by Dianne Emley
His dark hair was neatly trimmed. His eyebrows were naturally arched and expressive. His face had the beginnings of handsomeness with a strong jaw and high forehead, but it was still fleshy with baby fat, which gave him an apple-cheeked sweetness. He was wearing a long-sleeved plaid shirt over a red T-shirt with white printing on it that said
KEEP CALM
WE ARE ALL INFECTED
His shirtsleeves had been rolled up to expose his knobby wrists. Each wrist bore three deep vertical slashes. Blood had drained from them onto his hands, with their tapered, delicate fingers, and had spread only slightly onto the ground before it had been absorbed into the thirsty earth. Jared was positioned to face Erica as if to watch her as he bled out, but his eyes were closed, lined by a fringe of long, dark eyelashes against pale skin. His full lips were slightly parted, revealing a hint of straight, white teeth. His jaw looked tight. His face, she thought, was one that told a tale in death. In her experience, not many did. Jared had been in agony.
Nan asked Alex, “Did you find a suicide note?”
“No note, but I found this in his wallet.” He went to the plastic tote, riffled inside, opened a manila envelope, and took out a tattered rectangle of paper. “Photo of Erica Keller. Looks like Jared cut it from a high school yearbook.”
Nan took it and saw the uneven edges where it had been cut out with scissors. Nothing was written on the back. “Did you find his cell phone?”
Alex took the photo from her. “Yep. Need his password. The opening screen shows previews of a bunch of texts from his mom. Where are you? Call me, and such. Did not find Erica’s cell phone.”
“Interesting. Not in her purse?”
“Nope. But did find a cute Beretta Nano in her purse.” Alex had said the make and model of a small pistol. “Ran the number. It’s registered to her. She didn’t have a concealed carry permit.”
Alex put away the photo of Erica and opened another evidence envelope. “This was in Jared’s back jeans pocket.” He held up an orange prescription bottle and shook it. The contents rattled shallowly. “Xanax. Ninety tablets. Prescription’s made out to him. I didn’t count them but it looks full.”
Nan said, “Being treated for anxiety.”
Early said, “People on Xanax or stoned on pot don’t tend to go on murdering rampages.”
Nan dropped to her knees, picked up Jared’s right arm, and studied his wrist. “Did you find any pot or drug paraphernalia?”
Alex said, “No.”
“Booze?” Early asked.
“Nope.” Alex had emphasized the p.
Nan moved in to sniff Jared’s hair and clothes. “I don’t smell pot on him. He smells fresh and clean.” She smoothed back a lock of his hair that was askew. “So why did these two people without booze or contraband on them come to romantic Stoner Glen?”
“Mrs. Keller has a home,” Early said. “If she didn’t want to go there, they could have gotten a room.”
Nan turned her flashlight beam onto the inside of Jared’s wrist. “I can see the scars from his prior suicide attempt.”
Early said, “Ninety Xanax pills are plenty to have killed him, but he chose that hard-core way.”
Nan pushed his sleeve farther up his arm. “There are three bruises on his forearm and one behind. They look fresh.”
Early made a small grunt as she got on her knees beside Nan to look at the bruises. “Someone could have grabbed his arm and held him down to slice his wrist.” She held an imaginary knife and pantomimed the action.
Nan rolled back onto her butt. “Just your garden-variety, clear-cut murder-suicide.”
Caspers pulled back one side of his mouth.
Nan looked at Early. “Where do we go with this, Sarge?”
Early rose to her feet. “We’ll know more when the autopsy reports come back. For now, you two go notify Jared’s mother, Melissa Hayword. Poor woman. Someone needs to notify Erica’s parents. I’ll touch base with Beltran.”
Two coroner technicians arrived, carrying a gurney and body bags. They greeted the detectives and set about preparing to remove the bodies. The crew in the remaining news helicopter still circling overhead was finally going to get the shot they’d been waiting for.
Chapter 8
The crime scene was being shut down for the night. Early carried the plastic tote with the evidence bags, which she’d take to the PPD station. Nan and Alex headed to their cars. The Chevy Tahoe that had been used as the command station was still parked in the same spot but the back hatch was shut and the car’s darkened windows were rolled up. Most of the PPD personnel and cars were gone.
