by T. E. Woods
“I can’t wait to hear more about what the church can do to help me,” Sydney enthused. “Odd that his own daughter isn’t part of it.”
Shiree shrugged. “Maybe because she never had to know what it means to have nothing, so why should she ever try to have more?”
Sydney nodded as though she understood. But she made a mental note. She needed to speak with Natalie York.
“I’m happy to hear you want to learn more about the church. That’s another person you’ll want to talk to, by the way.”
“Who’s that?”
“Our bishop. Denton Fulcraft. He and Miranda were tight. Bishop Fulcraft’s the one sent her to Madison.”
“Yes.” Sydney was happy to say something that would cement her story. “Miranda was there to open a new congregation. She told me about the basic premise. Each One Teach One.”
Shiree grinned. “That’s right. Everybody knows something somebody doesn’t. Learn, teach, grow. You go talk to Bishop Fulcraft. He’ll let you know why Miranda was so dedicated. You sure you don’t want any coffee?”
“I’m jittery enough for a dozen people. Thanks.”
“Come on.” Shiree led them back to the information desk. She told Sydney to wait while she resumed her station, picked up the phone, and dialed three numbers.
“Anna, this is Shiree. How you doing?” Shiree paused. “That’s good. Listen, is there any hope Mr. York has some time open?” The look on Shiree’s face shifted back into concern. She murmured her agreement with whatever it was Anna was saying on the other end. “It’s too much for him. Too much for any of us, when you get down to it.” Shiree looked up to Sydney and shook her head in compassion as she continued to speak. “Listen, I got somebody I think might help. And I’m sure he could help her. A nice woman is standing here. Name of Sydney Richardson. She’s from Madison. Friend of Miranda’s and about as sad as I’ve seen. Came all the way just to spend some time with folks who knew and loved Miranda. I think she and Mr. York could be balm for one another. Would you mind asking if he’s got a few minutes?” She thanked her and nodded her hope to Sydney. Moments later Anna must have come back on the line. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I think we’ve worked a little miracle today. I’ll send her right up.” She paused again. “No, honey. No coffee necessary. But a fresh box of tissues might come in handy. Can you meet Sydney at the elevator?”
Shiree hung up and clapped her hands. “This looks to be your lucky day, girl!”
Chapter 24
Rick Sheffield had long believed there was no such thing as a bad cup of coffee. The stuff offered at the Ann Arbor police station went a long way toward challenging that theory. But his mother taught him to always be an appreciative guest. He braced himself for another swallow.
“It’s an acquired taste.” Mitch Calblonz, detective sergeant with the Ann Arbor PD, sounded more boastful than defensive. “It’s turned me off any other cup. The iciest shower in the world can’t wake me up like this swill can.”
Rick set his cup aside. “Let’s get going on why we’re here. What can you tell me about Miranda Greer?”
“Your vic’s kind of a big shot in this neck of the woods. She’s been with MidWest ImEx for years. Kind of the face of the company, you might say.” Calblonz was short and round, no taller than five foot seven and weighing at least two twenty-five. Too out of shape for a man who looked to be no older than forty. The skin under his chin wobbled a bit whenever he stopped talking, like his whole face was experiencing an aftershock from the earthquake of his words. Rick wondered what kind of fitness requirements the local force had. “Has her picture taken with Little League teams the company sponsors, stands beside the giant checks when it’s fundraising time at the university, that kind of thing.”
“She was their public relations person?”
Calblonz slid a file across the wooden table. “A lot more than that. Word is she ran the place, now that Old Man York’s getting ready to blow out seventy candles on his birthday cake.”
“Old Man York?”
“Alden York. He started the company more than forty years ago. Began as a seed and flower import-export business. Successful enough to keep his family in a big house on the hill, but nothing like the giant ImEx is today. Everybody in town knows that’s strictly Miranda Greer’s doing.”
“What about personally?” Rick asked. “What’s her reputation?”
Calblonz shrugged. “We got nothing. No priors. No calls to wild parties. She lives…lived…in a condo downtown. Nice. Bought it seven years ago. I’m told she lived in the guesthouse behind the Yorks’ house before that.”
“She have a family? Here in Ann Arbor, I mean.”
“I ran a background check once I knew you were heading our way. You probably read the same stuff I did. Looks like she’s got no one. Leastwise not blood related. Her dad’s doing time for petty larceny in a Montana penitentiary. No evidence of any contact between the two of them since he left the family when Miranda was just a kid. Her mother died a little more than ten years ago. No siblings. Until you told me she had a kid with this Hawthorne guy, I don’t think anybody had any idea. The Yorks were her family, far as that goes. Old man’s a widower. He’s got one daughter, Natalie. No grandkids. Natalie’s on her third husband. From the looks of things, she and Miranda were close.”
“So, nothing to suggest there was bad blood between either of the Yorks and Miranda?”
“Not that the AAPD knows of,” Calblonz replied. “Ann Arbor’s a nice place. My money says your murderer’s holing up in Madison.”
