CHAPTER 13
Police stations are all the same, maybe not on the outside or at the front desk, but one anonymously furnished, enclosed room is a lot like the next when you’re shocked, tired, and scared. I had to wait to give my statement. There isn’t much violent crime in a small town, I guess, and Gabby’s shooting had stirred everyone into action. A dozen uniformed cops and men in sports jackets and ties were clumped around the space in which I had been deposited, talking in groups, occasionally calling out to someone in another cluster, barking into desk and cell phones.
I had no trouble figuring out who the chief of police was because he was in uniform, a crisply pressed navy blue suit with shiny buttons and a cap to match, and was clearly the center of the drama in the room.
Finally a nice looking man came over to me and introduced himself as the detective who would be heading the investigation. I wondered if he was the only one in Bridgetown, which had less than ten thousand people if you didn’t count Lynthorpe’s student body. He started by asking me to let a clerk take my fingerprints, and perform some other test that consisted of rubbing paper pads on my hands and clothes, all of which was fine with me. Then, we went to the small room, where he offered me a bottle of water, and asked me what I knew. He was polite as I went back over the events from when I met the researcher in Larry Saylor’s office at five o’clock until I found her on the floor at six. I didn’t want to forget any small detail that might help find her attacker and his quiet questioning calmed me down. At one point I explained that I had a friend in San Francisco who was a homicide inspector, and that he would vouch for me if the police here would like to check. He wrote Charlie’s name and phone number down and handed it off to an associate before continuing.
At some point, he told me what I already knew in my bones. Gabby had died shortly after getting to the hospital and no amount of heroics could revive her. Dermott was with her by then, having been driven over in a police car, and was completely undone. The detective, George Kirby, explained that because the town’s police force was small the chief had called in the county’s forensics team, which was still scouring the scene.
The same woman officer I’d seen at Lynthorpe came in and handed Kirby a note. He read it, nodded and told me I could go back to my hotel. Not home to San Francisco, though. When he had more information, he said, he’d want to talk with me again. Five minutes after I had retrieved my car, handed the keys to the valet parker, and splashed my face with cold water, my cell phone rang.
“Dani, are you okay?”
“No, Charlie,” I said and started to cry. “This is a nightmare. The girl, young woman really, I was working with on campus, was shot and killed. She was so full of life. She had only been married six months. Her husband’s a wreck. Charlie, she was murdered.” I had to stop to catch my breath.
“Easy, Dani. Tell me what you know.” I did, although it was pretty garbled. When I ran out of words, he said, “You don’t sound so good yourself and you need to keep it together. Have they tested you for powder burns?”
“Huh?” I said. “Why would they…you can’t mean they think I shot Gabby?” But I told him about having my hands and clothes rubbed with some kind of paper and he said that was the test for gunshot residue.
“Just a precaution, and they didn’t hold you, but from what I heard, they’re a little disorganized. The cop I talked to said they haven’t had a murder in town for fifteen years, since the current chief took office.”
“I told them everything I knew. Oh,” I said, pausing.
“You didn’t withhold something, did you?” I heard a warning in his voice.
“No, I promise, nothing about what I heard and saw today. It occurred to me while we’ve been talking that they didn’t ask for any details about the project Gabby and I were working on. The project is the same one that the Lynthorpe College executive who died last week was working on. You don’t think…?”
“I don’t think. I don’t have a clue, but if I’d drawn this case, I’d be checking it out and soon. Listen, Dani, I’m a little worried. If the local cops don’t catch a break soon, they’re going to come back at you. I would.”
“You would?” I said, my voice sounding forlorn to my ears.
“Well, not really, since I know you’re only the world’s unluckiest person when it comes to finding bodies. But if I didn’t know you, sure. You were there, for God’s sake.”
“You’ve succeeded in scaring me half to death. Thanks for that.” I wasn’t crying any more. I was getting mad. It’s not fair. I had been minding my own business, or at least my client’s business, which was the same thing, sort of. So was Gabby, the voice in my head reminded me.
