by Dana Marton
The Mustang was in rough shape, he thought as he walked up to it behind the police station where Arnie had dropped off the car. The front was smashed. Of course, she had hit a fire hydrant.
He’d been damned relieved to see the chief and the boys out there working on that. He’d hated to think that Luanne might have hit something else entirely.
Not that Earl didn’t have it coming, judging by what the employees had said in their interviews. The stories they told spoke of him pushing Maria up against the wall in the supply room, grabbing Jackie in an empty guest room, pressuring employees to “work” at his house. Hundreds of dollars held back in wages. That the women hadn’t liked him was an understatement.
But none of the employees had a car with a big dent in the front, except Luanne.
The thought of Earl putting his hands on her, pressuring her, forcing her… Chase rolled his neck to ease his tightening muscles.
His phone rang just as he set his evidence kit on the ground. He glanced at the display and took the call. “Hey, Mom.”
“I ran into Cindy Jenners at the store today.”
“No.”
“She’s such a nice young woman.”
“Not interested.”
“Your sisters abandoned me.”
“They didn’t abandon you. They got married.”
“They moved to other states. I don’t have a single grandchild within driving distance. How can they be so cruel?” She gave a guilt-laden pause. “Mrs. Ottmann said she saw you talking to some blonde with Massachusetts license plates by the feed store yesterday.”
Chase closed his eyes and brushed his thumb and forefinger over his eyelids. “I was giving her a speeding ticket, okay?”
“Oh.” She sounded mollified. “Cindy Jenners teaches at the elementary school now, did you know that? Such a nice girl. I’m sure she doesn’t speed. Promise me to take a Broslin bride. I’m begging you. Please.”
Oh sweet Jesus. “I’m at work. I have to go.”
“My dishwasher stopped working,” she said quickly.
His finger hesitated on the button. “All right. I’ll come over tonight and look at it. But I swear, if Cindy Jenners is accidentally there for tea…”
“I can have whoever I want at my own house for tea, thank you very much,” his mother snapped, then mumbled something about ungrateful offspring.
“Mother,” Chase put some official, police-grade warning into his voice.
“Don’t you mother me in that tone, Chase Mortimer Merritt,” she said and hung up on him.
He groaned. His mother was an intelligent woman with plenty of energy and brains, widowed, children out of the house, retired. Lots of time on her hands, which made Susan Merritt a bachelor son’s worst nightmare. Chase loved her anyway. But if he was going to find Cindy at the house tonight instead of a broken dishwasher, he and his mother were going to have words.
He rolled his shoulders. All right. Forget Cindy Jenners and matrimonial traps. He had a job to do here.
He sat on the ground and opened his evidence kit, took out the first swab, ran it along one side of the red bumper, sealed it away, grabbed a second, swabbed the other side. He used four swabs on the grill. Other than some negligible dirt and red paint from the hydrant, he didn’t see anything suspicious with the naked eye.
He relaxed a little and eased under the car next. The fire hydrant had washed the outside, but the undercarriage was pretty dirty. He pulled the flashlight off his belt and panned it around. Stopped.
Was that hair? His neck muscles tightened all over again.
He slid back out, grabbed an evidence bag and tweezers, crawled back in, bagged the short, whitish hair, even as he told himself it could be from a cat that had slept under the Mustang. He panned the light around again. Froze.
Blood?
He used a wet swab for that. The white cotton came back dark red. His stomach sank as he took several samples.
Let the lab have it. Don’t jump to conclusions. But he was swimming in dread and regret as he bagged the piece of evidence.
He went by the book, collected second and third samples, took his time, didn’t rush the process. Then he walked back into the station with his bags and his kit.
Only the captain and Leila, the admin assistant slash dispatcher, were in. No, one more. The new officer was coming from the break room with a cup of coffee, Gabriela Maria Flores, ex-inner-city cop, a recent hire, straight from Philly.