Maybe not, Rick thought. Maybe he’s up onstage, singing the blues.
Chapter 25
Clay walked into the headquarters of the Madison police ten minutes early. He stopped by the lobby restroom, splashed some cold water on his face, and scratched it dry with government-issue paper towels. He looked in the mirror and hoped the haggard face staring back at him was more a consequence of harsh lighting than his lack of sleep. He didn’t need Horst reading anything into his appearance.
He was leafing through a four-month-old fishing magazine when Horst and the female detective came to collect him from the lobby.
“Thanks for coming in.” Horst shook Clay’s hand.
“Like I had a choice?”
Horst held his gaze for a heartbeat or two. “We all have choices. You remember Jillian Kohler?”
Clay nodded his greeting. “I’ll be speaking to you both?”
“Just a few questions,” Horst promised. “Jillian and I are working this case together. Saves me from having to repeat everything if she’s in the room. You don’t mind, do you?”
I mind a hell of a lot, he thought. I mind that you’re treating me like we haven’t shared beers or a Thanksgiving table. I mind that you’re wearing that cop face you’ve been practicing the last twenty years.
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t mind at all.”
Detective Kohler opened the door to an interview room and stepped aside to let them enter, then closed the door behind her.
“Can we get you something?” she asked. “Coffee? Water? I know it’s pretty early for a guy who works till bar-closing time.”
Horst has you playing good cop?
“None for me, thanks.” He sat where she indicated, on one side of a gray metal table.
“We’re going to be recording this, Clay.” Horst sat across from him and nodded toward wall-mounted cameras. “Audio and visual. That okay with you?”
Clay agreed. He knew anything else would be read as an intimation of guilt.
Horst pressed a button and spoke to the air. “This is Chief Detective Horst Welke. We’re here at the headquarters of the Madison Police Department. Today’s date is January 3. It’s”—he looked at the wall-mounted clock—“nine thirty-three a.m., and I’m joined by Detective Jillian Kohler. We’re here today with Clay
Hawthorne for the purpose of gathering preliminary information into the homicide death of Miranda Greer.” Horst turned to Clay. “Mr. Hawthorne, do you come here freely?”
“I do.”
“And are you aware you are under no obligation to answer our questions?”
“I am.”
Horst nodded, then looked to his partner. She took a seat at the end of the table, the three of them clustered in a triad Clay was certain was designed for camera angles.
“We’ve already established your relationship with the deceased,” Horst told Clay. “No need to chew that cud again.”
“She’s my son’s mother.”
“Like I said, no need. When was the last time you saw Miranda Greer?”
“December 27. The morning of.”
“Where did you see her?”
“I went by her hotel suite. The Edgewater.”
Horst nodded. “Can you be specific about the time?”
“It was early. Breakfast.”
“What took you to her hotel room?”
Clay hesitated. “I needed to return something she’d left at my home. I also wanted to speak with my son.”
“He was there?” Detective Kohler piped up. “In the suite? At breakfast time?”
Clay turned toward her. “He was spending as much time as he could with his mother. Miranda’s suite was large. Steel had spent the night.”
“You were fine with that?” Horst asked. “Didn’t mind your boy spending his Christmas vacation with your ex?”
What do you know of Steel’s comings and goings? Who have you been talking to?
“Of course, I didn’t mind. Steel hadn’t seen his mother in many years. He looked forward to his time with her.”
“Why is that?”
“What?”
“Why hadn’t your boy seen his mom for so long?” Horst asked the question like he already knew the answer.
“Miranda…she…Miranda wasn’t part of our lives. She left us when Steel was barely a month old.”
“And she never had contact with you?” Kohler asked.
“No.”
“What kind of mother does that?” Her voice was filled with concern Clay knew was staged.
“You’d have to ask her.”
“That bother you?” Horst asked. “Her blowing into town after all these years…taking the boy you raised…man, that must have been tough. Doing it all on your own, I mean. Now she comes in after all the heavy lifting’s done. Next thing you know she’s putting him up at the fanciest hotel in town. How’d that sit with you?”
“My son deserves to know his mother.”
“What was it?” Kohler asked.
“What was what?”
“You said you went by Miranda’s suite to return something she’d left at your home,” she clarified. “What was it?”
Clay’s breathing accelerated. “It was just an article of clothing.”
Horst leaned forward. “She come by your house often?”
“It was on Christmas Day. Miranda came by for dinner. My son wanted that as his Christmas gift. Dinner with his parents.”
“And this dinner involved her taking off an item of clothing?”
Clay tightened his grip on the arms of his chair. He didn’t reply.
“What was the item?” Horst pressed. “I mean, it’s been colder than hell’s meat locker these past few weeks. Miranda sure didn’t walk out of your house without her coat or mittens.”
Clay leveled a stare at him. “It was lingerie. I was returning it to her.”
