November's Past (Larry Macklin Mysteries Book 1)

by A. E. Howe

  When the nurse picked up the phone I knew something was wrong.

  “This is Deputy Macklin. I called yesterday,” I said, hearing sniffles on the other end of the line.

  “I… he… I’m afraid the doctor passed away last night,” she said and my heart dropped.

  “Has the body been moved?”

  “What? Yes. Marshall’s came and… picked him up about an hour ago.” She was referring to Marshall’s Funeral Home.

  “Don’t touch anything in the room. I’m coming straight over,” I ordered. Confused, she agreed. I texted Matt to meet me there. I couldn’t see how this could be a coincidence, arson and death going hand in hand again. I called Marshall’s Funeral Home, identified myself and told them not to do anything with the body.

  As I drove I looked at my phone sitting on the dash. Should I call Cara or not? I couldn’t see any option. When viewed with the knowledge that there had been another murder/arson combo just a week earlier, it seemed probable that the doctor’s death was related. Even if it wasn’t, it would take me a few hours to convince myself of that. Cara took it pretty well and we agreed to postpone our date again, agreeing we’d try to reschedule for Saturday.

  Matt was waiting for me in front of the doctor’s house. The house was in one of the best and oldest neighborhoods in Calhoun, standing back from the street on an acre lot. The two-story Victorian had the look of a home well-maintained for years, but becoming a bit neglected now.

  There was already a black wreath on the door courtesy of Marshall’s. Before I knocked, I gave Matt all the details, and he agreed that the death needed a thorough investigation. A large sturdy woman in a dark dress answered the door.

  “I’m Pat,” she said.

  “Deputies Macklin and Greene,” I said. She ushered us in. We followed her to the second door on the right.

  “We had to move him down here when it became too difficult for him to climb the stairs.” The room had obviously once been a library. Recent additions to the library included an old, well-made wooden double bed, a bedside table and a chest of drawers. The bed’s covers were pulled back and soiled, which created an unpleasant smell in the room.

  “I’m sorry for the… mess. You told me to leave everything the way it was.”

  “You did the right thing.” The windows were open. “Did you open the windows?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, I did that while I was waiting for the funeral home.”

  “Were they unlocked?” Matt beat me to the question.

  “Yes. This time of year the doctor would have them open a lot. He always swore by fresh air. Told everyone to get out more and to keep their houses as open as possible. He followed his own advice.”

  We went over to the windows and what I saw chilled me. A muddy mark on the carpet. It was so near the window and so far away from the bed that it was hard to imagine it being made by anyone entering the room from the main part of the house. The mud appeared to be fresh.

  Matt got on the phone to the coroner and then called Marshall’s. I phoned Shantel and told her we had more work for her.

  “I’m going to start expecting a separate check from you personally,” she grumbled good-naturedly.

  At four o’clock we wrapped up the evidence collection at the house. At six I got a call from Dr. Darzi saying that a very preliminary examination of the body suggested smothering, most likely with a pillow. All the bed linens, including the pillowcases, had been bagged and tagged. I emailed the lab to pay special attention to the cases. I also called Shantel and asked her to send someone over to the house to pick up the pillows.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wednesday was spent writing the report and going over the evidence in the doctor’s case. This included tracking down CCTV footage from banks, public buildings, fast food restaurants and anywhere else we could think of that might cover some of the approaches to the storage unit or the doctor’s house. We hoped that by comparing them with footage from the cameras that were within a couple of blocks of the warehouse where Mark Kemper was killed and the motel where Dell was bludgeoned, we might find a vehicle or pedestrian common to all three or at least two of the scenes. A lot of time spent looking in a haystack that might or might not have a needle in it.

  Pete helped me dig up a couple nurses who had worked with the doctor when he had his practice. Dr. Brook ran a general practice from his office in Calhoun from 1960 until 2000. The Devries family had been patients of his, as had the Danielses. Dad admitted that he’d gone to him a few times before he married Mom, before she decided she wanted a younger doctor when she was pregnant. So there appeared to be at least some connection between the doctor and the Daniels group. But in a small town, was that surprising?

  Thursday morning, I dressed for the funeral. Accompanying my dad and paying respects to a man I’d known my whole life were my primary reasons for attending. However, it also afforded me the opportunity to observe Margret Devries. At least I assumed she’d be there. I couldn’t believe that egotistical blowhard would miss the dramatic opportunities offered by a funeral.

  Dad wanted me to pick him up at his house. I waited in the car, hoping he’d come out so I could avoid Mauser slobbering all over my best suit. No luck. After ten minutes he still hadn’t come outside. I got out of the car and had reached the midway point between the car and the house when the door opened and Mauser came charging across the lawn.

  “Do your business,” Dad shouted from the door.

  Mauser headed straight for me. The car was too far away. I bent at the knees and prepared to be hit. The huge animal lifted his front feet and smashed into me. I kept upright, but he managed to smear the front of my dark suit with muddy paws. The greeting over, he slammed his head into me in one last show of recognition and affection, then headed off into the bushes to attend to his business.

  Dad came out of the house looking well groomed and somber. “Mauser, good boy, come here.”

