The Dying Room: A Faces of Evil Novel

by Webb, Debra

  Sylvia looked up from her work. “Daddy is not going to be happy about this.”

  “Was the victim a friend of your father’s?” Jess moved to the center of the room where the victim was secured to a chair. Nylon ropes bound his wrists to the arms of the chair and his ankles to the chair legs. Another wider band of nylon was used like a safety belt around his waist and held him in a seated position.

  “They hadn’t been friends in a long time.” Sylvia removed her thermometer from the incision she’d made just beneath the ribcage on the victim’s right side. “The two hadn’t spoken in years, but I think Daddy always hoped they would one day clear the air.” She read the thermometer. “Taking into consideration his body temp and the state of rigor, I’d estimate time of death at around noon today.”

  Jess considered the wall directly in front of the victim. Other than the floor-to-ceiling window that towered behind his desk, most of the walls were filled by bookshelves. This space, however, had been reserved for a grand portrait of the judge. The portrait had been removed and set on the floor a few feet away. Great care had been taken in filling the newly emptied space with photos and newspaper clippings. The brass light that would have spilled a warm glow over the painting now highlighted the photos and newspaper clippings, many of which were less than flattering to the judge.

  “It looks as if someone carried out a little payback.”

  “Well.” Sylvia peeled off her soiled gloves and reached for a fresh pair. “The judge certainly had a reputation for controversial rulings.”

  “There’s significant bruising.” Jess covered her nose with the back of her gloved hand and leaned forward for a closer look at the victim. “Are those Taser marks on his neck?”

  Sylvia had lifted his t-shirt to access his torso. She gestured to his abdomen. “The bruising is maybe a day old. These,” she indicated the marks on the right side of his neck, “are definitely Taser burns.”

  “To disable him maybe.” Jess crouched down next to Sylvia to inspect his neck, wrists, and hands. “I don’t see any indication that he fought his attacker before he was restrained, or that he attempted to free himself from his bindings.”

  Sylvia pointed to his upper arm and the needle mark visible just above his elbow. “I’m guessing the killer kept him drugged, at least to some degree.”

  “Any children or close friends?”

  “A son who lives in Nevada.” Sylvia stood. “As for friends, the judge didn’t have any real friends that I can think of. He had associates.”

  Pushing to her feet, Jess suppressed a groan. That move was becoming more difficult all the time. “The sooner you can give me cause of death, the better.”

  “Once we get him to the morgue,” Sylvia assured her, “the judge will go straight to the head of the line.”

  Jess thanked Sylvia before joining Lori at the collage of unflattering newspaper articles. “I’m guessing this wasn’t meant to be a tribute to all the judge’s accomplishments.”

  “I don’t think so.” Lori tapped an article with its accompanying photo and then another and another after that. “All of these are cases the judge presided over, which created considerable controversy. I remember reading about him. Most people considered him a hard-ass with no compassion.”

  “So this may have been a family member of a defendant who feels the judge ruled the wrong way.” It certainly wouldn’t be the first case of revenge Jess had investigated.

  “Or someone who wanted it to look that way,” Lori offered.

  Jess surveyed the articles once more. “These clippings aren’t new.” She pointed to the yellowed edge of one. “Someone has been collecting and keeping these for years.”

  “So our killer’s animosity has been building over an extended period of time.”

  “Until he decided it was time to act,” Jess agreed. “Let’s begin with these cases. See if the killer was trying to tell us something.”

  While Lori photographed the scene for their case board, Jess moved around the rest of the room. None of the books appeared disturbed. The desk was uncluttered, the drawers organized and neat. No computer, not even an iPad. After a bit more poking around, she went in search of Harper. She found him in the corridor headed her way. “You find anything?”

  He shook his head. “The rest of the house is undisturbed. Not one thing appears out of place. Our perp was careful.”

  “Did the housekeeper notice anything missing?” Jess suspected the answer would be no. She was reasonably sure this was not about financial gain.

