Eyes

by Joanne Fluke

  “You got it. So what does all this sound like to you?”

  Jill looked down at the notes she’d taken. “A female killer who knew the victim. She followed him to the party, slipped in through the back door and murdered him.”

  “That’s good, so far.” Doug gave her an encouraging grin. “Did she know about the party in advance?”

  Jill glanced down at her notes and nodded. “I think so. She wore a wig, and she didn’t come in through the front door. She wouldn’t have taken the trouble to disguise herself and sneak in the back way if she hadn’t planned to kill him.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. She might have worn the wig so he wouldn’t recognize her when she followed him.”

  Jill looked disappointed. “I didn’t think of that. But no one saw her, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then she couldn’t have been at the party for very long. What time did the victim arrive?”

  “Eight o’clock.” Doug began to smile. Jill was putting the pieces together exactly as he had done.

  “And what was his approximate time of death?”

  “The coroner says midnight with an hour window, either way. The liver hadn’t cooled very much.”

  Jill was so excited she clapped her hands together. “I knew it! She did plan to kill him!”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “It’s simple.” She grinned at him. “It was ten degrees below zero last night. If she followed him to the party, she would have arrived at the crime scene at approximately eight o’clock. No way would she sit out in her car for three or four hours and take the chance of being spotted.”

  “That’s true, but she could have gone somewhere else, come back later.”

  Jill nodded. “That’s possible, but why did she come back if it wasn’t to kill him? You didn’t find the murder weapon, did you?”

  “No. And it wasn’t one of the knives from the house. According to the woman who rented the place, she kept all her knives in a knife block. She checked it, and none were missing.”

  “Then she brought the murder weapon with her. That’s premeditation, Doug. They can get her for murder one!”

  “If we catch her.” Doug looked grim. “They’re tossing the victim’s apartment right now. If we’re lucky, we’ll pick up a lead.”

  As if on cue, Doug’s beeper went off. Jill handed him her phone with a grin. “Go ahead. Maybe they found something.”

  The phone call didn’t take long. Jill listened to the one-sided conversation, but she didn’t learn anything new. When Doug hung up and turned to her, she leaned forward eagerly.

  “They found a bunch of videotapes with initials on the inside labels. His camera was hidden in a closet with a hole drilled through the wall. It was focused directly on his bed.”

  “Blackmail?” Jill was really interested now.

  “It looks like it. They’re hoping the people at the party can identify the women in the tapes.”

  “How about his coworkers?” Jill glanced down at her legal pad. “Someone at the Odyssey might have seen him with one of the women.”

  “They’re taking the tapes to the lab to make stills of the women’s faces. They’ll show them around at the Odyssey and they’ll interview his neighbors. It’s possible they’ll come up with a lead.”

  Something about Doug’s expression made Jill doubt that. “But you don’t think they will, do you?”

  “No.”

  She nodded. “I agree with you. If he was blackmailing her, killing him wouldn’t get her the tape.”

  “Exactly!” Doug gave her the high sign. “This was a well-planned murder. She’s smart, Jill. She must have known we’d search his apartment and find her tape.”

  “But you wouldn’t find it if she got to it first. And she would have had plenty of time to do that. How about fingerprints?”

  “Very good, Jill.” Doug grinned at her. “There weren’t any except his. And all the doorknobs were wiped clean.”

  “That proves she was there! He wouldn’t wipe off his own doorknob when he left for the party. They’re wasting their time with the tapes, Doug. I don’t think they had anything to do with the murder.”

  Doug raised his eyebrows. “Why’s that?”

  “If she was after a tape, she didn’t have to murder him. All she had to do was make sure he was at the party, go into his apartment, and get it. The killing just doesn’t make sense with blackmail as a motive.”

  “Very good.” Doug looked proud. “So why do you think she killed him?”

  “I don’t know. For some reason she hated him. You don’t stab someone that many times if you don’t hate them . . . especially after they’re already dead. I think he did something else to her, something horrible. That’s why she killed him.”