She nodded in greeting, tall and lean, crisp uniform, dark hair in a tight bun at her nape. She had a steel core that one, not to be messed with. Chase nodded back at her. “Gabi.”
He dropped the bags on Leila’s desk. “Would you please pack these up for me?”
Leila worked the front desk first shift, a single mother of three teenage boys, no-nonsense short hair, drill-sergeant attitude, a sensible woman, save for her dubious taste in footwear. Today’s affront to modesty was high-heeled pink sneakers covered in black lace.
There could not be enough people willing to wear something like that to make it worthwhile for a manufacturer to make them, Chase thought, and put the shoes down as one of the womanly mysteries.
Leila pulled a large, heavy-duty envelope from the bottom drawer and dropped everything inside, sealed the tab, and handed the package back to him. “Is that Luanne Mayfair’s Mustang out back?”
Chase nodded.
“I hope she’s not in trouble.”
He made some noncommittal sounds, and she let the topic drop. She knew better than to ask questions about an ongoing investigation.
Captain Bing gestured from his office, so Chase walked over to talk to the man.
“Anything?” Bing was in his midforties but had grown five years younger in the last couple of months. Marriage clearly agreed with him.
“Not yet.”
“Is that Luanne Mayfair’s car out back?”
Chase nodded. “She hit a fire hydrant.”
“I’m guessing you already checked that.”
“Checks out.”
“What’s in the evidence bags?”
Chase hesitated, hating to say the words. “Some blood and hair from the car. Could be roadkill,” he quickly added.
Bing raised an eyebrow. “We have a hit-and-run, then a car with blood and hair.” He shook his head. Reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Let’s hope for the roadkill scenario. I like Luanne.” He thought for a moment. “She worked with Earl.”
“She did.”
“You’re thinking of her for the homicide?”
“Just covering all the bases.”
Bing shook his head again. His lungs filled, then deflated. “Motive?” he asked in a tone that said he really didn’t want to be asking that question.
Chase didn’t want to answer it. “Same as for all the other employees. Earl was a sleazebag who cheated people out of their wages when he could. He also pressured his staff into sexual favors.”
Bing’s face hardened. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”
“Good question. I suppose people don’t want to lose their jobs in this economy.”
Bing stayed grim as he thought. Shook his head. Gave a disgusted grunt at last. “All right. Let’s walk through this. Opportunity?”
Chase was equally grim as he responded. “Luanne was at Finnegan’s last night. Earl was killed in the alley behind the bar.”
Bing leaned back in his chair, putting both hands on his desk. “So we’ve got motive and opportunity. And for means, her Mustang. Dented. With blood and hair on it.”
“Fire hydrant and roadkill,” Chase put in, wanting badly to believe it.
“Or she could have hit the fire hydrant to destroy evidence. Makes her look even guiltier.”
Chase nodded. He’d already considered all of this, hated the picture the details painted when added up together. “Could have been an accidental hit-and-run. Then she panicked and tried to cover it up.”
Bing watched him. Flatten
ed his lips. “We’ve put in for arrest warrants on less evidence.”
They had. “It’s Luanne. She’s got the twins.”
And Bing nodded. “Let me know when the lab results come back.” His eyes narrowed after a moment. “You think she has a lawyer?”
“I got the impression she doesn’t have a lot of money.”
Bing nodded again. “Any other suspects? Girlfriend, wife, ex-wife?”
“No current girlfriend. Three ex-wives. The last ex-wife, Veronica, works the front desk at the motel. I already talked to her. Solid alibi, bridal shower with a dozen other women. The second ex lives in Downingtown. The first is down in South Carolina. I’ll be checking them out next.”
Bing considered that for a second. “All right. I want to know as soon as you have something.”
Chase went straight to his desk, grabbed a permanent marker, and wrote his name, contact information, and the case number on the evidence envelope, then set that aside for the time being. He got his notes out, including the interviews with the maids, signed in to his computer, and updated the case file.