My hotel phone began to ring. “Charlie, can I call you back? There’s a call coming in here.”
He agreed as long as I promised to get back to him right away. “Don’t talk to the cops again until you and I finish our conversation. Promise,” he said sternly. I promised.
The new call was from Lynthorpe’s president, Rory Brennan, his tone of voice even richer on the phone than in person. “Danielle, I was shocked to hear that Gabriela Flores has passed away.”
“She was shot.”
“Chief Cummings told me. He called me fifteen minutes ago. Frankly,” Brennan said, “he was asking about you.”
“Me?”
“He wanted to verify your story. That you were on an assignment with Gabby.”
“I told the police that, at least three times. He didn’t believe me?”
“Oh, I’m sure he did. You know how these things are, though. He needed to check. I know you’re exhausted and upset, but I would like to impose on you a little further. I’d like to hear what happened directly from you. I’m wondering if you could meet me for no more than a half hour?”
“Tonight?” I said, wanting to say no, wanting to call Charlie back and then bury myself under the hotel bed’s handsome covers and sleep for a week. What’s that line from Hamlet? To sleep, perchance to dream...I had a feeling I’d have nightmares. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to discuss what happened with anyone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to do something untoward,” he said. A small corner of my fried brain registered his formal vocabulary, doubtless honed during many Parents Weekends.
“It’s awfully late,” I said, wondering if the president really understood that a member of his staff had died tonight. “Can we do this tomorrow? I have a monster headache and, truthfully, I’m shaky and a little queasy. Even a half hour is more than I’m up to.”
I could hear in his voice that he wasn’t happy. Maybe he was used to having everyone around him jump when he called. My body refused. In fact, it wouldn’t even stay vertical for tooth brushing after I got off the phone with Brennan. I flipped off my shoes, pulled back the duvet cover, and flopped on the bed before I remembered I promised to call Charlie back. He sounded brisk when he picked up the phone in his office at the North Beach police station that seems at times like his second home.
“I’ll call the local cops, Dani. I want to get a line on what’s happening.”
“Will they tell you anything?”
“Maybe not, but you never know. Your instincts are good. I want to find out about that guy that drowned playing golf. Two sudden deaths in the same little town, the two people who were working on the same project you told me about, it rings bells for me. If they are connected, and you’re the third person on the project, well, I want to make sure you’re protected ‘til this is solved.”
My stomach flipped, and I groaned. “Charlie, how could you do this to me? Are you trying to frighten me?”
“Don’t mean to upset you, but I think you understand, even if you don’t want it to be true, and it’s best to be aware, right? Has anyone told you the cops are sure that guy, what’s his name—”
“—the executive here, Larry Saylor?”
“Yeah, Saylor, did you ever hear back about his death? Did he have a heart attack or something, or is tha
t investigation ongoing?”
I tried to remember what I’d heard. Not much. “His office was unsealed when I went there today with Gabby, if that means anything. I heard a golf course employee was the one who found Saylor.”
He was silent for a minute. “Keep your cell phone on and remember what I said. Don’t talk to anyone right now. I’ll call you back when I have more information if you’re not back here by then. Have you asked when you can leave town?”
“I’d like to come home tomorrow but the lead investigator doesn’t want me to leave.”
“See if Detective Kirby will let you go in another forty-eight hours. That would be a good sign.”
“The way you talk makes me wonder if I need a lawyer.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst idea, Dani. Some cops tread more lightly if they know the person they’re interviewing has legal backing. Know anyone there?”
Not likely since this was almost my first visit, and definitely my last if I had my way.
Charlie hung up before my brain reminded me I had agreed to meet Lynthorpe’s president tomorrow. Was Charlie’s warning so broad I couldn’t talk with Brennan? My green-eyed protector had left me with a handful of unpleasant scenarios to consider, and I had a hunch sleeping was going to be hard tonight.
