Twisted Reason (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)

by Fanning, Diane

  “Have you and your husband discussed that possibility?” Lucinda interjected.

  Rosemary looked over, eyebrows arching as if surprised to see someone else in the foyer. “And you are?”

  Lucinda slipped out her badge, flipped it open and said, “Lieutenant Pierce.”

  Rosemary studied Lucinda, her eyes sliding from side to side as if trying to memorize every detail of her face.

  Although uncomfortable with the scrutiny, Lucinda stood without speaking until the stare broke away. “Mrs. Szykely, have you visited any senior facilities for possible placement?”

  “A few. It just hadn’t seemed necessary right away.”

  “Did you have her wait-listed?”

  “At one place, just because it had such a long list and it was Mom’s favorite.”

  “And where was that?” Lucinda asked.

  “River’s Edge.”

  Coincidence? I doubt it. The only place where all five are wait-listed. But what could the motive be? An employee with a grudge? A family member with someone further down on the waiting list? But surely that list is not public information.

  She realized that Rosemary and Layla were both looking at her with expectant faces. “I’m sorry. I got lost in thought. Did you ask me a question?”

  “Yes. Is there a problem with River’s Edge?” Rosemary asked.

  “Not to my knowledge,” Lucinda answered.

  “C’mon, Lieutenant,” Layla urged. “What are you holding back? When Rosemary said River’s Edge, I could almost see a comic strip light bulb pop up over your head.”

  “Just stirred up a random thought – sorry, my mind simply went elsewhere,” Lucinda said with a smile she hoped was convincing. Slipping two cards out of her pocket, she handed one to each of the women. “Let me know if you spot anything that looks the least bit suspicious in the neighborhood. And think about the last two weeks, try to recall anything that, on reflection, seems odd or out of place.” Turning away from the women, she said, “Sergeant Butler, you about ready to go?”

  Lucinda walked out to her car, punching in Ted’s number as she walked. “Ted, could you contact Jenna in the sales department at River’s Edge and let her know that you need a full employee roster. We need to do a background check on everyone who works there.”

  “Are we looking for anything in particular?”

  “I’m sure we are but I don’t know what it is. I do know I have three dead senior citizens, one missing one and the attempted abduction of yet another. And every single one of them – all five – were wait-listed at River’s Edge. And when you talk to Jenna ask her about her waiting list. Ask her about confidentiality. Ask her who has access to it.”

  “You got it, Lucinda. Listen, I had a great talk with Ellen last night – we’ve got a plan. I’ll clue you in when you get back here.”

  “If I get back there.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got hold of something.”

  “It may be nothing but I’m going to hang on to it until it turns to dust. Later, Ted – thanks a lot.”

  Jumbo slid into the passenger seat. “Sorry to keep you waiting – Juliet didn’t want to let me leave.”

  “You sure have a way with the ladies, Sergeant – they never seem to want to let you go.”

  “Yeah, my charm works magic with the ladies old enough to be my mother or my grandmother. Women my age or younger look over the top of my head and never realize I’m there.”

  “I’m going to head over to the address we have for the license plate on the white van that belongs to another car. You need to get back to the Justice Center or do you have time to track down the owner with me?”

  Jumbo pulled out his cell phone and glanced at the screen. “No messages. Let’s roll – I’m a sucker for the unknown.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. We’ll probably find a ratty little Nissan that’s sitting up on concrete blocks.”

  Twenty-Five

  Lucinda pulled into a sorry looking street lined with brick terraced houses built in the post Second World War housing boom. Porch roofs sagged, wrought iron railings rusted, and assorted junk littered most of the teeny front yards. Here and there, a few residents demonstrated house pride or gardening love with pretty porches and tended flower beds behind short edging. The address they sought was one of the saddest looking homes in the block.

  Jumbo waited on the sidewalk while Lucinda stepped up on the porch and pressed the doorbell by the front door. While she waited, she noticed the mail protruding out of the wall-mounted mailbox. The envelopes yellowed and curled from exposure to the elements. When she got no response, she pulled out the papers secured between the screen door and the jamb.