He looked for any other angle besides Luanne, all other possibilities. Standard procedure. Once a suspect was identified, it was too easy to focus only on him or her, look at all evidence from that light, and maybe miss something significant. So he set aside the possible evidence from the Mustang and considered the case afresh, as if Luanne wasn’t in the picture.
Maybe Earl had been accidentally killed by someone driving through town. A stranger. Hit-and-run. That would have been Chase’s favorite option. Except the evidence didn’t bear out that hypothesis.
People driving through town drove down Route 1. They didn’t get into the neighborhoods to wind their way through back alleys. Yeah, people got lost. But at this stage, that was the less likely scenario. He thought it more likely that the killer was someone local.
Maybe somebody who regularly took the alley as a shortcut. Or maybe one of last night’s bar patrons, Chase thought. He needed to go in tonight once the place opened, and ask around. The Finnegans would cooperate without giving him any trouble. Maybe he’d ask Harper to go with him, just to make everything go smoother.
Harper would want to be there if somebody was questioning his parents.
So, hit-and-run. Hit, hide, and run, technically. The driver had gotten out and covered the body in garbage bags. Maybe someone who’d been driving drunk?
He tried not to think how bleary-eyed Luanne had looked when she’d walked into the motel this morning.
He finished his initial report, then uploaded the crime scene photos. A messy, dark back alley. The body from every angle. Nothing in the pictures jumped out at him as a screaming clue.
Accidental hit-and-run with a cover-up.
There was, of course another option. That the hit had been planned and Earl specifically targeted. Motive, means, and opportunity, Luanne had all three, but so could any number of others.
He didn’t like Luanne’s name as the only one on his suspect list. He was determined to expand that list significantly before the day was over.
He rifled through his notes until he found the motel owners’ phone number. Mildred and Harold Cosgrove were originally from Unionville. They’d bought the motel twenty years ago as an investment, run it for fifteen years before they retired and moved to Rising Sun, Maryland, to be closer to their daughter and grandchildren. Earl Cosgrove had been hired at that point to take over, and he’d been managing the place for the past four years.
Chase dialed the number and waited until someone picked up, then introduced himself to Mildred Cosgrove on the other end.
Her voice was thick as if she’d been crying. “I’ve been expecting a call. Veronica told me what happened to Earl.” She sniffed. “I just can’t believe it.” She sniffed again. “Harold and I are driving up tomorrow.”
“I’d appreciate if you could give me a call when you get here.” He’d meant to talk to them over the phone, but in person would be better.
“Do you know who…?” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Not yet, ma’am. But we’re doing everything we can to catch the perpetrator. I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask when you get here, but in the meanwhile, I’d appreciate it if I could have access to the motel’s employee records.” Technically, he needed a warrant for that, unless Mildred volunteered it, but he was pretty sure she would.
She sniffed again. “Of course. Harold has everything on the computer. He can probably e-mail the files.”
“Thank you.” He dictated his work e-mail address. Waited a beat. “You wouldn’t know anyone he’d been fighting with, would you? Any enemies?”
Mildred sniffed louder. “I don’t think so. He ran the motel, but we weren’t that close, I’m sorry to say. I’ll ask Harold when he gets home. If he knows something, I’ll let you know.”
After they hung up, he went through all the information he had up to this point—none of which looked good for Luanne. But things improved once Harold sent Earl Cosgrove’s employee record fifteen minutes later.
Among all the basic information, Chase quickly found what he was looking for. Earl had life insurance through his workplace. The beneficiaries were his three ex-wives, probably so they could take care of the kids if something happened to Earl and the child support checks stopped coming. Okay, so the man wasn’t a total jerk in every area of his life. At least he cared about his kids.
Chase updated his report, doing his best to tune out the two men in their thirties who staggered into the police station, dragging each other.
“I want you to arrest this idiot bastard. He shit on my front porch!” the taller one shouted, face contorted with rage. He wore ripped jeans and a wrinkled blue shirt that had seen better days.