****
I woke up with the dull, disoriented feeling that comes from a sleep disturbed by bad dreams. I vaguely recollected something about being locked in a closet, or was it a car? Someone telling me I had to swim in a black pool where a shark lay in wait. A feeling of dread and a mouth full of spider webs. Ugh.
Three cups of coffee banished the nightmares but did nothing for my shaky legs. The reality of Gabby’s death washed over me as I nibbled at a room service breakfast and all I wanted was to leave town as fast as possible. But I had to tackle the Margoletti gift recommendation first.
When the hotel phone rang, I hesitated before picking it up. “Ms. O’Rourke? We spoke last night.” It was Detective Kirby. “We’re still trying to reconstruct the circumstances around Ms. Flores’ death. I’d like to meet with you again.” I agreed, but asked how long it would take. I explained that I was hoping to leave Bridgetown in a day or two.
“Oh, I wouldn’t plan on leaving yet,” he said amiably. “Give us at least another day, please, before you make plans so we can make sure we’ve asked every question the investigation may turn up.”
Said that way, it didn’t feel threatening. I explained I had a job to get back to. He made understanding noises, but didn’t change his request. After we got off the line, I pulled out my laptop and emailed Teeni and Peter, merely saying I had to stay a bit longer and suggesting they send along anything I needed to see right away. I didn’t want to talk about Gabby, much less deal with Teeni’s questions and concerns right now.
She immediately emailed back: “Will do. Your ex called yesterday to see where you were. BTW, that guy Burgess called from the law firm. Want me to try again with him?” We get calls like that fairly often. I felt bad for letting it go if some kind soul wanted to include us in his or her will, but I didn’t have the energy or the focus to deal with it today.
Needing fresh air to clear my head and a change from my pastry and coffee routine, which had served only to jangle my nerves more, I decided to walk to the campus. I ended up at the student café where I ordered yogurt and fresh fruit in a gesture of apology to my stressed-out body, and spent a half hour on the patio breathing in the smell of cut grass and the elusive floral scent I now equated with Lynthorpe.
It was time to get on the phone and confirm a seat on a plane out of this place Friday, with or without Detective Kirby’s permission. I was craving my own apartment with my cat on my lap and absolutely no drama, unless it was of the Fever variety.
Brennan and I hadn’t set a time to meet so I headed over to the president’s office, feeling a bit more like my normal self, under-exercised and overfed. His assistant pursed her lips and shook her head as her finger skimmed along the edge of his calendar.
“There’s nothing, not even fifteen minutes,” she said as the male student I’d seen before stood hunched over a corner of her desk answering a constantly ringing phone, murmuring discreetly to the callers and adding pink message slips to a growing pile. “I can’t imagine when he thought he’d have time to talk to you. This place is a zoo. Press calls and alumni and parents, and we still have to schedule a campus assembly of some kind for everyone.”
The great man was in his office, so she was able to check. He sent out word he’d appreciate it if I could meet him for a quick drink at the end of the day. He’d pick me up at the hotel if that was all right. I agreed. I’d have the day to work on the report, meet with the detective if he called, and do a little research on the paintings that had puzzled Larry Saylor. There were several other candidates for Saylor’s concern, including Margoletti’s financial health and his business practices, and my report had to refer to them all as diplomatically as possible. I had no idea which had turned out to be motivation for someone to kill Gabby and perhaps Saylor himself, but I was convinced with every passing hour their deaths were connected somehow to the Margoletti gift.
I was looking at the ground as I exited the building and didn’t see the policeman until I had almost banged into him. It was Macho Cop, still playing hide and seek behind his Ray-Bans and sporting the short sleeve uniform shirt that showed off his toned biceps nicely. For the record, he had washboard abs too, if the snug-fitting uniform shirt was any indication.
On impulse, I stopped in the open doorway. “You were on the scene last night, weren’t you? Is there any news?”
