. She reached into the top drawer and took it out like it had been on top of whatever else was in that drawer. “Here you are,” Paige said, extending her hand.
“Did you take this before, well, before Sam was killed?”
“I think I did. Sure. I wouldn’t have had the thought afterwards. The day before, I think it was. I printed it out right away and meant to show her that night and somehow didn’t get around to it. Then with Sam being killed the next night, I just forgot. Looking back, from what Carla said, I’m not all that sure Carla saw Bennie again after the day I took that picture.”
Maddie held the picture, studying it carefully. She walked over to the kitchen window, turned sideways, and looked at it in the natural light. “You still plan to shred it?”
“I have no use of it. No reason now for Carla to see it. They’re through.”
Maddie kept her back to Paige while she slid a piece of paper from the pocket of her blazer after putting Bennie’s picture into that same pocket. A moment later she inserted the scrap paper into the shredder plugged into the wall next to Paige’s desk. “There, that takes care of that. By the way,” Maddie said, “do you recall a lady who worked at the bank, name of Wendy?”
“Sure. Wendy … Carson I believe. She was Sam’s secretary before Blanche. She left. Sam didn’t know why. People leave jobs every day; I guess it was Wendy’s day. Can I get you anything else? A beer? I guess you’re on duty. Maybe some iced tea?”
“Some tea, please. Can we sit out back? Your patio’s lovely, and in the shade now.”
They went out, each carrying their glass of tea. “Paige, do you remember anything further? Sometimes after a little time people remember things they couldn’t in the midst of the trauma.”
“Not really.”
“I need to ask you. How were things with you and Sam? Your marriage, I mean.”
Paige went inside. Maddie figured she was buying time to decide how to answer the question. A couple minutes later, she came back out carrying a plate with some cookies covered in green and chocolate. “Not great,” she said. “I guess most marriages get rocks in their bed, maybe all of them. We certainly had our bumps. No doubt about that.”
“But you stayed together.” Maddie said before taking a bite of one of the cookies.
“How about you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“The official answer, I’m not here to talk about my life. This is an investigation. But, let’s let our hair down. I went through a divorce.” Maddie held her half eaten cookie in front of her eyes. “These are great. I’ve never seen them before.”
“I make them myself. They’re Oreos. I cover them with melted mint and chocolate. I make a dozen and then hope that someone helps me so I don’t eat them all.”
Maddie took another bite and rolled her eyes. “They’re to die for. Wonderful. Would you mind terribly if I took two with me? For my son and my mother, she lives with us.”
“Like I said, I hope someone helps me before I eat them all. Let me get something to put them in.” Paige disappeared inside and came out with one of those plastic bags that zip closed. “I think the cookies interrupted our conversation. You were saying—”
“My ex is named Curtis. We have a son. Curtis was a hotshot athlete with plans on being a professional football player. He blew out his knee. That ended his dream and started his drinking. That never stopped so eventually our marriage did.”
“Sorry.”
Maddie shrugged. “A friend just recently said something to me that fits. ‘Life is what happens to us on the way to our dreams.’”
“Ain’t that the truth?”
“Well, thank you Paige for giving me a pleasant Monday morning, and the information.” She held up the list of Sam Crawford’s travel over the past two years. “I should be going.”
“There’s something I should tell you, first.”
Maddie sat back down. “Yes?”
“I began divorce proceedings the day before Sam was killed. I didn’t file anything, just talked with an attorney. I don’t know if I ever would have or not. It depended, I guess.”
“On his womanizing? Whether or not it stopped?”
“You know about that?”
“Yes.” Maddie said. “Like I told you, we collect information. Eventually, some of it starts to fit together. We don’t always finish the picture, but mostly we figure it out.”
“I’ll bet you’re an excellent investigator, Sergeant Madeline Richards. You have a great … I was going to say bedside manner, but that’s a doctor thing. Corpse-side manner?”
They laughed while Paige walked Maddie to her front door.
Chapter 16
Sue Martin had never attended an autopsy. The plan had been for her to accompany Maddie to today’s autopsy of Sam Crawford. While driving back to the station, Maddie had filled Sue in on Paige’s intent to divorce Sam, and her having learned the identity of Carla Roth’s soldier stud. By the time they got to the parking lot, they had agreed Sue needed to stay at the station to find out what she could about Bennie Gibson. They both felt it was a huge coincidence that this Bennie who had been hot and heavy with Carla the few weeks before Sam was shot, had suddenly, without explanation, disappeared from Carla's life.
* * *
Disinfectant and rotting meat silently mixed together in secret before advancing to assault Maddie’s nose. The disgusting fragrance intensified as she headed closer to the autopsy room in the medical examiner’s office. The only one who didn’t mind the stench was the star, Sam Crawford. He would also be the only one who wished he could inhale the smell.
Any death in one’s own species always feels a little like one’s own death. Somewhere, back in time, we are all supposed to have been related to each other.
