Marguerite shrugged. “She’s a little mellower since her double mastectomy – talks about realizing the value of living one day at a time quite a bit – but for the most part, she’s still the dragon lady she’s always been.”
“Has she had a recent follow-up?”
“Yep. No sign of cancer.”
“Good. Dragon lady or not, I hope her survival is complete and permanent. We’ve lost too many women already. Domestic homicide is a horrible thing but breast cancer is sneakier and it scares me even more.”
Lucinda went downstairs and returned to the dining room. “Found a carpet receipt?”
“Not yet, Lieutenant,” the tech answered.
Jumbo looked up from an open file folder. “Lieutenant, you’ve got to read these letters. There’s a connection to River’s Edge.”
“You’re kidding?” she said reaching for the folder. She sat down at the dining-room table.
“They seem to be in chronological order. Copies of letters Gary Blankenship mailed and the original responses he received. A lot of his letters are nearly identical, just addressed to different people. If you read the first one all the way through, you can skim through bunches that follow. Do you think they could use me upstairs while you read?”
“If you don’t mind bagging evidence, I’m sure they could.”
“No problem. Have fun.”
It was a well-worn manila folder with ragged edges with a tag labeled “Mom”. The first letter, dated April 10, 2002, was addressed to: Administrator, River’s Edge.
My mother is Mary Agnes Franklin Blankenship Hodges. She is being held in your lockdown Alzheimer’s unit under false pretenses. She does not have Alzheimer’s or any form of dementia. I realize she displays the symptoms of one of these brain maladies but it is artificially inflicted. My stepfather, Alvin Harold Hodges, has poisoned her with pharmaceuticals.
Before she came to stay with you, I argued with him on many occasions about the medication she was receiving and about her diet. He ignored all the information I provided him both orally and in written form. When he tricked you into taking my mother into your facility, he left all the articles and books I had given him on my front porch. I don’t think he’d read any of it.
The reason he did not care is because he was trying to get rid of her. He wanted power of attorney over her assets and he wanted to date other women. Alvin Harold Hodges is an evil man. I warned my mother before she married him but she just thought I was jealous. He had fooled her and manipulated her so badly that she just thought I was jealous of sharing my mom with that man. I tried to object during the matrimonial ceremony but the pastor ignored me.
I did try to rescue my mother from her captivity last month but one of your misguided staff members would not listen to reason and had me evicted from the premises. I have not been allowed to visit her since.
Alvin Harold Hodges has put you in a position where you will be liable to face criminal charges. When he is arrested for attempted murder, you will also be charged for aiding and abetting him in his criminal activity and for holding my mother against her will. I do not want this to happen to you. That is why I am writing you now. I want to give you the opportunity to do the right thing before I contact law enforcement. Then, it will be too late. You will end up in jail along with many of your staff members. River’s Edge will be forced out of business. You will probably face civil action from your stockholders. Please do not wait a minute longer.
Do the right thing. Let my mother out of your prison. I am more than willing to care for her and I am confident that I can nurse her back to health. My children, her grandchildren, are looking forward to seeing her again and are eager to help me with her.
Lucinda knew the response Blankenship received to this letter could not have pleased him. It was an invitation to a conference with a physician and other health care providers to discuss his mother’s physical and mental condition. It ended: “Once you understand and accept that your mother does need to be here, we will gladly reconsider the restriction on visitation.”
The next letter was to the police chief explaining the situation outlined in the first letter as well as complaining about the officer who refused to file a criminal report. He then wrote to the state police, the state agency on ageing, and the Alzheimer’s Association – both the state chapter and the national organization. He turned next to politicians, writing to representatives and senators on the state level, followed by his federal elected officials, the governor and even the president.
At the very back of the folder were two pieces of white paper with no date, no address, no signature line – just an identical message in caps. One was addressed to Alvin Harold Hodges, the other to the administrator of River’s Edge.
YOU HAVE KILLED MY MOTHER.
YOU WILL BURN IN HELL FOR HER MURDER.
YOU MAY BE IN HELL A WHOLE LOT SOONER THAN YOU THINK.
Lucinda was stunned. She still wasn’t sure how all of the puzzle pieces fit together. But she sensed that these letters were the key to the motive. Was Gary Blankenship responsible for three recent deaths in addition to the murder of his wife? And what about Alvin Harold Hodges? Was he still alive?
Twenty-Nine
“I got it!” the tech shouted from her spot on the floor next to the file drawer.
Lucinda looked up from the file. “The carpet receipt?”
“Yes. And it’s dated twenty years, three months and two days ago. That’s the time frame you’re looking at, right?”
“Sure is.”
“It’s for a roll of carpet, no installation, delivered to this address.”
“Thank you.”
“And that’s not all. Here’s a receipt for carpet tacks and strips from Home Depot.”
“Between you and Spellman, we’ve nailed this bastard. Good work.”
“Let’s just hope the DA agrees with you.”
Lucinda rolled her eyes. She raised her right hand, reached across her body and crossed her heart with her index finger and held her hand upright again. “I swear to you he won’t get a moment’s peace until he does.”
