Barry Friedman - Dead End

by Barry Friedman

  She nodded. “Oh, of course, I understand.”

  “So, do you want to answer my last question?”

  “Did I go out with Mr. Horner? No, our relationship was entirely professional.” She blew a cloud of smoke and jabbed out the cigarette in an ashtray.

  Maharos stood up. “Thank you. I may be calling on you again in the next few days if anything comes up, if I need answers to any other questions.”

  “Certainly, any time.”

  Nancy Taylor led the way out of the office.

  In the blue Chevy, Fiala took a plastic envelope out of the glove compartment. He removed his suit jacket and, from one of its side pockets, shook into the envelope Nancy’s cigarette butt.

  Maharos watched, grinning. “You didn’t believe her either?”

  Fiala shrugged. “Like you always say, take no chances.”

  THREE

  The Horners’ white clapboard, two-story home was in an upper middle-class neighborhood. Bikes, toy autos, and skateboards lay scattered on the lawns, basketball hoops projected above many of the garage doors.

  When Maharos and Fiala drove up and parked in the driveway, a clutch of onlookers on the sidewalk were gaping at the house A man in his late thirties, wearing a gray business suit, opened the door partway. Maharos had his shield case in his hand. “I’m Detective Al Maharos. This is my partner, Frank Fiala.”

  “I’m Tom Hendricks, Sally’s brother. Come on in.”

  In the small living room, an attractive brunette sat in the middle of the couch, an arm around each of the little girls they’d seen in the photograph on Horner’s desk a few hours earlier. The girls’ eyes were red and swollen, their lower lips trembled.

  Hendricks said, “This is my wife Sue, and Toni and Karen Horner. Sally’s upstairs. I’ll get her.”

  Maharos said, “Listen, if she’s still resting, don’t disturb her.”

  “She’s awake now,” said Sue Hendricks. She smoothed the hair of the younger girl. “The boys are staying over at my sister’s.”

  Hendricks went upstairs and a minute later came down with Sally Horner leaning on his arm. She wore a long, blue robe. Strands of light brown hair stood out from her head like quills, she wore no makeup and her eyes had a glazed, far-away stare.

  Sue Hendricks got up from the couch. “I’ll be in the kitchen with the girls, Sally.”

  Hendricks said, “I’ll stay here with Sally, in case she needs me.”

  Maharos and Fiala stood until Hendricks eased her down on a sectional chair. He dragged a chair to her side and sat with an arm draped across the back of her easy chair.

  Maharos said, “I can’t tell you how sorry we are about your husband, Mrs. Horner. We hated to bother you, but it’s important that we move along with our investigation as fast as possible.”

  She nodded but remained silent.

  From her zombie-like appearance, Maharos didn’t expect to get much useful information. “I’m not going to ask you too many questions. But the most important is: did your husband have any enemies, anyone who might have threatened him?”

  Sally Horner continued to stare off into space. Finally, in a barely audible voice, she said, “Nancy Taylor.”

  Maharos and Fiala exchanged looks.

  Maharos said, “His secretary?”

  She nodded.

  “What makes you think she had anything to do with it?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “They were—he planned to fire her.”

  “When did he tell you this?”

  “Two days ago. The day before he—“ She covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook, her sobs silent.

  “Why was he firing her?”

  Sally Horner slid her hands from her face and stared at the floor without answering.

  Maharos waited but she said nothing. He said, “Mrs. Horner, was anything going on between your husband and Mrs. Taylor?”

  A small nod.

  “How did you find out?”

  “He—he told me.”

  “When?”

  “Two days ago.” Her voice grew stronger. “Two days ago George looked—I don’t know, depressed when he came home. I asked him if he’d had a bad day. He told me about firing Nancy Taylor. I asked why. He told me about—you know, sleeping with her.” She paused, gazed at the window. Maharos waited for her to continue. “He said it happened only once, knew he’d made a mistake. She kept inviting him to her place. He refused. Finally, he told her if she didn’t stop pestering him, he’d fire her. She said if he did, she’d tell me about their ‘affair’.”