As Nan unlocked her car, she was startled when the Tahoe’s two rear passenger doors opened. Lieutenant Beltran climbed out one side and Ryan Keller stepped from the other.
At the same time, Lieutenant Cordova exited from the driver’s seat. He was holding a video camera. He patted Keller on the back. “That oughta do it.”
“Thanks, LT.” Keller gave Cordova a two-handed handshake.
Beltran knuckle-bumped Cordova, who told him, “Good job, George.”
Keller started walking toward his truck and Beltran called out, “You okay to drive, buddy?”
Keller waved dismissively, holding the key to his truck in his hand. “Sure, sure.”
Cordova turned from climbing back into the Tahoe’s driver’s seat. “You’re staying at your friend’s, right?”
Keller said, “Yep. For tonight, then I’ll figure things out. George, you know how to get to Erica’s parents’ house?”
Beltran said, “I’ll follow you.”
“Thanks, pal. I appreciate the backup. It’s going to be tough telling them about Erica, but I need to do it. I want them to hear it from me.”
On the way to his truck, Keller nodded at Vining, Caspers, and Sergeant Early. He opened the door of his truck and paused before he got inside as he looked somberly at the coroner’s van. He climbed into his truck and started the engine.
Vining gave him a stony stare.
Early set the evidence box inside the trunk of her car and went over to Beltran. “LT, I thought you were going to interview Ryan Keller.”
“It’s done. Cordova and I took his statement.”
“In the back of the Tahoe?”
“Yep. We videoed it.” Beltran held his chin slightly up as if daring her to challenge him.
Early’s body subtly stiffened. “All due respect, LT, but seems to me it would have been a better CYA strategy to have taken Keller to an interview room at the station. He’s a suspect until we can eliminate him as a possibility, especially in light of his marital problems. Mrs. Keller got a restraining order against him. She was carrying a gun in her purse.”
“Restraining order,” Beltran said it as if it were a joke. “That was Erica getting revenge on Ryan because he had a fling and she found out about it. Ryan wasn’t the only one having extramarital hanky-panky. Erica had her somethin’ somethin’ on the side. She and that kid Jared spent a lot of time together. That kid was unhinged. If Erica cut him off and made him angry…” He shrugged, saying, “Stay safe,” and left.
Chapter 9
The Hayword home was near the Washington Square landmark neighborhood in north central Pasadena. It had many charming hundred-year-old bungalows, but the neighborhood was also dotted with nondescript, practical housing built post–World War II. An unfortunate spattering of boxy 1960s apartment buildings impinged upon the area’s homey, if modest, ambience. The longtime residents were working-class Latinos, African Americans, and whites, but young, affluent families were moving in and renovating the older homes, having been priced out of Pasadena’s tonier neighborhoods. There was gang activity and a fair amount of crime, although not as bad as it was a few blocks to the north and east.
Nan had followed Alex Caspers and parked behind his PPD-issued Crown Victoria across the street from Melissa Hayword’s house.
As she got out of her car and looked at the tidy home, Alex said, “This is a sketc
hy neighborhood for Jared’s family to relocate to.”
Nan said, “It’s being gentrified.”
“Which means it’s now too expensive for me and I wouldn’t even want to live here.”
Nan saw the stress and fatigue in his normally animated sable-colored eyes.
He started across the quiet street. “Not looking forward to this.”
The home was a clapboard bungalow painted butter-yellow with white trim. An older Volvo was parked in a driveway alongside the house in front of a closed chain-link gate. The small lawn was showing green thanks to the recent showers that had eased the drought. A concrete path lined with rose trees in bloom led to a broad porch that extended across the front of the house, where flower beds were planted with a neatly shaped boxwood hedge and brightly colored petunias. On the porch were two white rocking chairs. Plantation shutters were closed inside over the front picture window. Light shone through gathered lace panel curtains over two narrow windows that flanked the front door, painted cadet-blue—a stylistic touch that Nan admired.
The trappings of the house looked fresh. Nan remembered Emily saying that Jared’s family had relocated from Reno not long ago. His father was dead, so unless Melissa Hayword had remarried or had family help, she’d bought this house and refurbished it herself, circumstances that Nan knew personally.
