Amanda had taken the front seat next to Deputy Martinez. I was fine with that, happy to sit in the dark in the back seat with my undoubtedly blotchy, red face. The two of them were in a heated discussion about whether or not the Colts could beat the New England Patriots during Sunday’s game. I concentrated on their banter, hoping to occupy my thoughts with nonsense instead of my own troubles. No matter how hard I tried not to think about it, the look on Rob’s face haunted me. Just as disconcerting was my growing concern that I was sure to be fired from my real job when Judith Cooper found out I was barging through her home trying to find further evidence to charge her husband with murder. Fortunately for me and for my sanity, Amanda and Martinez argued back and forth the whole drive to the Cooper house.
Deputy Martinez got out of the vehicle and said to us, “You wait here. I’ll serve the warrant and clear the house.”
“I thought all three of the Coopers were either at the station or in jail,” Amanda said.
Martinez shook his head and snickered. “The butler is home.”
“Oh, right. I forgot about the butler.”
Sure enough, when Martinez rang the bell, a pompous-looking man dressed in a sleek suit answered the door. They conferred for a moment, and then Martinez entered the house. After a few minutes, he came out again and said, “All set.”
Amanda and I entered the house, and the butler showed us to the master bedroom. After he made himself scarce, she and I headed for the closet. When we opened it, we both gasped.
“This closet is bigger than my apartment,” breathed Amanda.
“Wow. I’ve never seen so many navy suits,” I said, looking at dozens of what appeared to be the same suit hanging in George’s side of the closet.
Drooling over Mrs. Cooper’s shoe collection, Amanda said, “She has designer heels in every color of the rainbow.”
I set our case down, put on some gloves, and handed a pair to Amanda. “We should quit ogling their closet and get to work. We’re looking for a pair of Timberland boots.”
She started at one end of the closet and I started at the other, inspecting each pair of shoes to rule them out. After looking at a few of the shoes, I said, “Wait a minute. All of these are size ten. What about the ones you’ve looked through?”
“All tens here. Why?”
“The Timberland shoeprint was a twelve, easily.”
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I’m thinking we’re not going to find the boots here. And that Sterling and Baxter will probably both have an aneurism when we call to tell them.”
She frowned. “Let’s keep looking.”
After we had checked every pair of shoes in the closet, we still had nothing.
“What now?” she asked. “Start in the bedroom and work our way through the house?”
“I guess. Did you check Dudley Cooper’s guest house for the shoes?”
“Yes, Beck and I went out there yesterday afternoon and searched. We didn’t find them there.”
Sighing, I said, “Then we better start scouring this place. I’ll take the first floor if you want to take the second.”
“That works. See you when I see you.”
I headed downstairs. The whole house was gorgeous, and it reminded me quite a lot of Tyler’s mother’s home. The memory of meeting Rob there flashed into my head, and sadness overtook me again. I trudged out to the garage, figuring it would be an ideal spot to store boots. I found several pairs of boots, but none of them were Timberlands, and none were larger than a size ten. I started going through bins, drawers, and cabinets, but again had no luck. I went back inside, searching the mudroom and kitchen. With everything so impeccably neat and tidy, I couldn’t imagine finding a pair of shoes just sitting out somewhere. But maybe the butler would know where to look.
I went outside and found the butler pacing in the driveway. Martinez was watching him with an amused expression on his face, but neither man was speaking. I approached the butler.
“Hi, I’m Ellie Matthews with the crime lab. I have a couple of questions for you. Your name is…?”
He stopped pacing and stood tall. “My name is Geoffrey Church. And I don’t have to answer any of your questions, ma’am.” With his clipped British accent, he sounded even more pompous than he looked.
I ignored him. “I’m looking for a pair of Timberland boots, size twelve or thirteen. Do you know if Mayor Cooper owns a pair of Timberlands?”
Church regarded me for a moment. “The Mayor doesn’t own anything in the Timberland brand. He prefers higher caliber footwear. And the Mayor wears a size ten.”
I had always thought Timberlands were rather high-quality, being a couple hundred dollars a pair, but evidently they weren’t good enough for George Cooper. I took Church’s answer with a grain of salt—he could just be covering for his employer.
“Thanks for the information, Mr. Church,” I said, going back to the house.
Amanda was coming down the stairs when I got into the entry hall. “Did you find them?” she asked, her expression hopeful.
“No, and according to the butler, Timberlands aren’t expensive enough shoes for George Cooper to put his feet in. He assured me we would find no Timberlands here.”
“Damn. Have you finished the first floor?”
“No, I’ve only done the garage, kitchen, and mud room.”
“We can divide up the rest. I’ll take the dining room and the living room.”
I said, “I’ll take the other living room and his office.”
Why the Coopers needed more than one living room was beyond me. I looked in one of them, and aside from a curio cabinet filled with expensive-looking figurines, there was nowhere to hide shoes. I went to George’s office, which was where he kept his gun collection. It was an impressive collection, all kept behind lock and key in glass-front cabinets. Some of the firearms were ornate and looked quite old. My warrant didn’t cover me touching any of them, so I kept my hands to myself and began looking through file cabinets that would have been large enough to hide shoes in. Most of them were locked, probably containing sensitive paperwork, but I didn’t figure I could stretch my power so far as to get the butler to open them for me. Again, my search turned up nothing.