  “Did your husband say she’d threatened him? Threatened to kill him?”

  “No. But who else could have done it?”

  “Mrs. Horner, before he told you, did you have any idea that your husband and Mrs. Taylor had—been together?”

  She snugged her robe close to her body. “I don’t know. One time, about six months ago, I thought maybe they’d had an affair. She’s attractive, divorced. Well, you know how men are. But I passed it off. Told myself I’d been concerned about nothing. Never gave it much thought again—until—“

  “When did you talk to your husband last?”

  She gazed at the carpet, her lips trembling, seemed to be struggling to keep in control. When she looked up her eyes were brimming. She took a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “Yesterday morning, at breakfast.”

  “Did he say anything about his plans for the day?”

  She shook her head. “He rarely told me anything about his business.”

  “Did he say anything about coming home late for dinner—or anything like that?”

  “No, but he frequently worked late.”

  She told them that around eight-thirty when she received no reply at the office phone she called Harrison Bost at his home. He said he had no idea where Horner had gone but assured her he’d turn up, “I thought he might have stopped off somewhere on his way home.”

  “At Mrs. Taylor’s?”

  Her glance dropped to the floor. She spoke softly . “It crossed my mind.”

  “Did you call there?”

  “Nancy Taylor’s home?”

  Maharos nodded.

  “No. I guess… I didn’t really want to know.”

  Hendricks stood up, leaned across Mrs. Horner. He gently placed his arm across her shoulders. “You okay, honey?”

  She patted his hand, smiled feebly.

  “Mrs. Horner,” said Maharos, “I know this may be painful for you, but it’s important that we know. When did your husband and Mrs. Taylor—become intimate?”

  Sally Horner’s eyelids drooped, as though she was about to drop off to sleep. When she spoke, her voice was low. Maharos leaned forward to hear. In February, Horner went to Cleveland on a Federal court case. The case was continued to the next day. He called to tell her that because of the icy roads he’d stay at a Cleveland hotel.

  Maharos said, “Was Mrs. Taylor with him?”

  Mrs. Horner nodded. “I didn’t know until later. They had dinner and a few drinks and then’s when it happened.”

  “The only time?”

  She shrugged. “That’s what George told me.”

  “What did you say after he told you?”

  Sally Horner’s lips quivered. “I guess I became a little hysterical. At first I told George that I couldn’t go on living with him. I’d get a divorce. He kept on telling me that it happened one time, a one-night thing. Never happened before, would never happen again.

  “For a few hours I…” She shook her head. “Finally, I got hold of myself. Realized he’d always been a good, affectionate, thoughtful husband. With four young children, it wouldn’t be easy for me if I lost him. So I told him I couldn’t forgive him, I could never forget it, but I’d stay with him for the children’s sake. He promised he would get rid of that. . “

  A practical woman, Maharos thought. “A little while ago, when I asked if you thought your husband might be at Mrs. Taylor’s house when he hadn’t come home, you sai
d, ‘It crossed my mind.’ Did you worry that they might be making up, that he might have changed his mind about firing her?”

  Sally Horner took a deep breath before she answered. “I didn’t know what to think. It seemed as though my world fell apart. I—I just lost any feeling of security. Before, I never had any reason to mistrust him. Afterward—after he told me about himself and Nancy Taylor, I wondered if I could believe anything he told me.”

  “Just a few more questions, Mrs. Horner,” said Maharos. “I know you called in to the Youngstown Police Department around ten.”

  “Uh-huh. They said it was too soon to start a missing person search, but I gave the officer who took the call a description of my husband anyway. I spent the rest of the night sitting here in this chair, praying. A lot of good it did.”

  “Do you know any reason for your husband being at Portage Lakes? Do you know anyone there?”

  “That’s where they found him, isn’t it?”

  Maharos nodded.

  “No, I don’t know anyone who lives there—or even nearby.”