Over the next hour or so, Dr. Rosemary Conner handled her work in a confident, yet respectful manner. The quiet pierced now and again by the odd noises which emanate from an autopsy, as well as dictation by Dr. Conner during the process. Still more sounds centered on Steve Gibbs, the doctor’s assistant, as he moved things about, took pictures, and otherwise assisted Dr. Conner.
Sam had been healthy for a man his age, or so it seemed from Dr. Conner’s comments, at least physically healthy, apart from his marriage being on the rocks. The one thing Maddie could say with apparent certainly: Sam Crawford lived in a constant state of horniness, at least if the girls at Nation’s First Bank & Trust could be believed. Sam Crawford was dead. Shot in the head dead. At least that was finally final. It was her job to find out who had pulled the trigger and why. So far she hadn’t made much progress.
Fifteen minutes later she was in Dr. Conner’s office. “Rosemary, I didn’t hear anything from you during the autopsy that shed any new light on this guy’s death.”
“That’s because there wasn’t anything. He was killed by a shot in the head. There was no other foul play. No drugs. No other signs of physical trauma or abuse. All I did was confirm what you have believed since before the body turned up here in my backyard. I wish I could have helped more, but there was nothing. The only thing we didn’t know before, the kill shot entered his head on a slight downward trajectory. The angle was such that it could have come from a rooftop or the upper window in a two-story house.”
“But not from up on a hill?”
“Why do you ask?”
“The FBI imposters to
ld his wife they had seen a puff of dust up on a nearby hill. The shot might have come from there.”
“Too high. That was bunk. Well, not if the shooter was very low on the hill with an unobstructed view of the target area. Let’s just call it very unlikely.”
On her way back to the station, Maddie’s mother called. “Just wanted to check with you, your ex is in the living room. He stopped to pick up Bradley, said he cleared it with you. They’re on the way to Red Robin for burgers and shakes. That right?”
“Yeah, mom. I should have called and told you. I’m sorry. It got away. You know?”
“That’s all right, Madeline Jane. I’ll get them on their way, and see you when you get home.”
* * *
“Hi, Maddie.”
“Hello, Ryan. What are you doing here?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come unexpected. I was close by, it was late afternoon, thought you might have time to get a quick bite.”
“I’m sorry. There’s no way. I’m up to my eyes in alligators.” Maddie fussed a bit with her hands, her feet moving her slightly one way and then the other. She ran one hand through her hair, and then fussed with it a bit over her ear.
“Look, I shouldn’t have just popped in. This is where you work. I should have called. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Put you on the spot like this. Still, it’s interesting to see where you work, even if only from the lobby.” He chuckled low.
“Come on back. Let me show you my office anyway. That way you’ll have a sense of where I am when we talk.” He shook his head. She insisted. “No. It’s all right. I’ll walk you back. You won’t see anything that suspects and citizens filing complaints don’t see every day. Come on now. I want to show you what I can, but I am limited by time.” She took hold of the sleeve of his shirt and started walking. He followed.
They sat in her office across her desk. “I spoke to Paige Crawford yesterday,” Maddie said. “She confirmed what you told me. She had spoken with a divorce attorney the day before her husband was shot.”
“I doubt she’d have told you if she was culpable in his death.”
“I agree. You don’t also happen to have information on her missing quarter of a million dollars, do you?”
“Whoa. That’s serious money.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I did.”
“I will, but you can’t leave it there. How does someone lose two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars?”
“She swears it was in her safe-deposit box before Sam was killed, and gone afterwards.”
“The bank should be able to tell you who got in the box.”
“That’s the problem. The bank records show no one got in.”
“That can’t happen. Can it?”
“Look. You gotta forget about that. I shouldn’t have told you. The press doesn’t know. It can’t get out.” Ryan reached up and did the lock-your-lips-and-throw-away-the-key thing we all did as kids.
As he stood, he glanced down. “What’s Gibby got to do with this?” Ryan said, pointing toward a picture on Maddie’s desk.
“You know this guy?”
“Yeah. Bennie Gibbons. He goes by Gibby.”
“Gibbons,” Maddie said. “We had him as Gibson.”
“No. Benjamin Gibbons is his formal name, middle initial unknown.”
“How do you know this guy?”
“At one time we were in Special Forces together. I’ve only seen him a few times in recent years.”
“We’re looking for ‘im. Can you help?”
“I don’t know where he is now. Would you like me to try and find him?”
“I don’t want to get you mixed up in an investigation.”
“No big deal. If I can help you, I will. It might take me a day or three. I don’t know if he’s local.”
“He was a few days ago. Well, a week or so anyway. He was dating Paige Crawford’s neighbor.”
“Carla Roth, I saw her name in the paper, that her?”
Maddie nodded. “I do need to find him.”
“Let me do that. When I have him, I’ll call you.”
“If it’s no trouble. Be careful. He could be a dangerous man. Seeing you two were in Special Forces, can you tell me if he is a marksman with a rifle?”
“Pretty much everyone in Special Forces is at least a marksman. Gibby can shoot the eyes out of a pigeon at a quarter mile. And he likes it. At least he did when I knew ‘im.”
“Military sniper? Assassin? Mercenary? What?”