  “Hayes finished taking her statement.” Harper hitched his head toward the other end of the corridor. “He walked through the house with her, but she didn’t spot anything missing or disturbed.”

  “Good. Did you find any indications of forced entry? A window maybe?” If the judge had welcomed his killer into his home, then the suspect pool could be narrowed somewhat. Then again, this was the south, most people invited folks into their homes whether they knew them or not.

  “I checked all the windows and the doors,” Harper said as they moved toward the opposite end of the corridor. “I didn’t find any indication of forced entry. The judge’s car is in the garage. There’s jewelry in the master bedroom. A hundred bucks and several credit cards in his wallet on the bedside table. The keys to his Cadillac are on the hall table. His gun cabinet is unlocked and stocked with weapons and ammo.”

  “Apparently, our killer wasn’t interested in easy cash,” Jess noted. Harper’s findings confirmed her conclusions that robbery was not the killer’s primary motive.

  “If he was he sure left plenty behind,” Harper agreed.

  “I’d like to speak with the housekeeper now.”

  As if he’d read her mind, Lieutenant Clint Hayes exited the kitchen and headed their way. “We’re ready for you, Chief.”

  Harper hitched a thumb toward the front of the house. “I’ll catch up with Cook and see how the neighbor interviews are going.”

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant.” Jess shifted her attention to Hayes. As always he was dressed as if he were headed to a GQ cover shoot. Harper and Cook still teased him from time to time about having stock in Armani and Ralph Lauren. “What do we have, Lieutenant?”

  “Valerie Neely, sixty-seven.” Hayes led the way to the kitchen. “She’s worked for the judge for twenty years.”

  “Hopefully, she knows some of his enemies.” When a man ended up dead and it wasn’t about money or a woman, he most certainly had at least one enemy.

  Valerie Neely was a short, stocky woman. She dressed for function and wore her gray streaked hair in a serviceable bun. Five minutes into the interview, Jess decided she’d missed her calling as a drill sergeant.

  “So you made dinner for the judge on Friday?”

  Valerie nodded. “Fish with rice and broccoli.”

  Jess tapped her notepad with her pencil. “Why don’t you make your shopping list on Fridays, Valerie? You work long hours all week, why take part of your Sunday evening to come by.”

  She shrugged stooped shoulders. “The judge likes me to check on Sundays. I like my job so I do things the way he wants. I knew something was wrong as soon as I opened the door. It was unlocked and the security system was off.”

  Jess could understand her reasoning about the job, though keeping her boss happy had never been Jess’s strong suit. The housekeeper’s statement helped determine the timeline they were working with here. As late as seven on Friday evening the judge had been fine. Whatever happened, it took place during the thirty-six or so hours that followed. Accurate timelines were essential to solving any case.

  “Valerie, you’ve been immensely helpful. I have just a few more questions.”

  The older woman’s patient gaze remained on Jess. “Fire away. I’d like to get a few things done around here. The judge...” Valerie cleared her throat. “His son shouldn’t come home to find his library... like that.”

  “I’m afraid the whole house is part of our crime scene, Valerie. Y
ou won’t be able to touch anything or even come back inside after this interview until we release the scene. That could be a while.”

  Valerie heaved a burdened breath. “Well, get on with it then. I’d like to be home before bedtime.”

  Jess looked over her notes. The housekeeper had already stated the judge had no enemies that she knew of. No friends either. She didn’t get into his business, she insisted. He rarely had company or phone calls when she was on duty. He saw his son and grandchildren once a year around Christmas. He visited the cemetery each Sunday morning and left a single long-stemmed rose on his wife’s grave. Otherwise, he read and piddled in his garden. He’d already planted potatoes and prepared beds for the other vegetables he enjoyed. The gardens, Valerie explained, had been his wife’s passion. The judge insisted on caring for the gardens just as his wife had.

  “Do you review the judge’s mail?”

  Valerie shook her head. “I take it from the mailbox and lay it on his desk. He goes—went through it himself.”