  Maharos took a deep breath, let it out. Now came the tough part. “Mrs. Horner, who was home with you last evening?”

  She drew her brows together. “Just the children. Is that what you mean?”

  “Uh-huh. What time did you eat?”

  Mrs. Horner’s head came up. She glared at Maharos, the glaze in her eyes replaced by fire. “Look, I don’t know what you’re driving at. I don’t remember what time we ate. Six-thirty, seven. What difference does it make?”

  Tom Hendricks had been sitting on the arm of Sally’s easy chair. He stood, his jaw jutting, color gone from his face. “What are you trying to do, Detective? Hasn’t this poor girl been through enough?”

  Maharos held up his hand. He spoke quietly. “Take it easy, both of you. There are certain things I’ve got to find out. I know this is a difficult time for all of you. Mrs. Horner, I’m just trying to establish where you spent last evening between six and ten.”

  Mrs. Horner shouted the answer. “Right here. Cooking dinner for my family. Feeding my four children. Wondering where my husband had gone. Worrying because he hadn’t come home. That’s where I was.”

  Maharos had expected the reaction. Like a dental drill burrowing into a tooth, he had exposed a sensitive nerve, the part of every inquiry he disliked most. But he had to do it. Sally Horner was a suspect. She had the motive. Whether or not she had the desire or the means to murder her husband, or have him murdered, remained to be seen.

  Maharos and Fiala stood up. They’d learn nothing more from Mrs. Horner. Maharos already knew that she had been notified when Horner’s body had been discovered at around six this morning. She had come down to the morgue with her brother to make the identification.

  Maharos said, “I appreciate your talking to us, Mrs. Horner. We may want to talk to you again later on.”

  Sally Horner said nothing. Head bowed, she silently sobbed into a tissue. Hendricks, seated on the arm of her chair, gently massaged her shoulder.

  At the door, Fiala turned around. “By the way, Mrs. Horner, do you smoke?”

  She raised her head and slowly shook her head, her voice now subdued. “Not for years, why?”

  “Just curious.”

  In the car, Maharos said, “Well, let’s go talk to that secretary again. This time we’ll take her downtown.” He nudged Fiala with his elbow. “I’m glad you remembered about the tech’s report.”

  They had seen a preliminary report from the Crime Lab. Cigarette butts had been found in the ashtray of Horner’s car. The butts were stained with lipstick.

  FOUR

  Nancy Taylor sat at the scarred table across from Maharos in the interrogation room. She leaned back, chain-smoking, slim legs crossed, a shoe dangling from a toe. Quite a change in her attitude. Self-assured, no longer weepy. A portable tape recorder on the table made a faint hissing sound.

  Maharos had read the Miranda rights. She said she did not need the advice of a lawyer nor did she want one present. She had done nothing wrong. Yes, she admitted, she and Horner had spent the night together in the Cleveland hotel. That was the only time they had been intimate, she didn’t consider that an “affair.”

  She lived alone in an apartment.

  Maharos said, “Did you ask him to your home any time after that night you spent together?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell him you would tell his wife about what had happened in Cleveland if he fired you?”

  “Never! And he never said anything about firing me. I did my work. He liked what I did. In fact, we never talked about that night in Cleveland.”

  Maharos asked her about her former marriage. She had been married seven years. Had no children. Her ex-husband, an alcoholic, had beaten her several times while he was drunk, so she divorced him four years ago. The last she knew of him, he was somewhere on the West Coast. She wasn’t going steady with anyone but had dates once or twice a week. Maharos jotted down the names of her male friends.

  “When was the last time you were in Mr. Horner’s car?”

  Her brow furrowed. “In his car? I don’t know, maybe a week or two ago.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Probably to court. Yes, we went to court.”

  “Did you often accompany him to court?”

  “I wouldn’t say often. But when there were a lot of files he had to take with him, I’d go along to help. Many times, during a trial, he’d have me find things in a file while he questioned a witness.”

  “And you’d go to court in his car?”