“D. All of the above. Don’t mess with Gibby. Not without heavy-duty backup. The man’s not a robber or a rapist. He’s a stone-cold killer. Please leave him to me. I’ll let you know when I have him.”
“Thank you, but this is police work. I’ll handle it. Now can I talk to you about something else? I need to turn the tables on you. This time I need some advice from a man.”
“Shoot.”
“There’s a man I’ve met recently. A man I like a great deal. I want to know more about him, but he’s starting to scare me. At first he just seemed private, then mysterious, now he’s secretive. I’m not at all sure how I should proceed. I want to, but should I? What do you advise?”
“We need to talk, Maddie. Not now. Not here. When we have more time. You’re at work. I crashed in unexpectedly. Let me go. We’ll get together. I promise. We’ll have a real talk. Lay it out.”
Then Ryan Testler was gone.
Maddie picked up her phone. “Sue, get in here. I’ve got revised skinny on Carla’s soldier.”
Chapter 17
“Hello, Ms. Davis. Sergeant Richards. We met at your daughter’s … you remember?”
“Of course, Sergeant.” Barbara Davis pushed open her screen door. “I’m a little surprised to find you on my front porch. Is there something wrong? Is Paige all right?”
“She’s fine. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just you’ve been involved so much helping Paige, and I’ve been impressed with your thinking on this matter. I thought I’d stop by and see if you’ve had any further thoughts, and to answer any question you have, if I can. Is this a bad time?”
Barbara Davis had on jeans and flat, laced shoes, and a sweater. Her purse and keys on a sofa table next to the door.
“Tuesday’s are usually slow for me. Now is fine, Sergeant. Look at me, I’ve forgotten my manners. Please come in.” Maddie stepped inside and Paige’s mother closed the door behind her. “I have some coffee on. I doubt America would function well without coffee.” Maddie smiled and the two women shared an uncomfortable chuckle.
“Isn’t that the truth? I’d love a cup. Black, please. If you’ll join me, that is.”
Ms. Davis led Maddie into her kitchen to a small, round, glass top table which sat in an alcove off the kitchen. “Here’s your coffee,” she said bringing two cups to the table and sitting with Maddie.
“You have a lovely home, Ms. Davis. It’s nice and bright in this alcove, yet the sun isn’t right your face when you sit here.”
“Thank you. The windows in this alcove face southwest, so they don’t get direct sun until late in the afternoon, and even then not much.” Ms. Davis sat across from Maddie, crossed her legs and leaned forward, her forearms on the glass top. “That was sure something I read in the paper, you guys finding Sam’s body right where the phony medical examiner said he was going to take it. I guess he did just that. Made all of you look a little foolish, I suppose.”
“Yes ma’am that it did. No real cause for that, but it did. Mostly it showed that security at the medical examiner’s office is not as good as it should be. In fairness, it is not a place people generally want to break into.”
Barbara Davis laughed, and then stifled it. “No. I suppose not. Is the coffee alright?” Maddie nodded. “I have some hazelnut creamer. I got Paige hooked on it. We both use it.”
Maddie shook her head. “Black is my way, but thanks just the same.”
“Your visit, Sergeant, is there something you wanted to know? Is there somethi
ng I might tell you that could help?”
“Since we last met, I’ve somewhat filled in the profile of Sam Crawford. Mothers-in-law have their own unique perspectives on sons-in-law. May I run it by you and invite you to comment?”
“Certainly,” Barbara Davis said while nodding her head to complete an audio-visual reply.
“Sam Crawford was an executive at the bank. He exclusively handled foreign accounts, traveled a great deal, here in the U.S. and abroad. On the side, he kept himself busy as a ladies’ man.” Maddie stopped and took a drink of coffee, watching Barbara Davis’s body language.
“I heard stories about … his shenanigans. My daughter was certainly convinced of it. It caused her a great deal of consternation, I can tell you that.”
“As it would cause any wife, why do men find that sort of thing necessary? Aren’t there any husbands who don’t cheat? Of course, I exaggerate, but it sometimes seems that way.”
“Did I detect a bit of personal feelings in that statement?”
“Yes ma’am, you did, I’m afraid.” Maddie realized Ms. Davis was worming her just as she had come to worm Ms. Davis. “I’m divorced. Maybe in your day, with Mr. Davis, things were different. Men were different, I mean—”
“Oh, men were not all that different. Women were different, wives I mean.”
“Oh?”
“Women were much more tolerant in my day. Many women just looked the other way. Marriages stayed together despite their husband’s … dalliances, shall I say. We sucked it up more, I guess is the way people today would say it. Lower divorce rates then.”
“Ah. But was that better or worse?”
“A great question, Sergeant. Marriages did stay together, but perhaps the spouses were often less happy. Are children better off in an unbroken, unhappy home than in a broken, happy home? People were less willing to show affection in public, less willing to show anger outside the home as well.”
“Why do you think that was?”
“Social pressures were greater. A woman who had been divorced was frowned upon. Family and church generally exerted pressure on women to stay with their men.”