Horst turned to Detective Kohler. “I might need a woman’s perspective here. Jillian, what kind of Christmas activity is it that leads ladies to take off a piece of their lingerie?”
“Not anything I can think of,” she answered.
When Horst turned back to look at Clay, his face was as firm as granite. His eyes telegraphed a message he wouldn’t dare say during a recorded conversation, but Clay read it loud and clear. Horst was reminding him of his relationship with Sydney.
“Things got romantic?” the chief detective asked. “Between you and the mother of your son after that special Christmas dinner?”
“No.” Clay took a ragged breath. “I was tired. I went to bed early. Miranda and Steel stayed up to watch a movie. The next thing I knew Miranda was in my room, waking me up. She was…she was…”
“She was without the piece of clothing you took back to her?” Detective Kohler offered.
“I told her to leave. Immediately. Nothing happened. I didn’t see her again until two days later. That morning at The Edgewater.”
“Nothing sexual happened between the two of you.” Horst said it flatly.
“Horst, you know damned well I’m in love with Sydney Richardson. You’ve seen me with her. I would do nothing…nothing…to jeopardize what Syd and I have together. Miranda was my son’s mother. Nothing more.”
“We’ve got a couple of housekeeping staff from The Edgewater who say differently.” Detective Kohler leaned forward. “They tell us you were yelling pretty hard at Miranda. Seems they heard you loud and clear while they pushed their carts out in the hall.”
“I was angry. Miranda had pulled her stunt, deliberately leaving her panties where she assumed Sydney would find them.”
“That get your goat?” Horst asked. “What with you prizing your relationship with Syd and all?”
“I was mad. Sure. Told Miranda to leave Madison. That if she was holding on to any fantasy about us getting together again she could forget it. That she needed to leave me and Steel alone.”
“You needed her gone,” Kohler said.
“Yes. No. I mean, yes. I wanted her out of my life. But if you’re insinuating I had anything to do with her murder, you’re wrong.”
“You and Sydney Richardson have been dating for how long?” Kohler asked.
Clay glanced at Horst. You know damned well how long it’s been.
“It’s been a while. Nearly a year.”
“You two are close?” Kohler continued.
Clay kept his gaze on Horst. “We are.”
“You both own businesses here. What do you know of Ms. Richardson’s financial status?”
Clay ignored her as he stared at Horst.
“I’m told Ms. Richardson’s bank account is substantially greater than yours, Mr. Hawthorne.” Kohler’s voice seemed far away. Clay knew where this was headed. “In fact, she’s a multimillionaire, isn’t that correct?”
Clay hoped Horst could read the disgust in his eyes.
“Sydney Richardson is a beautiful woman,” Kohler remarked. “Take her looks, wrap them up in all that money, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out she could have any man she wanted. Being a woman myself, I can tell you how I’d react if I found lingerie that didn’t belong to me in my boyfriend’s bedroom. I’d kick his ass to the curb. And if I looked like Sydney and was rocking that kind of bankroll, I’d never look back.”
You sons of bitches. You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?
“The last time I saw Miranda Greer was the morning of December 27. My son and I left her hotel suite together.”
“And you haven’t contacted her since?” Horst asked. “Met up in person? Shared phone calls? Anything like that?”
“How many times I have to say it? No. Nothing since then.”
Horst looked up at one of the cameras in the corner. Clay wondered who might be monitoring the transmission.
“You got your phone with you, Clay?” Horst’s tone was once again companionable.
“My phone? Sure.”
“Mind if I take a look at it?”
Clay reached into his hip pocket. He handed the phone to Horst.
“You care if I check this out?” Horst asked.
“I told you. I haven’t had contact with Miranda since New Year’s.”
“Then I’m not going to find anything, am I?”
“Do what you need to, Horst.”
Horst tapped on the screen. “Help me out here, Jillian. I go to the phone button, right?”
“That’s right. Then go to Recents. It’s there on the bottom.”
Horst tapped again. “There they are. The ones received are in red and the ones dialed are black. Ha! Look at the calls between you and Sydney.” Horst looked up with a smile. “Must be love.” He scrolled down the screen. “Here’s a 734 area code. That’s Ann Arbor.” He looked up at Clay. “You know anyone from Ann Arbor other than the deceased?”
Horst’s reference to Miranda as the deceased brought Clay an involuntary intake of breath.
“No. That would be her.”
“She called you on December 23. Again the next day. Probably arranging that family dinner.” Horst did nothing to hide the cynicism in his voice. “Nothing to that number in black. Seems you never called her.”
“And you’ll see no communication at all after December 27.”
“Umm hum.” Horst handed the phone to Detective Kohler. “Jillian, you’re young. You guys know how to do this way better than an old cuss like me. Check the texting part, will you?” He looked back to Clay. “That’s still okay with you, right?”
Clay gave them his permission.
“No texts listed to that Ann Arbor number,” Kohler announced. She turned the screen to show them both. “None sent. None received.”
“I told you.”