  “My thoughts, exactly.” Doug stood up and headed for the door. “Thanks, Jill. You’ve helped a lot. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  She was surprised. “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did. It really helps to run things past you. It’s like a reality check.”

  “It is?” Jill was pleased, but she wasn’t exactly sure what he meant.

  “Look, Jill,” Doug said. “If you agree with me, I know I’m on the right track. See you later, okay?”

  “Anytime.” Jill smiled, and the smile stayed on her face long after Doug had left. He needed her. He’d practically said as much. And that made her feel very, very good.

  * * *

  “Okay, Alan. I’m calling Harold Woodard.” Connie’s hands were shaking as she dialed the number. This man just had to be alive! Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear the pleasant-voiced woman who answered the phone.

  “Hello.” Connie tried to sound just as pleasant. “Is this the Harold Woodard residence?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Mrs. Woodard?” Connie crossed her fingers for luck. If Harold Woodard was married, it would make matters much simpler for her. At least she wouldn’t be dealing with a swinging bachelor like Mark Turner.

  “Yes, this is Mrs. Woodard.”

  Mrs. Woodard sounded a little suspicious. She obviously thought this was a sales call. Connie went into her prepared speech to set her at ease. “I do volunteer work for the hospital, and we’re updating our records on transplant recipients. I hope your husband is doing well?”

  “Yes, he is.” Mrs. Woodard sounded friendly again. “He’s completely recovered, and he’s back at work.”

  “That’s wonderful news! I’d like to ask him some questions if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Oh, dear!” Mrs. Woodard sounded apologetic. “I’m sure he’d be glad to help you, but he’s next door, in his office.”

  “Will he be home soon?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Mrs. Woodard gave a little laugh. “Harold keeps long hours. I won’t see him until dinner at six. The phone’s not working in his office, but if it’s important, I can run over to get him.”

  Connie thought fast. If Harold Woodard had an office next door, that would be a perfect meeting place. “You don’t have to do that, Mrs. Woodard. As a matter of fact, you could probably answer the questions for him. I just need to confirm his age, his marital status, and his blood type.”

  “Harold’s forty-one.” Mrs. Woodard seemed glad to answer. “We’ve been married for fifteen years, and his blood type is A positive.”

  Connie paused just long enough to give Mrs. Woodard the impression that she was writing down the information. “I’m glad he’s married, Mrs. Woodard. We’ve found that married recipients recover much faster from their transplants. This is just my opinion, but perhaps it’s because they have loving support at home. Do you and your husband have children?”

  “We have four, two sons and two daughters. Does that make a difference, too?”

  “It seems to.” Connie began to grin. Harold Woodard had already fathered four children. That boded well for her. “Would you say your husband is happy in his wor
k?”

  “Oh my, yes! Harold has a true calling. Even when he was a little boy, he always knew what he wanted to be when he grew up. He enjoys helping people achieve their full potential. Everyone says he’s a marvelous counselor.”

  “I’m sure he is.” Connie did her best to sound sincere. “Thank you, Mrs. Woodard. You’ve been very helpful. And please give your husband my regards.”

  When Connie hung up the phone, she rushed straight to Alan’s picture. “It won’t be long now,” she said. “Harold Woodard sounds perfect!”

  As she dressed in a demure suit that was tight enough to hug her excellent figure, Connie was smiling. Since Harold Woodard was a counselor, she had the perfect way to meet him. She’d go to his office with a phony problem and ask him to help her. She knew all the tricks, and she’d make sure he was attracted to her. Then all she’d have to do was let nature take its course.

  CHAPTER 25

  Connie glanced at the address she’d written on her notepad. Harold Woodard’s home was supposed to be located at 225 Hiawatha Lane, but she must have written it down wrong. The entire two hundred block of Hiawatha Lane consisted of two buildings. One was a single-family dwelling, a nice, unpretentious residence that appeared to be in excellent repair. The other was a huge church with a spire and a bell tower. A breezeway connected to an addition that housed classrooms.