The tech chuckled.
Lucinda lowered her hand. “First thing tomorrow morning – or rather this morning after the District Attorney gets into the office – I’m going to get a warrant for the arrest of Gary Blankenship for the murder of his wife.”
Lucinda set down the file on the dining-room table and stepped over to the desk. She pulled out a tall drawer inside the roll top and blinked her eyes at what was there. She reached in and pulled out a plastic bag with a twisted rubber band around its neck. Inside were acorns, dozens of acorns. Across the side of the bag, a black magic marker spelled out “Donnie”. She plucked out a second bag. It, too, was filled with acorns but labeled “Derek”. The third bag was identical except that it had “Donna” written on it.
Acorns. What’s with the acorns? Lucinda turned to the tech and said, “Make sure you collect these bags of acorns and bring them in as evidence.”
“Acorns?” the tech said with raised eyebrows.
“Yeah. I don’t know either. It’s just weird enough that it might matter.”
Lucinda looked toward the doorway when she heard someone pounding down the stairs.
Jumbo came around the corner. “His name rang a bell and the more I’ve thought about it, I’m pretty sure we have a missing persons report on him.”
“Whose name, Butler?”
“Alvin Harold Hodges. Being how it’s the middle of the night, I can’t get anyone to check on it for me. I’ll need to go back in to pull the file and follow up. Got all the clothes bagged and ready to go so I thought now was as good a time as any.”
Lucinda reached into her pocket, grabbed her keys and tossed them to Jumbo. “Here take my car and call me when you’ve got things nailed down.”
“You want me to come back for you?”
“No need. I’ll get a ride from someone here.”
Jumbo was walking toward the front door when Lucinda shoute
d out, “Hey, Butler. Remember it’s my car and try not to drive like a man.”
Butler turned around, his eyes squinting, his mouth twisted, “What?”
“Never mind,” Lucinda sighed, “just try to be careful.”
On the floor, the tech tittered. “They don’t get it do they?”
Lucinda grinned. “Never met a man who did.” She peered into the remaining little drawers in the interior of the desk but found nothing that piqued her interest. Grabbing a utility light with a long cord, she walked through an archway into the kitchen. Here the sour smell she noticed when she arrived grew more intense. She checked the refrigerator first. Fortunately, the shelves were nearly bare. Nonetheless, the lack of electricity and extended period of time since someone opened it, the odor it released was unpleasant but not the pungent aroma she sought.
On a counter she spotted an open carton of half-and-half beside a coffee maker. She lifted the container and took a whiff. The creamer had curdled and dried into a lumpy mass at the bottom but the smell was unmistakable. Culprit found.
An oily sheen of dried coffee sludge dirtied the bottom of the glass coffee carafe. It wasn’t the blackened and crispy mess you find in a pot left heating too long. It appeared to have evaporated down with the passage of time, a series of dark rings marking the descending volume.
She opened a cabinet door and cringed at the large number of roaches that scurried into hiding behind cereal boxes, opened bags of flour, sugar and cornmeal. A vermin holiday feast behind closed doors. When she opened cabinets that contained pots, pans and dishes, she still saw the nasty buggers racing away but not in the great numbers present in the ones filled with food.
She pulled open a drawer piled high with stainless flatware and saw the unmistakable evidence of mice: little black droppings everywhere. She grinned. As much as she was repulsed by cockroaches, she thought the field mice that invaded kitchens every Fall rather cute. She knew that they needed to be eliminated but the necessity always infused her with regret. She accepted that her fondness for the little rodents was perverse, fueled by her negative feelings toward her aunt who loathed the annual mouse appearance in the farm house, where she lived after her parents died.
She continued through her inspection of the kitchen, finding a bent cookie sheet coated with dried crud in the oven, a lone acorn in the corner of the junk drawer and a dozen bottles of dish detergent wearing red “reduced” stickers lined up under the sink. Nothing except the lone acorn seemed significant and she wasn’t really sure about that. She knew, however, that Spellman would haul a lot of it in, just in case.
Her cell phone rang. It was Butler. “Hodges was reported missing a little more than two years ago. The bad news is that the lead investigator in the case died of cancer right around Thanksgiving last year. But the good news is that he kept detailed notes.”
“Butler, you ought to get some rest. We need to dig through those reports and follow up on anything we can. But first, head home, grab a couple hours of sleep. I’ll give you a call when I finish here and head back to the Justice Center.”
“Lieutenant, what about you?”
“I’m going to stretch out on the sofa while Spellman and her crew finish up the job. I’ll be fine.”
Lucinda didn’t think she could actually fall asleep, but once she was vertical, she was gone. It was a fitful rest, though, as dark images of her mother, her father and Edgar Humphries stumbled through her dreams.
Twenty-Nine
Lucinda bolted upright at the sound of Spellman’s voice. Tattered vestiges of fear and anger hung like cobwebs over her consciousness. She sensed some unpleasantness troubled her sleep but when she tried to grab the memory of her dreams they darted away like roaches in the light of day.
“Sorry I startled you, Lieutenant.”