  Mauser didn’t even look back. He was on the trail of a squirrel, armadillo or some other animal that he would never catch. His babysitter came out and told Dad to go on and that he’d get Mauser back into the house. With leash in hand, the young man started following the dog through the bushes. Dad got in the car with a grunt of greeting for me.

  The funeral was at the largest church in town, Calhoun First Baptist. Jim and his son were Methodist, but the church they attended wouldn’t be able to hold the crowd of people wanting to pay their respects. In one way the family had been fortunate in the way that Jim had died. The time on life support had given them the opportunity to prepare for the mammoth service that a cornerstone of the community deserved. Thousands of people in the county owed Jim a debt of thanks for jobs and support that they would have been hard put to find anywhere else. The parking lot was full.

  Tim greeted us at the door. “Thank you for coming, Sheriff Macklin,” he said in a mournful tone. It was obviously not an act. Tim and his father had been dedicated to each other. The only time Tim had spent away from the farm was the four years he attended school in Gainesville. As soon as he received his degree in agricultural business he was back in Adams County, working with his dad.

  We went into the church and took our seats midway between the altar and the doors. Sure enough, I could see Margret sitting in the second pew from the front. I guess even she knew that it would be inappropriate for her, as the ex-wife, to sit in the front pew. Tilly sat next to her. The two heads would come together for a few minutes and then part, until one or the other thought of some other interesting tidbit to gossip about.

  I watched them throughout the service and an idea grew. Margret was our best suspect simply by association. In one way or another, she knew every one of the victims. It wasn’t much to go on, but I had a hunch she was up to something. The reason we hadn’t looked at Margret seriously as a suspect, besides the fact we didn’t have a motive, was that she had iron-tight alibis for both Kemper and Dell. But she had an ally who did have the opportunity.

 
When the family broke up, Tilly went with her mom. Would Tilly kill for her mother? She certainly had the same type of take-no-prisoners personality. But that was a long way from being an instrument of murder. What would we get if we brought Tilly in for questioning? Sitting there in the pew, I decided to find out.

  As soon as I was in the car with Dad, heading for the gravesite, I pulled out my phone and called Matt. I told him what I was thinking and asked him to check Tilly out. Dad overheard my conversation and frowned at me.

  “You can’t bring her in for a couple of days. Her father just died.”

  “One, she didn’t look like she was taking it that hard—”

  “That’s not the point,” Dad interrupted in an agitated voice.

  I raised my hand to calm him. “I know I have to tread lightly here. But point two is that now is the perfect time if she is emotionally off-base.”

  “How do you think Tim is going to take it?” Dad wasn’t going to let this go.

  “I would think that he’d want to find the person who murdered his aunt.” I raised my hand again to stop him. “What we can do is ask her to come in and talk with us. If she says no, we’ll give it a couple days and then bring a little force to bear.” I looked over at him.

  He didn’t look happy. “I know you’re trying to do your job. But Jim was one of my best friends. Harassing one of his children is not something I want my office to be responsible for. Do you understand me? I’m talking now as your boss, not as your father. As your father, I’m asking you to move very cautiously. I saw that girl two days after she was born. I’ve been to more of her birthday parties than yours.”

  That last was the truth and it kinda stung. It also got the point across that Dad would not want her to be hurt.

  The procession had reached the cemetery. I followed another car onto the side of an internal road and cut the engine. Turning to Dad, I asked, “And if I find evidence that she had some involvement in the murders?”

  “You don’t have to ask that. You know damn well that I won’t let my friendship with Jim or his daughter stop me from doing my duty, or make me stop you from doing yours. All I ask is that, until it is clear she is in some way responsible, you be gentle. That’s all I’m saying.” He opened the door and got out.

  It was a warm, dry November day standing beside the graveside. A small awning from Marshall’s covered the casket and the hole that was already dug, but discreetly covered with Astroturf. The graveside service was mercifully short. Even so, I was sweating under the sun in my dark suit.

  Dropping a still disgruntled Dad off at his house, I changed and went back to the office. Matt was at his desk and I pulled him aside.

  “Find out anything about Tilly Devries?”

  “She’s got a few charges on her record. Two for drunk driving. The worst is an aggravated assault conviction from an incident where she attacked a bouncer at a Jacksonville Beach night club. She pleaded guilty and received a suspended sentence. The club refused to drop the charges because they claimed she had attacked employees before. I say we bring her in and talk to her.”

  “I do too. But her father was buried today. We need to tread softly.” I repeated Dad’s words.

  Matt nodded, but didn’t look satisfied. “She’ll be more off balance now. It’s the perfect time to question her,” he said, echoing me.

  “I hear you. I thought we could go out there tomorrow morning and talk to her.”

  “We really need to try and get her in here where we have the home field advantage.”

  “How about we ask her to come in? I’ll call her and tell her we want to go over a few things concerning her Aunt Dell.”

  “If she refuses?”

  “I guess that would tell us something. If she does, then we go out there and put some pressure on her and see how she reacts.”

  “It’s always a give and take anyway. Sure, we can do it that way.” Matt seemed accepting.