  “Interesting,” she said as she thumbed through them.

  “Whatcha got?” Jumbo asked.

  “A UPS delivery attempt notice but the date and any other handwritten information that might have been written on the paper is now long gone. There’s disconnection notices for the electricity, the gas and the water. And a piece of paper that appears as if it might have once been a note but it’s totally illegible now. Doesn’t look too promising,” she said before pounding her fist on the door.

  A woman, wiping her hands on a red checked apron tied around her waist, stepped out on the porch of the home next door. “You’re wasting your time. Nobody’s been in or out of that place since . . . well, I can’t remember when. It’s been a long time.”

  “Did you know your neighbor?”

  “Knew him to say ‘hi’, not much more.” She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you anyway? Why are you looking for him?”

  “I’m Lieutenant Pierce, this is Sergeant Butler.”

  “Police?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Is he in trouble?”

  “No,” Lucinda said, even though it was looking more and more as if he was a serious person of interest. “It’s just that we found his stolen license plate.”

  “Well, Gary sure never mentioned that to me.”

  “Gary Blankenship?”

  “Yeah, I think. I think that was his last name. Like I said, I only knew him in passing.”

  “Did he live here alone?” Lucinda asked.

  “A grown daughter and son lived here with him.”

  “No wife or live-in girlfriend?”

  “Not as far as I could tell.”

  “Did he have many visitors?”

  “There was a guy in his late twenties, I think. He used to come by a lot. I think Gary said that was his oldest son.”

  “Do you recall what kind of car he drove?” Jumbo asked.

  The woman looked over at Jumbo standing down on the sidewalk. At that lower elevation, he looked even shorter they he actually was. She scanned him up and down and then turned her attention to Lucinda. One side of her mouth curled up in half of a smile. “So, tell me. How did they manage to pair you two up? Somebody like the Mutt and Jeff look? Or were they fans of the Odd Couple? Or did they just think the bad guys would fall down laughing and you wouldn’t have to chase them?”

  Grim-faced, Lucinda and Jumbo both crossed their arms tight across their chests. “Ma’am, please answer Sergeant Butler’s question.”

  “Aw, c’mon. You’ve gotta see the humor in this – you’re not blind. You’ve got a sense of humor, dontcha? A woman officer with a scarred-up face, tall enough to play professional basketball paired up with a little runt of a carrot-topped guy with cherub cheeks. C’mon.”

  “Ma’am. We are conducting an investigation. You have been asked a question. Please answer it,” Lucinda demanded.

  The woman sputtered out a laugh. “Sorry. I forgot the question.” Her eyes darted between Lucinda and Jumbo. “Honest, c’mon. What was the question?”

  “Do you remember what kind of car Mr. Blankenship drove?”

  Her brow furrowed for a moment and she said, “Yeah, yeah, it was one of those little boxy cars.”

  “You know the make or model?”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Y
eah, right. Can’t say I even remember the color and I’m usually pretty good at that. I do know it was a dark color and usually covered with road dust or splattered with some of that red clay mud. Hey, listen, is that it? I got some stew cooking on the stove; I really need to check on it.”

  “Let me give you my card first, in case you think of anything else about your neighbor.” Lucinda walked over to the other porch. As she handed it to her, she said, “If he comes back here, or if you see any of his kids, call me right away, okay?”

  “Sure,” she said, opening her screen door.

  After she stepped inside, Jumbo said, “What now?”

  “Damned if I know. Seems like every time I turn around, I’ve got another thing on my list that requires waiting instead of doing.”

  “I’ll be glad to help in any way.”

  “Tell you what,” Lucinda said, “I need to follow up on an unrelated case. How about if I drop you off at the Justice Center on my way? First brief Ted – Sergeant Branson – on the situation we found here. Ask him if he can get the paperwork started on a search warrant for this house. Then, there should be a report on my desk about Gary Blankenship. If not, check with Research and see what’s holding it up. When you’ve got it, make a copy of it and give it to Branson – it’s bound to have something he can use. Then, look it over and give me a call if you find anything that looks worth pursuing.”