“Your dog shits all over my yard every day.” The other one—ripped shirt, plaid shorts—shoved his buddy.
“Calm down, please,” Leila said when they reached reception.
The tall one thumped a fist on the counter. “I want to make a police report. I stepped in that shit!”
Chase checked out the floor behind them, the questionable footprints. Made a mental note to walk around them when he left.
“Good, you deserved it. My kids can’t play in my yard because of your stupid dog.” The short guy swung and missed, knocking the pot of lucky bamboo off the counter. Miracle of miracles, the pot didn’t shatter.
Leila snapped to standing, her eyes narrowing, chin down, hands on her hips. “Calm the hell down, I said!”
Her voice cut through the office, quieted the men for a second, but only for a second. The tall one stuck his head forward and got right into Leila’s face.
Her eyes narrowed to dangerous levels. The air seemed to vibrate around her.
“It’s all fun and games until someone gets her foot up his ass,” Gabi murmured at her desk, and rose to keep the idiots from coming to harm.
Chase grinned as he pushed to his feet. “Leila would never risk her footwear like that. I’ll take care of it. I’m heading out anyway.”
As Gabi sat back down, he grabbed the evidence envelope and walked up to reception. “Do we have two open holding cells?”
The men’s heads whipped around.
“Wait a minute,” the short one sputtered. “I’m here to make a report.”
“I’m here to take you back for disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace,” Chase said calmly. “Plus battery.” He looked at the blood on short guy’s lip and on tall guy’s brow.
Leila sat, not entirely able to wipe the smug off her face. “I’ll put that call in for Animal Control. We have leash laws in Broslin.”
Chase nodded. The PD didn’t get involved with animals unless abuse was involved, but these two dumbasses didn’t need to know that. “Once you bring the police in the middle of something, we do look at every little detail,” he told them, his voice holding nothing but kindness. “You came to the right place. Every detail of this will be fully investigat
ed.”
“That’s what we do,” Leila added in cheerfully.
Chase gestured toward the back. “Let’s go back to holding. I can take down your complaints about the dog shit there. All the cells have benches. You’ll be more comfortable sitting.”
The tall one ducked his head. The short one looked at his feet, hands shoved into his pockets. They suddenly looked sheepish, the wind gone from their sails.
Chase shrugged. “Or you can just have a discussion and come to an agreement like reasonable adults. Split the cost of a fence. Tell Ed at the lumberyard I sent you, and he’ll give you a discount.”
Tall guy slinked one step back, then another.
Short guy turned with a frustrated gesture and marched out of there. Seeing his escape go unchallenged, his buddy quickly followed.
Chase shook his head as he picked up the lucky bamboo and set the pot back on the counter. “I’m driving over to the lab. In case anyone’s looking for me. Then I’m heading over to Downingtown to interview Earl’s second ex-wife.”
Leila cast a dark look toward the door. “They’re lucky they didn’t make me mad.”
Chase had a feeling that would happen when she discovered the questionable footprints. Best not be here at that point. He headed for the door, keeping to the clean surfaces.
Half an hour to the lab in West Chester, fifteen minutes there—he put a rush order in—half an hour to Cathy Cosgrove’s house.
He found her, a sporty brunette, unpacking travel bags from the back of her car in the driveway, her face stricken. Her two teenage daughters were crying. They looked just like their mother, all three wearing Girl Scout uniforms.
Chase introduced himself and noted her blue SUV. No damage.
“We came home as soon as we heard.” Cathy sounded exhausted. She invited him in, and he helped her carry the bags inside. “Do you have any suspects?” she asked, shaking her head over and over again. She waited until the girls went upstairs with their backpacks before saying, “Earl wasn’t the best man I’ve ever known,” she lowered her voice, “but he didn’t deserve this.”
“No, ma’am.”
She buried her face in her hands for a second, then dropped them, drawing a deep breath. “Do you have any idea who or why?”