  “But you had it in your hands from the street to his desk,” Jess countered. “Surely you looked at the return addresses occasionally.”

  A noncommittal shrug lifted the stern woman’s shoulders. “Utility bills, cable, insurance, stuff like that.”

  “Nothing that looked suspicious to you?”

  She executed another firm shake of her head. “No, ma’am. Just the usual stuff everyone gets and the occasional junk mail.”

  “No visitors who seemed unhappy with the judge? Was there ever a time when he was threatened by someone relative to a case? Did he ever receive any hate mail?”

  “None that I was aware of. He kept his business to himself.”

  “Did the judge have a cell phone or computer of any sort?”

  “Absolutely not. He hated them. Before he retired, he used to complain that even his staff was lost without all their computers.”

  There were times when Jess hated them, too. “How was the relationship between the judge and his son?”

  “The judge always said the best thing that happened to his relationship with his son was when the boy moved out west. They haven’t argued since.”

  “So the judge and his son weren’t on good terms?”

  Valerie chuckled. “Obviously you didn’t know the judge. No one was on good terms with him. You want to know who his enemies were? Pull out the phone book for the greater Birmingham area and pick a name.”

  So much for narrowing down the suspect pool.

  Chapter 4

  Jefferson County Coroner’s Office

  Monday, March 30, 5:30 p.m.

  Sylvia removed her gloves. “The blows that caused the bruises on his abdomen didn’t do any real damage.” She indicated the torso of the victim with its freshly sutured Y-shaped incision, and then the damaged tissue on his wrists and ankles. “The ligature marks, as you know, resulted from being restrained. He was remarkably physically fit for his age. I can only hope my heart will be in such good condition when I’m in my seventies.”

  “What about the Taser marks?”

  “I don’t think the Taser is what stopped his heart, but I can’t completely rule it out at this point. We’ll know more when the tox screen results are back.”

  “So he didn’t have a heart attack.”

  “He did not.”

  Jess considered the victim. “How long before you have the tox screen results?”

  “The lab is putting a rush on all results related to his autopsy.” As much as she wanted to help move the investigation along, there was little else Sylvia could conclude until she had those in hand. “We may have some results by tomorrow, and I should have most within seventy-two hours.”

  Jess removed her gloves and tossed them in the same hazardous materials bin Sylvia had used. “Let me know the minute you have something.”

  Sylvia followed Jess into the corridor. Lori spoke quietly with a caller a few feet away. “You look a little tired today, Jess. Did you get any sleep last night?” The woman was only days from having a baby, she should be taking it a little easier.

  “A couple of hours. It’s hard to sleep when I first start a new case.” Jess wrestled the straps of that big black bag she carried a little higher on her shoulder.

  Sylvia had gone to a lot of trouble to find an exact match to the bag Jess had lost in the fire at Dan’s old house. Jess had been carrying that enormous black leather bag when she first waltzed into Sylvia’s life last year. Jess swore she carried her life in there, and Sylvia had come to see that her friend wasn’t kidding.

  “We’ve been sorting through the cases posted on the judge’s library wall,” Jess went on. “Forensic techs are going through fingerprints. So far the only ones we’ve identified are those belonging to the judge and his housekeeper.”

  “Chief.” Lori tucked her phone into her bag. “Lieutenant Hayes tracked down the brother of the guy who was executed last year. He’s agreed to an interview.”

  “One down and a whole lot more to go.” Jess looked toward the autopsy room door. “Judge Rutledge sentenced more defendants to death than any other judge in Alabama’s history. He had a reputation for overriding a jury’s recommendation of a life sentence when death was what he wanted for the defendant.”

  Sylvia recalled well the headlines and her father’s comments when, after turning seventy, Rutledge was finally forced to retire. “The media referred to him as the grim reaper.”

  “Do you remember when a bomb was delivered to his home?” Lori asked.

  “I do. It was the summer after my junior year in college.” Sylvia nodded. “The judge and his wife were away that morning. The housekeeper he had at the time was killed. I think the bomb exploded unexpectedly as she brought it into the house.”