  Having a suspect, or at least a person of interest, was a relief. If, and it was a big if, Margret and Tilly were involved in the murders of Mark Kemper, Dell McDonnell and Dr. Brook, covering up something in the past seemed like the only reasonable explanation.

  I considered the Kemper murder. What could he have known? Did he come to town to blackmail Margret? That could have been why he was upset or nervous. But his finances had checked out. He didn’t have any unusual debt. We had checked the hospitals he sold to and none of them had reported any drugs missing or other irregularities that might have suggested that Mark had a problem that could have gotten him in trouble and in need of cash. No one who knew him said anything but good things about him.

  There was a similar problem with Dell. She was too good and had too few issues. Of course, with a family member anything was possible. But Margret and Dell had played the same roles all their lives—Margret was the hardass and Dell was the sweetheart. Why would Margret fear or hate Dell enough to have Tilly kill her?

  I decided to stop thinking about it because, the more I did, the less I liked the idea of Margret being the puppet master manipulating Tilly. Hopefully talking to Tilly in the morning would either disprove the idea or give us a launching point for a more thorough look into the theory.

  The next morning Matt was waiting for me at my desk. I called Tilly’s cell phone and got no answer, so Matt wandered off while I kept trying. When I didn’t get her around nine, I decided to call Tim and find out where Tilly was.

  “She’s probably still asleep,” he said, sounding short of breath. “I’m loading hay to take to the feed store. If it’s important, I could go up to the house.”

  “When do you think she’ll be up?”

  “She and her mother usually don’t get up much before noon. They went into Tallahassee last night and didn’t get back until late.” There was an edge to his voice. And referring to Margret as “her mother” was a slight he’d emphasized.

  Finding out that she went into Tallahassee partying the day of her father’s funeral took a lot of my sympathy and dumped it in the trash. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just keep calling.”

  “What did you want to talk with her about?” he asked.

  Here is where I needed to be careful. I didn’t want Tim to think we were jumping to conclusions.

  “I just want to go over a few things. Mostly about her relationship with her aunt and to make sure she hadn’t known Mark.”

  “How could she have known Mark?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I need to ask her some questions. It’s always possible that she met him at a bar or through his or her work.”

  “I don’t think she hangs out at hospitals, and she doesn’t have a real job of her own. So I don’t think she could have met him,” he insisted.

  “You’re probably right. They’re just questions that we need to ask in order to do our due diligence,” I said, making us sound like the bureaucrats that we often are.

  “Yeah, okay, I can understand that. Just keep calling back. When she wakes up, the first thing she’ll look for is her phone.”

  Tilly finally picked up my call an hour later.

  “Who is this?” she answered. Her mother’s child.

  “Tilly, this is Larry Macklin. I hate to bother you, but we need to ask a few more questions. Could you come down to the sheriff’s office?”

  “When? Today?” She made it sound like I’d asked her to walk through fire.

  “Yes, I was hoping you could make it in today.” I was doing my best to sound open and inviting. “It won’t take long and then we won’t have to bother you anymore.” I offered her the hope of never having to hear my voice again.

  “I’m pretty busy…” She was playing hard to get.

  “We just need some information so that we can move forward with the investigation. I know how much you want us to find the person who killed your aunt.” An appeal to the heart if she had one.

  “When?”

  “At your convenience.”

  “It’s not really conven
ient, but I can be there about one?” she said, very tentatively.

  “That would be perfect. I’ll look forward to seeing you.” I put as much butter on the bread as possible. I didn’t want her to think for a minute that we viewed her as anything but a victim in all of this.

  I told Matt that I had a bite and that we’d see if we could reel it in.

  One o’clock turned to one-fifteen and then one-thirty. At one-forty I got a call from the front desk that I had a visitor. I picked Matt up from his desk on my way to the front.

  Tilly was wearing a shirt and a pair of shorts that suggested she was looking for attention. Her face, on the other hand, just looked annoyed. We ushered her into the conference room.

  “How well did you know your Aunt Dell?” I had decided to start off with the easy questions and move on to the tougher ones.

  “Pretty well. I saw her sometimes when I was growing up. Dad even liked her. He was always glad to have her and her husband come down for the holidays. And, of course, she came down and took care of Grans and Grams. Grams is living with her… Well, I guess with Uncle Mike now.” This seemed to make a dent in her stunted emotional maturity.

  “After I moved to Jacksonville with Mom, Aunt Dell came and stayed with us a few times a year. Mom didn’t get along with her too well, but I liked her. She always told me how pretty I was and that I could go into modeling or something. Not like Mom. She’s always harping on my weight. Do I look fat? Mom’s one to talk. Jesus, she’s got these huge varicose veins in the—”

  “If we could stay on course here.” If I hadn’t interrupted her, we would have been off on wild tangents all day. “Your mom didn’t get along with your aunt? Was there anything in particular that they argued about?”

  “They never argued.”

  “But you said they didn’t get along?”

  “No, I said that Mom didn’t get along with Aunt Dell. You should listen better. Of course Mom doesn’t really get along with anyone. You might have noticed. She’s in this big fight right now with her neighbor in Jacksonville. The woman, her name is Betty, she’s building this boat dock and—”