Alex raised his hand to press the doorbell on a wall near the door but let it hover in front of the button as he turned his head to listen to low voices coming from inside. After a moment, he rang the bell. There was a simple ding-dong inside the house. The voices silenced and a shadow appeared behind the curtain over one of the long windows beside the front door. An edge of the curtain was pulled back when someone looked out. Locks were disengaged and the door was opened by a woman in her late forties or early fifties, who Nan guessed was Jared’s mother. She shared his dark hair and pale skin. He must have gotten his height and lanky physique from his father since his mother stood about five feet four and had a compact frame. Her eyes were dark brown. Nan imagined that Jared’s were the same beneath the closed eyelids of his corpse.
She was dressed in slacks, a blouse, a cardigan sweater, and low-heeled pumps. Her hair was short, simply styled, and evenly colored as if she’d dyed it to cover gray. Her only jewelry was a watch with a gold band, a single strand of pearls around her neck, and diamond stud earrings that were not lavish. Nan guessed the size at about one-quarter carat. Her makeup was fresh. Even though it was nearly midnight, it looked as if she’d prepared herself for company or for something to happen.
“Mrs. Hayword?” Alex asked.
“Yes?” she answered with a hint of apprehension. She quickly looked them over, her eyes pausing at their guns and badges. In the living room behind her, a dark-haired young woman who appeared college-aged rose from a couch and moved toward the door. She looked like Jared’s sister.
Alex said, “I’m Detective Alex Caspers of the Pasadena Police Department and this is Detective Nanette Vining. May we come in?”
Melissa Hayword nodded and stepped back to make room. “Are you here about Jared? We saw the news about the bodies in the Arroyo. They hadn’t released the names. Reporters speculated that the woman was a teacher and the boy was a student at Coopersmith.” Her eyes seemed to withdraw into her skull and the pale tone of her face took on a gray cast.
Before entering the house, Alex and Nan both wiped their feet on a sisal doormat printed with a smiling sun and WELCOME. The small house was cozy. A living room with a brick fireplace was to the left and a dining room to the right. A doorway off the dining room led to the kitchen. A shotgun hallway went through the center of the house with doors along both sides, ending at a door that exited to the backyard. The living and dining rooms were made to seem even smaller since they were crammed with big pieces of traditionally styled and antique furniture that Nan thought belonged in a much larger house. The hardwood floors were nearly covered with Oriental carpets and a long runner extended the length of the hallway. Nan didn’t see a TV.
“Mom…” The young woman rushed forward and grabbed Mrs. Hayword’s arm. “We don’t know that. Let’s hear what the police have to say. We’ve been following the news updates on my tablet. I’m Caroline, Jared’s sister. Please sit down.” She gently guided her mother into the living room.
Phones in the house started ringing. Nan saw one on an occasional table between two wing-backed chairs, heard another in the kitchen, and more in the back of the house. Caroline and Mrs. Hayword ignored the phones, which soon fell silent.
“No.” Mrs. Hayword planted her feet. “I want to hear this standing up.”
Caroline stopped trying to move her mother along and stood beside her with her hand clutching her arm.
Nan glanced at Alex and saw him swallow. Facing these heart-wrenching situations had humbled his fabled bluster of being the first cop on-scene, throwing bad guys down, locking them up.
Alex said, “Mrs. Hayword, Caroline, we’re very sorry to have to tell you that Jared is the Coopersmith student whose body was found in the Arroyo earlier this evening. The other victim is Mrs. Erica Keller, Jared’s teacher.”
Caroline let out a small moan and her hands flew to her mouth.
Mrs. Hayword nodded and said, “Thank you for telling me in person.” Tears welled. She pulled out a folded tissue from where it was tucked beneath the sleeve of her cardigan and daubed the corners of her eyes. The icily suspended time of not knowing where her son was or what had happened to him had passed, making room for fresh grief to have its moment. She folded the tissue into quarters and returned it to beneath her sleeve. She lightly touched her string of pearls with her fingertips and smoothed her blouse. “Please tell me what happened.”
Alex raised his hand in the direction of the living room. “Why don’t we sit down?”