  There was a frown on Connie’s face as she checked the numbers on the front of the house. If her address was correct, this was definitely Harold Woodard’s home. But his wife had said that he was working in his office next door, and the only adjacent building was the church.

  Connie drove around the block and slowed in front of the church. There was a sign on the snow-covered lawn. She stopped at the curb to read it: OUR SAVIOR EVANGELICAL CHURCH. Beneath this, in italics, the sign read With God’s help, all things are possible. In smaller letters, under the quotation, was additional information: Sunday Services at 9 A.M. & 11 A.M. Reverend H. Woodard, Pastor.

  “Oh, no!” Connie sighed in utter defeat. Harold Woodard had seemed so perfect. He had Alan’s heart, he’d recovered completely from his transplant, and he had four children. But he was a minister.

  “I’m sorry.” Connie reached into the tote bag on the passenger seat and pulled out Alan’s picture. “Harold Woodard’s a minister. There’s no way he’ll father our baby.”

  The picture seemed to frown, and Connie held it close. Alan was arguing with her. He urged her to read the quote again and take it to heart.

  “All right, Alan. It says, ‘With God’s help, all things are possible.’ But do you really think God will help me to seduce a minister?”

  Connie listened for a moment, then laughed. “You’re absolutely right, darling. ‘God helps those who help themselves. ’ But how am I going to help myself to Reverend Harold Woodard?”

  Again, Connie listened. It took several minutes for Alan to explain, but when he finished she started smile. Alan was a genius, and he’d come up with a perfect way for her to achieve their goal.

  * * *

  “Oh, my! The poor dear!” Miriam Woodard set the tuna casserole on the table and sat down in her chair. “Do you think you can help her?”

  Reverend Woodard nodded. He’d just told his wife about the young woman who’d come to ask for his help. “I counseled her for over an hour this afternoon, and I don’t believe she’s suicidal any longer. It’s a pity to see a young woman so depressed.”

  “Did you find out why she’s so down?” Miriam passed her husband the bread.

  “Yes, I did.” Reverend Woodard suddenly noticed how quiet it was. “Where are the children, Miriam? I don’t want to discuss the details in front of them.”

  Miriam frowned slightly. “They’re gone, Harold. I told you this morning. They’re spending some time with your parents.”

  “Without us?”

  “Yes, dear.” Miriam smiled at her husband. “They’re going to an ice-skating party. I really didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  Reverend Woodard nodded. “You’re right. The last time I put on skates, I almost broke my neck. So . . . we have an evening alone?”

  “Only until ten. Tell me about this woman, Harold. She sounds very interesting.”

  “It’s a sad story. She was married on Thanksgiving Day to a man she thought was a God-fearing Christian . . . but she found out otherwise.”

  “Oh, my!” Miriam raised her eyebrows. “How?”

  “He asked her to do certain things she thought were immoral.”

  “Like what?”

  Miriam leaned forward, her breasts brushing the edge of the table. She was clearly intrigued, and Reverend Woodard patted her hand. Perhaps, if they went upstairs early, they could have some time alone before the children came home. “He wanted her to share their bed with another woman.”

  Miriam was so shocked, her mouth dropped open. “Dear heavens, Harold! That’s horrible! What did the poor thing do?”

  “She refused, of course.” Reverend Woodard managed to hide his amusement. He’d seen some of the wilder side of life before he’d taken his vows. He’d even attended several parties at a friend’s fraternity house and tasted the fruits of forbidden lust. But Miriam was the daughter of a minister, and she’d always been sheltered. The concept of a threesome had probably never occurred to her.

  “And that’s why he left her?”

  His wife was clearly outraged, and Reverend Woodard took her hand. “Calm down. She’s better off without him, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I certainly would!” Miriam nodded quickly. “He didn’t hurt her physically, did he?”

  “No, but there’s definitely a case for mental cruelty. He accused her of being a bad wife because she wouldn’t obey him. Then he left her on the day before Christmas.”