  “Certainly. The court’s a mile away. Do you expect me to walk there?”

  Maharos placed his palms on the table, leaned forward, aware of her musty, sexy perfume. “Mrs. Taylor, when I spoke to you in your office I asked you to be frank and open. I told you that if you’d try to hide anything, we’d find out eventually. Remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when I asked you whether anything had gone on between the two of you, you denied it, right?”

  Her eyes blinked rapidly. “I just got through telling you, I didn’t consider that one night as being a big deal.”

  “Yeah. Well, I’m asking you now: Did you have anything to do with Mr. Horner’s death?” She started to speak but he held up a hand. “Before you say anything, let me point out if you did have anything, anything, to do with Mr. Horner’s death we’re gonna find out about it. I mean, it may have been accidental, maybe even justifiable. Even if you didn’t pull the trigger on the gun that killed him, if you know anything about it, now is the time to say it.” Again, Nancy Taylor’s mouth opened and he silenced her with a gesture. “Look, Nancy, we’re all human. We all make mistakes. It only gets worse if we—.”

  She broke in, “Listen, Detective, I had nothing to do with George Horner’s death. If you want me to take a lie detector test, fine. Let’s do it. But I’m not going to sit here and let you make accusations. Maybe I do need a lawyer.”

  Maharos stood up. “That’s up to you. One thing, we’d like to do is examine your hands. It’s a test that can tell us if you’ve fired a gun recently.”

  Nancy threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, really now!”

  “Do you have any objections?”

  “Of course not!”

  This was one cool cat. Maharos had used the gunpowder residue test as an excuse to see her reaction. More than twenty-four hours had elapsed since Horner had been shot. By now the chances of finding such evidence were negligible, even with the most sensitive techniques. Although he did not believe everything she told him, she probably had nothing to do with Horner’s death.

  * * *

  LIEUTENANT ED BRAGG squared the corners of the sheaf of papers he held and placed them in a file folder labeled “Horner.” He handed the folder to Maharos seated opposite his desk. “Looks like you got shit so far.”

  Bragg, four years from retirement, counted every day—when he wasn’t eating, which was mos
t of the time. The men and women in the squad room made bets on which would go first, the spring on his swivel chair or his thirty years.

  Bragg said, “Nothing in his personal letters?”

  “No. Fiala went through them and came up empty,” said Maharos.

  “That secretary is clean?”

  He wobbled a hand. “A little hanky panky, but we got nothing on her we can use.”

  “Ballistics?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Prints?”

  “Horner’s.”

  “I see the lab found nothing.”

  “Well, not exactly nothing. They got some Navy blue fibers from the carpet in front of the back seat. They think it’s from a sweater. They don’t match anything in Horner’s clothes closet. They’re still working on that.”

  Bragg flipped his hand. “S-u-r-e. Probably turn out to be a May Company lot of fifty thousand.”

  Maharos said, “Did you read the M.E.’s report?”

  “Yeah he’s a big help too. He says the guy was shot in the back. Twice. And his head was bashed in. We coulda got as much from one of the Boy Scouts who found the body.”

  “Frank spent a week on his case files. He picked up a few leads. None of them worth anything.”

  “You mean we got here a lawyer nobody hates enough to kill him?”

  “No. It’s just that the list of haters is too big.”

  “What about our snitches?”

  “Frank put the word out on the street. None of the gangs had anything working with Horner.”

  “All right, you been working on this one for three weeks now. Where do you go from here?”

  Maharos shrugged. “Got any ideas, Ed?”

  “Nope. Probably some crazy. We’re just runnin’ in place. I’m afraid we’re gonna end up puttin’ this one on the shelf.”

  FIVE

  Maharos sat in the squad room, his feet up on his desk. He was thinking about the Horner investigation but couldn’t come up with any fresh ideas to pursue it. Besides, Lieut. Ed Bragg, his superior, had told him to drop it. The phone rang.

  “Maharos.”

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Annie, sweetheart. I was just thinking about you.”