by J. A. Jance
“Nope,” Deb said, “not a peep, but that’s mostly because no one was home. Mr. Roland, the guy next door, moved into an assisted-living facility a month ago. Mrs. Holland, the neighbor on the other side, is off on a two-week cruise down the Danube.”
“Excuse me,” Ralph Whetson said, coming in through the back door, pushing a gurney loaded with a body bag in front of him. “Are you ready for me?”
“Not quite yet,” Joanna said. “Let me finish taking a look around first.” She turned back to Deb. “Walk me through it.”
“From what I can see, I’m assuming the initial attack occurred in the living room and that there was more than one assailant. The scene suggests they tasered him there. Casey’s already swept up enough of the microdots that she’ll be able to ID the weapon,” Deb said, gesturing in that direction. “He must have come around sooner than they expected and then he put up a hell of a fight. When they finally subdued him, they dragged him into the kitchen. You can see the marks the heels of his shoes left on the hardwood floor.”
Joanna went back to the dining room and studied the floor where two matching heel marks were clearly visible.
“After that, they spent a considerable length of time here in the kitchen,” Deb said.
“They took off his clothes?”
“All of them,” Deb agreed, nodding at the stack of evidence bags that now contained the pile of clothing. “They duct-taped him buck naked to this chair. Look at this.” She pointed to the single chair that had been placed in the middle of the room. “There’s duct tape residue on the front legs of the chair and on the back uprights, too. They must have taped both his arms and legs to the chair and then ripped off the tape when they moved him into the bathroom. There’s hair stuck to both the chair legs and the uprights.”
In order for Joanna to see the residue, she would have had to step into the spatter of dried blood. She chose not to. “For right now, I’ll take your word about that,” Joanna said. “Doc Winfield was on his way out when I came in. He mentioned something about a stun gun. Is this where they used that?”
“That’s my guess,” Deb answered. “Once the initial Taser had been deployed, they could still use the weapon’s stun-gun capabilities. That part of the program most likely happened here, and they used it over and over. When the Taser ran out of gas, they moved the operation into the bathroom.”
“You keep saying ‘they,’ ” Joanna observed. “Are you sure there was more than one perpetrator?”
Deb nodded. “Machett was a fit kind of guy who was into tae kwon do. The level of destruction present tells us that he fought back. If you look at the shoe prints here in the kitchen, you’ll notice there are two different sets. One looks to be a size twelve or thirteen. The other one is smaller, maybe a size ten. So, yes, definitely more than one person involved in the attack.”
The bit about Machett’s martial arts proficiency surprised Joanna. It was something Deb knew about Guy Machett that Joanna Brady didn’t. “How do you know he was into tae kwon do?” she asked.
“Trophies,” Deb answered dismissively. “He must have had at least five or six trophies on the shelf in his office and a collection of belts hanging on the wall behind his desk. Haven’t you ever noticed them?”
“Not really,” Joanna said. The truth was, since Guy Machett came to town, she had never once set foot inside his office. She had been to the morgue on occasion, of course, but not into his private office. As far as she was concerned, that spot still had George Winfield’s name on it. In her dealings with Guy Machett, avoiding his office had been Joanna’s one small protest rite, and a secret one at that.
Leaving Deb in the kitchen, Joanna made her way down the hall and into the bathroom on her own. Like the rest of the house, it had escaped any kind of updating. The room was nowhere near what would nowadays be considered a suitable “master bath.” The stains on the black-and-white tile indicated that the original toilet had probably been replaced at some point in the past, but everything else—the tile, the washbasin with its two separate spigots, and the oversize claw-foot tub—were most likely as-built equipment.
Guy Machett lay faceup on the tile. His naked body took up most of the available floor space in the small room. The cuts and bruises George had mentioned were readily apparent on his arms, legs, and face. Bare strips on his arms and legs indicated where duct tape had been brutally yanked away, taking a layer of skin and hair with it. The used duct tape had been left behind in a ball that had rolled under the sink. Machett’s chest and groin were covered with the distinctive tracks left behind by the stun gun. Those burns were all too visible on the pale dead flesh, and so was everything else. Joanna was tempted to drop a discreet washcloth over the part of Guy Machett that should have been covered, but she didn’t. This was a crime scene, after all.
Turning around, Joanna found both Deb and Casey standing behind her in the narrow hallway.
“Any idea what the attackers were looking for?”
“None,” Deb said, shaking her head. “His phone and laptop are both missing. When we couldn’t find any trace of them here at the house, Detective Keller and Jaime Carbajal took a search warrant and went to check out Guy’s office. That’s when they discovered that someone had broken in there as well.”
“But nothing else is missing?”
“Not that we can tell, but there’s a lot that isn’t missing. Some high-end sound equipment, a second plasma TV, and several reasonably expensive pieces of jewelry—including a Patek Philippe watch—are all still here.”
Joanna chewed on that for a moment. If Guy could afford that kind of watch, why hadn’t he bothered to update the house?
“So this definitely wasn’t a robbery,” Joanna concluded. She turned to Casey, who was nodding her agreement. “What about the print situation? Find anything?”
“There are two distinct sets of prints that you see throughout the house. I’m pretty sure one set belongs to Guy Machett. Since the other set also shows up on the handle of the vacuum cleaner and on a broom handle and a mop, too, the second set probably belongs to a cleaning lady. In other words, unless the cleaning lady is also the bad guy, I’m saying the perpetrators wore gloves.”
“Do we have any idea who the cleaning lady might be?”
“Not so far,” Casey said.