  Miriam set her fork down on her plate with a clatter. “How terrible! That man ought to be drawn and quartered!”

  “I tend to agree with you. He destroyed her self-confidence, and now she feels she has nothing to offer to any man. She actually asked me if she should have done what her husband wanted.”

  “The poor dear must be horribly confused.” Miriam sighed. “And you told her she’d done the right thing by refusing him?”

  “Of course. But I’m afraid my opinion doesn’t count for much. After all, I’m a minister. I’m supposed to say that.”

  Miriam looked thoughtful. “Do you think it would help if she talked to another woman? I could—”

  “No, dear.” Reverend Woodard interrupted his wife. “You see, she’s terribly embarrassed about what happened, and she asked me not to tell anyone. I’m sharing this with you in the strictest confidence.”

  Miriam nodded. “You know you can trust me not to talk about it. But what can you do for her, Harold?”

  “I don’t know. That’s one of the reasons I told you about her. You’re a woman, and you’re a wife. I thought you might have some suggestions for me.”

  “Is she . . . attractive?” Miriam looked thoughtful.

  “I think so. I’m no judge of that, but she looks a bit like Mrs. Hampton.”

  “Mrs. Lester Hampton?” Miriam seemed surprised. “She’s a beautiful woman, Harold!”

  Reverend Woodard shrugged. “If you say so. I’ve always been attracted to women with dark hair and full figures . . . like you, dear.”

  “Why, thank you, Harold.” Miriam was clearly flattered.

  “That’s beside the point. Now that you know what she looks like, do you think I should try to introduce her to some of the single men in the church?”

  “No.” Miriam shook her head emphatically. “If she’s vulnerable, you shouldn’t try to push her into a new relationship. She needs to build up her confidence first.”

  Reverend Woodard reached across the table to take his wife’s hand. “You are an amazing woman, Miriam. So wise. And so very beautiful.”

  “That was a lovely thing to say, Harold!”

  “It comes from the heart.” Rev
erend Woodard got up from his chair to give his wife a hug. “Let’s go upstairs, Miriam. We don’t have much time alone anymore.”

  “But the casserole—”

  Reverend Woodard laughed. “It can be reheated . . . Can’t it, Miriam?”

  “Well . . .” She considered for a moment, and then she nodded. “Tuna casserole is very good reheated. Some say it’s even better that way.”

  There was a smile on Reverend Woodard’s face as he led his wife up the stairs. Miriam was a good woman. She never refused him. Of course, he didn’t ask her to do anything that would offend her sensibilities, as that poor woman’s husband had done.

  Their bedroom was dark, and Reverend Woodard couldn’t help but think of the woman he’d counseled and how attractive she’d been. Without even thinking, he pushed Miriam down on the bed and reached out for her breasts.

  “Why . . . Harold!” Miriam gave a startled gasp. “What in the world has gotten into you?”

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s because you looked so pretty when I came home tonight. You’re irresistible, and I love you very much.”

  As Reverend Harold Woodard entered the body of his wife, he wasn’t thinking about her or their successful but frequently boring marriage. He was thinking about the beautiful woman who’d come into his office that afternoon and pretending that she was beneath him on the bed. Although it would be sinful of him to even consider such a thing, it would be one way to build up her self-confidence!

  * * *

  Jill sat on a swivel chair in one corner of the examination room. Dr. Varney was checking Neil’s eyes, and he’d told them that this would be a very important test. Her fingers were crossed in an attempt to bring good luck. If she’d brought a rabbit’s foot, she would have rubbed it. Or she’d gladly have thrown salt over her shoulder or clutched a four-leaf clover. Neil just had to be all right!

  “Follow the light.” Dr. Varney moved the circle of light from the left to the right. “All right. Now close your left eye.”

  Jill took a deep breath and prayed for good news. Dr. Varney had darkened the room and turned off the overhead lights. The space seemed small and terribly stuffy, but perhaps that was because she was so anxious.