I met Amanda in the entry hall. She looked disgusted. “I can’t believe we didn’t find anything. Jason and Nick are not going to be pleased. Maybe you should handle calling them. I don’t want to ruin my chances with Jason before we get to go out on our first date.”
“You have a point. I wouldn’t put it past Sterling to shoot the messenger. I’ll call Baxter.” I took my phone out and dialed his cell, hoping for his voice mail. I was surprised he answered, figuring he would be still hard at work interrogating George Cooper.
“Tell me you found the shoes,” he said, his voice sounding weary.
I hesitated. “I’m sorry, but no. We turned the place upside down and found nothing. Besides, George Cooper wears a size ten, so it’s unlikely he could even keep a pair of twelves on his feet.”
“Son of a bitch!” he growled.
I winced. Amanda, who’d been listening to my side of the conversation, made a sympathetic face.
He continued, “Sorry. We have enough to hold him on the Marais murder, but without the shoes, we have nothing to tie him to Vanover. That is, until the DNA comes back on the blood under Vanover’s nails.”
I was beginning to think George didn’t have anything to do with Eli’s death. I didn’t see him as the type who would kill with his bare hands. “Does George have any defensive wounds from having been in a scuffle with Eli?”
“He’s got a few scratches on his arms, but he says they’re from brushing against tree branches when he went deer hunting earlier this week.”
“Well, at least you have him for the one murder.”
“Barely. Those lawyers gave us a run for our money. They even rattled Sterling.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed. Nobody got the upper hand on Sterling in an interrog
ation.
“Which is why I need a drink. You heading back now?”
“We’re on our way.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
I ended the call and said to Amanda, “They have enough to hold George Cooper for the Vasti Marais murder, but not enough to tie him to Eli Vanover. And to warn you, his legal team managed to get Sterling flustered. Your boy may not be in the best of moods if you try to talk to him tonight.”
“Ooh,” she said, the corner of her mouth pulling into a smile. “Maybe I can provide a shoulder for him to cry on, then.”
Laughing, I said, “It’s worth a shot.”
As we turned to leave, lights flashed through the leaded glass insets of the front door. Someone had pulled up, and I was really hoping it wasn’t Mrs. Cooper. I didn’t want to have another altercation with her, but I was afraid it would be inevitable after finding me in her home. I made Amanda go outside first. Mrs. Cooper was already out of the vehicle and screaming at Deputy Martinez.
“What are you doing here? Isn’t it enough that you people have ripped my son and my husband away from me? Now you’re invading my home?” she cried, her shrill voice cutting through the quiet night.
Nothing ever seemed to bother Deputy Martinez, including Mrs. Cooper’s tirade. He handed her the warrant and replied, “Ma’am, we have a warrant to search your premises for a pair of your husband’s shoes.” He glanced over at us. “Looks like we’re just leaving.”
Mrs. Cooper followed his gaze and locked her eyes on me. “You! You’ve been trying to tear my family apart this whole time! You’re…you’re fired! And you’ll never teach anywhere in this country ever again!” She flew at me, but before she could get to me, I saw Rob coming my way out of the corner of my eye. Just as Mrs. Cooper was raising her hand to strike me, Rob threw himself in front of me, ready to take the brunt of her rage.
Just as quickly, Martinez caught her flailing arms from behind. He said, “Mrs. Cooper, you don’t want to do that. The Sheriff’s Department won’t hesitate to file an assault charge on you for touching one of their employees.”
Mrs. Cooper stopped resisting and stood there trembling. Narrowing her eyes at me, she seethed, “Get off my property. Now.”
Martinez ushered Mrs. Cooper inside. Rob moved away from me, refusing to meet my eyes. He headed toward the front door. Between getting fired and seeing the hurt look in Rob’s eyes again, I was at the end of my rope. I tried desperately to keep the tears at bay.
“Rob?” I choked out.
He turned around to face me but said nothing.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Giving me only a curt nod, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I should have known from experience that going out with Baxter for “one drink” loosely translated to “Ellie gets hammered,” especially after the day I’d had. We went to O’Loughlin’s Bar again, and everyone and his brother began buying us drinks after the news got out that Baxter had brought down Mayor Cooper for murder. Countless cops, young and old, came over and clapped Baxter on the back, congratulating him on his work.
“Admit it,” I said, my words slurring together. “You came here for the attaboys and the free drinks.”
“I don’t see you turning down any free drinks, either.”
“That’s because I can’t afford any drinks myself. I got fired, you know,” I lamented, draining my glass and then stealing his.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m telling you, like I have the last fifty-three times you’ve said that, Judith Cooper can’t fire you from your job at Ashmore because of the work you do while employed by the Sheriff’s Department. Everything you’ve done has been legal and above board, so she has no leg to stand on. The department has your back. They have lawyers for this kind of thing.” He reached across the table and gave me a light punch on the arm. “Now quit talking about yourself. This is my night, remember?”