  “We’re trying to locate a sister,” Jess said, her expression indicating that she, too, recalled the awful event, “the only remaining family of the man convicted in that case. He was executed two years ago.”

  “You think the killer might be female?” Considering the obvious signs the judge had been drugged with something, Sylvia supposed the idea wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

  “She may have hired someone to do the deed.” Jess shrugged. “We haven’t found any financial issues or bad habits on the judge’s part. Beyond his propensity to enforce the capital punishment statute, I’m not seeing any sort of motive for murder.”

  “Maybe several of the families banded together to punish him, “Lori suggested, “for doling out death sentences to the loved ones they believed to be innocent.”

  “With a strong enough motive anything’s possible,” Jess granted. “With Rutledge’s history, we could be looking at hundreds with sufficient motive.”

  “Were you able to reach his son?” Sylvia couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Harvey Rutledge. Not since high school.

  “I spoke to him late last night. He sent me a text this morning saying he had a flight into Birmingham around six this evening.” Jess checked the time on the wall clock above the autopsy room door. “He’s probably landing about now. I don’t know how much help he’ll be. He hasn’t seen or spoken to his father since Christmas.” She frowned. “How could Rutledge pretend his own child didn’t exist 364 days out of the year?”

  Sylvia shook her head, the words she wanted to say clumping into a hot ball of hurt in her belly. “I’m sure the son can shed some light on their relationship.”

  “Maybe so.” Jess flashed her a smile. “Thanks for the update. Call me as soon as you can with those tox screen results.”

  Lori gave Sylvia a wave as the two rushed away. Sylvia returned to the autopsy room, donned a fresh pair of gloves, and prepared the body for storage. There were morgue assistants she could have called to do this part, but the familiar movements kept her mind off other things.

  After more than twenty-two years, she couldn’t understand why the past had to come back to haunt her now. In all likelihood, it was the endless talk and fuss around Jess�
�s pregnancy. Now, yet another of her friends was expecting. Lori’s baby was scheduled to be a Thanksgiving delivery, which meant more baby showers and celebrations in the coming months.

  Sylvia groaned. The trouble had started at Jess and Dan’s wedding just before Christmas last year. She’d never been one to act on impulse. At least not when it came to sex. That night it was as if her hormones simply wanted to punish her for what might have been. Her parents had long ago stopped asking when she was getting married again so they could have a grandchild. Whatever this unsettling and confusing longing was, it appeared to be an internal struggle. Had some errant brain cell decided she deserved to relive the one regret in her life over and over?

  The memory of how and where she’d spent the night after Jess and Dan’s wedding abruptly flashed through her mind. Sylvia groaned again. “I still can’t believe I did that.” She stared at the judge, stalling in the closure of the body bag. “I really am quite screwed up, Your Honor. I’m reasonably sure there’s no repairing me.”

  As she prepared to close the bag, the slightest hint of blue amid his hair gave Sylvia pause. She parted the thick white hair and searched. Often times, the elderly used a bluish rinse or hair dye to tone down a particularly harsh gray color. Perhaps a little excess blue dye on the scalp was the culprit in this instance. Yet the judge’s hair didn’t have any lingering bluish color. Her fingers stilled on a small, approximately dime-sized, faded blue object. An eagle, she realized. A tattoo of an eagle. The tattoo was on the parietal region of the scalp, in line with but an inch or so above the ear.

  Sylvia snapped a photo to send Jess via text, but she hesitated. Where had she seen a tattoo like that before? Memories of covering her dad’s eyes while her mother and younger sister sneaked in with a surprise birthday cake rushed through her mind. She’d been twelve or thirteen. She’d noticed the tattoo and asked her father about it. He’d said the small tattoo was from his Air Force days.

  Anyone could have an eagle tattoo. Though the similarity of size and location seemed a little more than coincidence. Perhaps the judge had been in the Air Force as well.