It’s hard to talk to someone whose eyes are hidden. He frowned at me. “Luckily, my partner and I were close by on patrol.” He drew himself up and hitched his gadget-heavy belt up with one hand. Did he think I had decided he was a stud and that I was striking up a conversation to catch his attention? The first part was true. He was hot. You already have a cop boyfriend, remember? my inner voice said.
“I was there when Gabby died,” I said, standing my ground while assuring my inner self it was information, not a date, I was after. “I’m consulting with the college.”
I saw why he wore the dark glasses. It forced me to look hard at him to try and figure out what he was thinking. I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was filing my face away in case another person wound up dead at Lynthorpe College. You’re projecting, my inner voice said. You feel guilty that you didn’t rush down the hall and save that girl. Probably true.
“Dani O’Rourke,” I persevered, holding out my hand, and almost forcing him to respond.
“Officer McManus,” he said, pulling out a fat wallet and handing me a card, “Clayton McManus.” Someone came up to the door, so we moved aside slightly and he took my elbow almost protectively. When I looked up at him, he gave me a cute, crooked smile. “Welcome to Bridgetown, ma’am.” Isn’t ma’am what they call older women? I’m not interested in this guy, I pointed out to myself. He can call me Grandma Moses for all I care. That’s not totally true.
Macho Cop was still smiling, although he had let go of my elbow, and now he plucked a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and stuck it in the corner of his mouth as he talked. It sounded like he didn’t know much more than I did. What had I heard? Who had I seen when I arrived? He was eager, maybe trying to bring some fresh nugget of information to his boss. I had a hunch his looks didn’t do as much for him in the police station as they did in the bar on Friday nights. In a small town, the high point in his workweek might be directing football game day traffic.
I didn’t say much, but when he wound down, I got in a question of my own. “The gun?” I said. “Have you all found it?”
He may not have been the brightest bulb, but he hadn’t flunked out of the police academy either. He didn’t answer me, just nodded, pointed at the business card I still held, and invited me to contact him if he could be of any help while I was visiting his town. The harried student from the president’s o
ffice came down the stairs and hustled through the door. I turned to follow him, with McManus close behind me.
“Hasta la vista, Ms. O’Rourke,” he said, poking another toothpick in the corner of his mouth as he walked across the lawn to the patrol car, where no partner sat this time. Really? Had he cast himself as Arnold the Terminator? I shook my head. Nice bod, but really, we were so not on the same planet.
CHAPTER 14
I walked back to the main street and shook off my mood for a few minutes by poking around in several gift shops, the kind you find in college towns. When I stumbled on a little arts and crafts gallery on a side street, I got lucky. A pair of hand-painted black and white paper earrings in jagged shapes that dangled three inches was perfect for Yvette. In fact, they were so like Teeni that I got her a pair too. Feeling that the day hadn’t been completely wasted, I went back to the hotel and online to look up news about auction sales of works by the painters in Margoletti’s collection. I ordered a hamburger, fries, and a glass of red wine from the room service menu and started in on the portion of the report that dealt with making a financial pledge binding on the donor and his estate.
But my stomach was taking orders from the part of my brain that insisted on replaying the scene in the office near the copier machine no matter how much I tried to distract it. Finally, I gave up and, after getting Charlie’s message machine, flopped on the bed and closed my eyes. Of course, that was the moment Brennan called to say he was on his way, and would I meet him outside the hotel?
****
Rory Brennan was waiting, the passenger window of a surprisingly sporty, black car rolled down. He called my name and lifted a hand from the steering wheel, but didn’t get out of the car. Executive discretion?
“There’s a lovely restaurant and bar a couple miles out of town, quiet at this time of night, and a little too expensive for most of the faculty and all of the students, I believe.” He chuckled as he put the car in gear and took off. He drove aggressively, an outlet for a man who had to make nice to scores of people every day.
Mixed Up With Murder Page 10