“Right. Sorry.”
He peered around at the crowd. “I thought for sure that Sterling would be here. He wouldn’t pass up the chance to lord a high-profile arrest over all the guys here.”
“I think he had a better offer.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Amanda. They had a hot date tonight.” I slapped my hand over my mouth, belatedly realizing that information might not have been public knowledge. I whispered, “Oops. I don’t know if I was supposed to tell or not.”
Smiling, he said, “I already knew. He’s been acting less like a jackass today, so I made it my business to find out why.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“You didn’t tell me either,” he pointed out.
“Touché.”
“You and Amanda seem to have hit it off. Does it bother you that she’s going out with Sterling?”
“Why would it bother me?” I didn’t know why everyone insisted on thinking I carried a torch for Sterling.
“Because you two…”
“What? Had thirty magical seconds back in the bathroom?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Thirty seconds?”
“You know how efficient he is…” After taking a look at Baxter’s appalled face, I burst out laughing.
He joined in my laughter. An old and crusty retired detective came over to congratulate Baxter and buy us another round of drinks. I began to lose track of how many I’d had, but our conversations were getting funnier and funnier, so I didn’t worry too much about it.
“Okay, okay,” I said, trying to quit giggling long enough to give him the next category. We were trading our most ridiculous work stories. We had covered the categories of Dumbest Suspect, Worst Boss, and Funniest True Alibi. I said, “Worst co-worker.”
We both said at the same time, “Beck,” and dissolved into laughter again.
“I’ve got one,” Baxter said. “Grossest thing you’ve seen.”
Still laughing, I choked out, “You barfing at the Marais murder scene.”
He waved his hand, sloshing some of his drink on the table. “Oh, come on. That can’t be it.”
A sudden image flashed through my head of decomposing body parts in garbage bags. The room started to spin, and I lost control of my inner monologue. I blurted, “When we found a body hacked up and left in garbage bags and…it turned out to be my mother.” I squinted at him. “Do you think the room’s spinning? Because I think the room’s spinning.”
At my horrific revelation, Baxter’s mouth hung open. After a moment he shook his head as if to clear it and said, “Oh, shit. You’re gonna puke.” He dragged me out of the booth and half-carried me to the ladies’ room, getting me to a stall just in time. As I retched over the toilet, I could feel him pulling my long hair back from my face and holding it for me.
Once I was finished, I sprawled out on the grimy floor and leaned my head against the stall wall. He handed me a couple of wet paper towels so I could clean myself up. When I looked up, I saw that his face was a mix of emotions.
“Hey, thanks for holding my hair. Only your best girlfriends will do that for you,” I croaked.
“You’re welcome, I guess,” he said, seeming confused by my comment. He hoisted me up off the floor. “Let’s get some coffee in you.”
***
Two cups of coffee and a basket of greasy fries later, I was feeling marginally sober. I propped my head up with my hand. “My head is starting to hurt. I think I need to go sleep it off.”
“I’ll walk you home.”
This time, I didn’t protest.
Once we were outside and heading for my house, he ventured, “I can’t get something you said earlier out of my head.”
“I say a lot of stuff, especially when I’m drunk. What was it?”
Hesitating for a moment, he said, “About your mother. Was she murdered?”
The alcohol had brought my defenses down enough that it didn’t seem so difficult to admit the truth, and it all came tumbling out. “Yeah. I’d been working the case
for nearly a month and had no freaking clue who the victim was. We ran DNA, but they were backed up, and it was taking forever even to get preliminary information. The sick son of a bitch who killed her kept making anonymous phone calls to give us the location of the bags, one by one. First came her feet. Then her legs. Then her arms. Then her hands, but her fingertips were missing. We got her torso in two pieces. Her head came last.”
Baxter put his hand on my arm and stopped me. “You don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to. It has to be hard to dredge everything back up.”
“It’s okay, Nick. I don’t mind that you know.” After all we’d been through the past week, I trusted him enough to tell him. I started walking again, and he followed. “It was August, and she’d been dead for a month before we got hold of the first bag. The bags had all been left outside, so you can imagine the rate of decomp, not to mention the smell. I didn’t even recognize her face. My own mother.”
Saying nothing, he reached out and put his arm around my shoulders.
I laughed mirthlessly. “You know how I finally ID’d her? Her earrings. I remembered them because…they were the first present I’d ever bought for her.” I wiped a tear from my eye. “I was seventeen and had my first job. I was so proud of those earrings because I’d bought them with my own money for her birthday. They were unusual, from a trendy store in Carmel that sold handmade jewelry. When I gave them to her, she was drunk, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but that night she was especially mean for some reason. She took one look at them, flung them across the room, and accused me of stealing them. We got into a huge fight. I figured she’d tossed them in the trash because I never saw her wear them…not until I opened that last bag.” My voice broke, and Baxter stopped me to envelop me in a tight hug.
I allowed myself to be comforted by him only for a moment before pulling away.
Bitter Past Page 25