  “You got it.”

  “And those three kids his neighbor mentioned. See if you can find names and whereabouts for them. That tag was never reported stolen. Either he doesn’t even know that it’s missing or maybe one of his kids took it and he doesn’t want to get them in trouble. There could be an innocent explanation but, at this point, I think it’s more likely that we’ll find Al Capone, alive and well, teaching Sunday School in Buenos Aires.”

  After dropping off Jumbo, Lucinda reached over her seat and into the back, grabbing a file folder containing the documents she had about the woman who claimed Evan Spencer had beaten her up in his parking lot. Her name was Susan Jones and she lived out in the county on a street with a number instead of a name. She hoped she’d been able to find it before sunset.

  It was in a tired rural area once filled with small family farms. Many of those families who were still there rented space to trailer homes that sprouted up along the roadside like weeds. Other farm land was running wild, seldom used driveways with tall grasess growing in the middle , houses at the end of them looked bedraggled, unloved, abandoned. There were a few exceptions. None of them appeared prosperous but some looked as if someone cared.

  The mailbox with Susan Jones’ number was one of them. A thin ribbon of close-cropped green ran up the center of a gravel driveway leading to a farmhouse that could use a fresh coat of paint but hadn’t reached the cracking, peeling stage yet. She pulled her car to a stop beside a scarred up Silverado pick-up truck.

  As soon as she stepped out of the car, she heard the yelling of a male voice. She hurried up onto the front porch. She rang the doorbell but didn’t hear any sound of it echoing in the house. The yelling continued unabated; she could make out a word here and there, most of them profane. She pounded on the door with her fists. The yeller didn’t break his stride.

  A crash, a thump, a moan. Lucinda turned the door knob but it didn’t give. She raced around to the back, pulling her gun. She banged on the kitchen door and the yelling stopped. She looked in the window and saw an elderly woman sprawled on the floor in front of the stove. She cracked open the door and yelled, “Police!”

  She heard pounding footsteps on the hardwood floor. She moved in that direction, her gun up and ready. She heard the click of a dead bolt latch, the creak of the door, more pounding footsteps, but now outside. A motor started, she raced onto the porch, heard a screech as the truck backed up fast, sideswiping her car. She shouted at the man to stop.

  He looked back over his shoulder at her as he spun the steering wheel. The truck jerked and surged forward, sending gravel flying through the air. She grabbed her cell, called in the vehicle description and license plate number, requested an ambulance and hurried back inside.

  The woman was now sitting up with her back to the stove, cradling an arm that jutted out at an odd angle. She gave Lucinda a rueful smile. “I just don’t know what gets into me. I’m so blasted clumsy.”

  “Clumsy?” Lucinda echoed in disbelief.

  “Yeah, just look at that.” The woman nodded her head toward the far wall.

  Lucinda turned in that direction. A glob of mashed potatoes slid slowly down the yellow wall leaving a white, lumpy trail with tiny streaks of brown gravy. On the floor lay a shattered white plate with a thin blue line around its edge that appeared worn and old as if it had served thousands of people in a small town diner over decades of use. Lying among the shards was a slice of meatloaf, scattered green beans flecked with bits of bacon and another lump of mashed potatoes topped with gravy.

  “Yep. I ran into that wall, dropped the plate and I think I mighta broke my arm, too. I am so clumsy.”

  Lucinda saw an empty plate with a fork and knife beside it on the kitchen table. On the opposite side, the utensils lay there alone. Over on the stove, a loaf pan held the rest of the meatloaf, a large pot was half-filled with beans, a smaller pan held still bubbling gravy and a mound of mashed potatoes with a deep spoonful gouged out of the middle sat in a big bowl beside the stove.