“I don’t care to sit down.” Mrs. Hayword’s gaze was steady as she looked at him. “Please just tell me what happened.”
“Based upon what we’ve learned so far, Jared seems to have met Erica Keller in Lower Arroyo Seco Park near twilight. It appears that he stabbed her to death and killed himself by slitting his wrists.” Alex’s words were concise and pointed as if he’d worked them out earlier.
“How?” Mrs. Hayword said. “How was it done?”
“With a jackknife. Looks antique. Maybe it had significance to Jared.” Alex took out his phone and found a photo he’d taken of the bloody jackknife with the bone handle. He handed Mrs. Hayword the phone.
Mrs. Hayword’s shoulders drooped. “That was Jared’s father’s knife when he was a boy. It had been passed down to Jack by his father. Jared carried it in his pocket every day. Honed it on a whetstone that his grandfather had also passed down. It was always…” Her voice became strangled and Nan could barely make out her saying “razor sharp.”
Caroline lumbered across the living room and dropped onto one of the chairs. She buried her face in her hands, her elbows on her knees, and began sobbing.
Mrs. Hayword slowly exhaled. She handed Alex his phone and looked at the floor. After a moment, she raised her eyes to the detectives. Nan saw a dull light return to Mrs. Hayword’s eyes and sensed energy returning to her body as she set the not knowing aside and strengthened herself for the next phase of the journey. She asked Alex, “Did you find a suicide note?”
“No, ma’am. We didn’t.” Alex added, “But suicide victims often don’t leave notes. That’s like something you see on TV.”
Nan cringed at his callous comment.
Mrs. Hayword’s expression hardened, as did her voice. “Please don’t instruct me about the habits of suicide victims, Detective Caspers. My son tried to kill himself once before about two years ago. We were living in a suburb of Reno at the time. Jared slit his wrists with a razor blade in the bathtub of our home.” She stated the facts without hesitation and while looking directly into Alex’s eyes. “Jared left a long suicide note in his bedroom. He basically wrote his own eulogy. He loved to write. He wante
d to be an investigative journalist. He wouldn’t have harmed Mrs. Keller. He adored her. Jared wasn’t capable of hurting anyone, especially someone he cared about. If Jared did not leave a note, he did not commit suicide. He was murdered.”
Chapter 10
The directness of Mrs. Keller’s comments momentarily silenced Alex. He regrouped and said, “Maybe he left a note here, at home, or on his computer.”
Mrs. Hayword said, “Caroline and I have just finished looking through Jared’s things and searching his laptop. There’s not only no suicide note, there’s not even a hint that he was depressed, much less suicidal. It’s only been a few hours since my son’s death and you’re already accusing him of not only killing himself but also murdering his favorite teacher? Are there so many homicides in Pasadena that you can’t spend more than an hour investigating what really happened?”
Nan observed that Mrs. Hayword wasn’t at all intimidated when dealing with law enforcement.
“Now I expect you to inform me that people who attempt suicide, especially teenagers, will try again and that’s true. Caroline and I were ever watchful for any signs that Jared was heading into that dark place. But Jared was doing great emotionally, socially, academically. We were so happy to see him flourishing.”
She looked at her daughter, who’d stopped crying and was sitting rigidly in the chair, her arms along the chair arms, her hands squeezing the ends. “Why don’t you go to bed, sweetheart?” Mrs. Hayword turned to the detectives. “She just drove down from Stanford earlier today. She’s a junior there. She doesn’t have any information that would help you.”
“I’m okay, Mom. I want to listen.”
Mrs. Hayword continued. “Jared loved Coopersmith School and his teachers, especially Mrs. Keller, who was a wonderful mentor to him. He was excited about going to Yale in the fall—his dad’s alma mater. It’s true that he was a sensitive boy and struggled with depression, but he’d been working with a psychiatrist here in Pasadena—Dr. Jean Yamamoto. Jared was a thoughtful, loving boy. The only violence he’d ever inflicted on anyone was on himself and that happened during a terrible period in our family’s life. He was methodical. He loved games of strategy. So he wouldn’t have gone to a park with his teacher, stabbed her, and then killed himself just like that. On the spur of the moment.”