Lucinda shook her head. “No problem, Spellman. What is it?”
“We’ve finished up, loaded all the evidence we needed into the truck. We’re ready to leave. Do you want to ride with us?”
“No. You go on ahead. I’ll seal the place up and get a ride in the patrol car.”
Lucinda stood and stretched, still feeling a bit uneasy about the demons that stalked her dreams. She shunted those thoughts aside, crossed the back door and front door with yellow crime scene tape and slid into the back seat of the patrol car.
On the way to the Justice Center, she called Jumbo Butler. “I’m on my way back but don’t rush – have some coffee, even breakfast if you want. I’ve got to see the DA about a warrant before I’ll be able to sit down and go through the Hodges file with you.”
Walking into the building, she took the elevator to the fifth floor and walked into the office of District Attorney Michael Reed. He looked up from his computer and said, “You look like hell.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s just what every woman wants to hear first thing in the morning.”
“Did you get any sleep last night?”
“A little.”
“Speaking of looks, when’s your next surgery?”
“Jeez, Reed, I don’t have time for this. I need an arrest warrant.”
“Pierce. You need to take time for yourself. You were injured in the line of duty. The city owes you that time.”
Lucinda dropped into a chair in front of his desk. “I am really not in the mood, Reed.”
“You could have used a little more sleep, couldn’t you?”
“Please, I need an arrest warrant.”
“Who do you want to lock up on this fine spring morning?”
Lucinda presented her case against Gary Blankenship. “So, can you get one of your ADAs to take care of the warrant?”
“You don’t have a body, Pierce.”
“With all the forensic evidence of homicide in that bedroom, sir, we don’t need a stinkin’ body.”
“Call me old-fashioned, Pierce. But a homicide prosecution and a body just kind of go together in my mind.”
“You’ve won cases without it.”
“Sure. But it’s never easy. And you’ve not spent any time looking for a body. Do that – me and the jury will be happy if you do.”
Lucinda sighed and looked out the window.
“You can bring Blankenship in on suspicion, Pierce. We can do a warrant later.”
“I want a warrant so that I can hold him and question him about the disappearance of his stepfather, too.”
“You can do that without a warrant.”
“I also suspect he had something to do with the death of three seniors with dementia.”
“What else? Did he kill Hoffa, too?”
Lucinda glared at him.
“Bring him in on suspicion and talk to him about anything and everything you want.”
“If he’s not under arrest, it’s too easy for him to walk away.”
“See how it goes. Call me if you need me.” Reed turned back to his computer.
“That’s not all, sir.”
“What?” he said spinning back around.
“Evan Spencer. Dr. Spencer.”
“What about him?”
She told him about finding the woman battered in her home and getting her transported to the hospital. “The sheriff’s department is looking for her son. They said they’ll press charges with or without her cooperation.”
“That doesn’t wipe out the charges against Spencer.”
“If those charges stand, sir, it will weaken the prosecution’s case in the county. It gives the defense a reasonable doubt argument.”
“Still . . .”
Lucinda rose to her feet and pressed her palms on the desk and leaned toward him. “Sir, I do not want to have to respond to a homicide scene and find that woman’s body.”
“Steady, Pierce. Calm down. When they have the woman’s son in custody, I’ll review the Spencer case and consider dropping the charges. Okay?”
“I suppose it will have to be, sir,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see what I can do despite the limitations you’
ve imposed upon me.”
Back in her office, Lucinda contacted Dispatch to issue a BOLO – be on the look out – for Gary Blankenship. Finishing that, she went looking for Jumbo Butler. When she stepped into Missing Persons, he was on the phone.
“Hey, Lieutenant, just got off the phone with Hodges’ daughter from his first marriage. She said we could come by this morning and talk to her about her dad and her stepmother’s family. Said she always suspected Gary Blankenship had something to do with it.”
“That’s no big surprise.”
“No, but she wasn’t the only one – the lead detective brought Blankenship in for questioning three times and tried to get a search warrant for the house you just spent the night exploring. He, unfortunately, was told he didn’t have just cause and never got inside.”
“Damn, Butler, this is just looking too freaking weird. If Blankenship did kill his wife, which seems likely, it probably was because she was about to leave him or for money. Do we know if she had a life insurance policy?”
“Yes, she did – a $50,000 policy she got at work. But Blankenship never made any attempt to collect it or to have her declared legally dead.”
“Scratch the money motive,” Lucinda said. “She announces her plans to leave him – bam, she’s dead. That’s one motive. Now, for the sake of argument, let’s say he killed his stepfather Alvin Hodges. From his correspondence, the reason for that murder was revenge for causing his mother’s death. That’s a different kind of motive. But both have one thing in common – these were two people he knew, two people who were a part of his life.
“Then we have three dead seniors with little clues that seem to tie them together despite the differing means of death. But yet, if we tie them together, how do we connect the death of three strangers to Blankenship? Or should we even be trying? That brings us back to the license plate.”
“But, for all we know,” Jumbo interjected, “the license plate was stolen from Blankenship and the white panel truck has nothing to do with him.”
Twisted Reason (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Page 14