  “Who was here with you, Mrs. Jones?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Nobody?”

  “I was here by myself.”

  “Then who ran through the house when I came in? Who drove off in the pick-up truck and scraped my car?”

  Susan cocked her head to the side and said, “What are you talking about?”

  “Ma’am. I know someone was here. I suspect it was your son.”

  “I was here, fixing supper, all by my lonesome. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Mrs. Jones, this is senseless. I know you were not here alone. I know you didn’t just run into the wall.”

  “I don’t think you were here when that happened. Did you see the plate break?”

  “Look at that plate, Mrs. Jones. Look at it! It is shattered. And you expect me to believe, you just bumped into the wall.”

  “I bumped kinda hard.”

  “What the hell were you doing, then? Running as fast as you could and plowing into the wall at top speed?”

  “Of course not, silly. I just ran into the wall. People run into the wall all the time.”

  Lucinda crouched down beside her. “What’s this, Mrs. Jones? You have a split along your cheek line?”

  “I got beat up by this doctor. You wouldn’t believe—”

  “This cut is more recent. As are these fingerprint marks on the upper part of your arm.”

  “I’m telling you that doctor beat me up.”

  “Why? Why did a doctor beat you up?”

  “It was unbelievable. He was mad because we were crossing his parking lot.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “I know. I had a doctor’s appointment—”

  “With Dr. Spencer?”

  “Oh, no, with Dr. Cohle in the next building. But that parking lot was full. So we left the truck a block up the street. So we were just cutting across that parking lot when that Dr. Spencer came out and went all nuts on us.”

  “You didn’t just get all clumsy and run into the dumpster,” Lucinda said, not being able to contain herself even though she knew her sarcasm was a total waste.

  “No. Now that’s ridiculous. That doctor beat me up and he’s going to pay.”

  “Pay? You mean like money?”

  “Yeah, lots of money.”

  “You filed criminal charges, Mrs. Jones. The criminal court does not award monetary damages.”

  “They don’t?”

  Lucinda shook her head.

  “But, Cal told me . . .” she said then sealed her lips tight.

  “What di
d Cal tell you?”

  Susan pinched her lips tighter.

  “Mrs. Jones, do you know you can be arrested for false charges?”

  Her eyes widened but still she did not speak.

  “And as soon as we find Cal, he’ll be arrested, too.”

  “Why are you arresting Cal?”

  “You have a broken arm, Mrs. Jones. The abuse is obvious. And it is illegal.”

  “I told you I just ran into the wall. You can’t arrest Cal because I’m clumsy. And besides, no matter what you say, I’m not pressing charges against my son.”

  “Under law, Mrs. Jones, you don’t need to do a thing. I would prefer if you would file charges and testify against the man who has broken your arm and probably brutalized you for years, but it’s not necessary. In cases of domestic violence, the courts can act to protect you with or without your consent.”

  Susan blinked and a tear trickled down her face.

  “C’mon, you can tell me what happened,” Lucinda urged.

  Susan’s lower lip quivered. “Nothing happened. I ran into the wall.”

  Lucinda exhaled loudly and rose. “The ambulance will be here soon,” she said. She clenched her jaw with frustration. Cases like this one drove her nuts. She had an urge to grab Susan and shake some sense into her but she knew it would do no good. She could only hope that the county would take the charges seriously and Susan would have enough time away from the bastard to come to her senses on her own.

  Lucinda was standing by the front door watching for the arrival of the ambulance when her cell phone rang. “Pierce.”

  “It’s Jumbo, Lieutenant. Found the names of all his children. Called their phone numbers. Two were disconnected. One was answered by a wife, Mrs. Donald Blankenship—Charlotte Blankenship. She said she filed a missing persons report for her husband nearly two years ago – and, yes, I checked and she did.

  “She thought that was why I was calling her. But she told me where her in-laws worked and her husband’s brother Derek, sister Donna, and father Gary have not been seen at their places of employment for about the same amount of time Charlotte’s husband’s been missing.”