“Hey,” Ralph Weston called from the far end of the hall. “I’m still here. Are you ready for me now?”
“Sure,” Joanna said. “Will you need a hand?”
“Nah,” Ralph said. “I can manage it myself.”
His use of that particular pronoun—it—really struck Joanna. The dead man who had always insisted on being “Dr. Machett” suddenly had been demoted to the lowly status of “it.” As far as Ralph was concerned, his former boss was now nothing more or less than a job to be done and a body to be handled. Joanna couldn’t help but remember how, just two days earlier, Guy Machett’s whole manner of dealing with Junior Dowdle’s death had been somewhat less than respectful.
Now his former helper was treating him in exactly the same way.
Just deserts, Joanna thought to herself. What goes around comes around.
CHAPTER 13
JOANNA, DETECTIVE HOWELL, AND CASEY WERE STANDING IN THE living room when Joanna’s phone rang. Dave Hollicker’s name and number appeared on the screen. “Hey,” she said. “Are you making any progress on that background check?”
“Not really,” Dave admitted. “Claire Newmark just sent me something that’s going to help with that, but I’m caught up in something else at the moment. I’m about to send it to you.”
In Joanna’s opinion, the background check on Guy Machett should have been Dave’s top priority, but she stopped herself from delivering a reprimand. “What?” she asked.
“Detective Carbajal called me from Dr. Machett’s office,” Dave said. “He asked me to come out to the department and check out last night’s security tape feeds. I thought that was more important, so that’s what I’m doing. I jus
t sent it to you, and I’m copying Chief Bernard.”
“Good,” Joanna found herself saying, despite her earlier misgivings. “Excellent!”
Joanna felt a sudden stirring of excitement. In recent years, Cochise County had, at great expense, installed top-of-the-line security cameras at the entrances to all county facilities. The base station was located inside the sheriff’s department. That way, if an alarm was triggered at one of the sites, Dispatch could check on the situation before sending officers to the scene. Since the bad guys had evidently used Guy Machett’s access code to let themselves into the M.E.’s office, no alarms had sounded, and no one had been alerted. Even so, there was now a good chance Guy Machett’s killers had been caught on tape.
Moments later, Joanna’s phone dinged an alarm announcing the arrival of new mail. When she opened the message from Dave, it was empty except for a single attachment that took its own sweet time to load.
“Tell me,” she urged. “Does it show anything or not?”
“It shows something, all right,” Dave told her, “but it’s not going to help much.”
At last the document opened. After another long wait, it began to play. The video came with a time stamp that read 3:26:42 AM. For a long time, nothing showed but a view of the tiny empty parking lot behind the morgue, then two figures appeared. When they came close enough, Joanna saw Dave’s assessment was correct. The film established when the bad guys had entered Guy Machett’s office, but that was all. Both of their faces were completely obscured by ski masks, and both were wearing gloves.
“Crap,” she said. “You’re right, Dave. It gives us a time and that’s about it.”
“Not quite,” Dave said. “I think it tells us something more. I suspect we’re dealing with some genuine bad guys. They’re no doubt in the system; hence the gloves. That means someone took their fingerprints somewhere along the way, and they’ll turn up in AFIS. They’re also wearing masks. That means their mug shots are on somebody’s facial recognition program as well. Now that we know that, I’ll go back to working on the background check and see if it’ll tell me where Guy Machett’s life intersected with these thugs.”
“You do that.”
As Joanna ended the call, another one came in. Chief Bernard’s name showed on the caller-ID screen. “Jaime and Dave made a hell of a catch on that video feed,” he said. “You can tell them I said so.”
“I will,” Joanna said.
“What about that pack of reporters? Are they still milling around outside?”
Joanna walked as far as the front door and peered outside. “Affirmative,” she said. “They’re all lying in wait and most likely won’t leave until somebody talks to them. Are you coming back?”
Alvin sighed. “I guess I’d better come face the music. Doing a press conference with no next-of-kin information isn’t my idea of a picnic. Any progress on that?”
“Dave didn’t mention it, so I guess the answer is no. He’ll be in a better position to tell us about Guy’s friends and relations once he can lay his hands on Guy’s phone and social media records. In the meantime, that’s what we should turn our people loose on, too—finding out who his pals are. We also need to know the name of his housecleaner.”
“Why’s that?”
“The killers most likely wore gloves,” Joanna explained, “but Casey Ledford says she found two sets of fingerprints all over the house. The location of some of them suggests they belong to a cleaning lady, most likely. Once we find her, she might be able to tell us if anything important is missing from the house.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “I’m on my way back. I’ll be there soon.”
For the next fifteen minutes or so, Joanna waited while Deb and Casey finished gathering their equipment and packing up. When Joanna led them out onto the porch, she found that the collection of media vans had expanded. Upon seeing them, the crowd of reporters fell silent. Then, as if on cue, Marliss shouted, “Sheriff Brady, are you going to give us a briefing now?”
“No,” Chief Bernard said, striding into view. “This crime scene is in my jurisdiction, and I’ll be doing the briefing. The sheriff’s department is working this case jointly, however, and Sheriff Brady is welcome to join me.”
For the next interminable half hour Joanna stood next to Alvin Bernard on Guy Machett’s front porch while the reporters lobbed one question after another in their direction. Despite the lights from the various cameras, Joanna was able to see some of the folks assembled outside the fence. She was disappointed but not surprised that Ruth Nolan was among them. Joanna had hoped that Marliss would have had enough sense to take the girl home. Naturally she had not.
Things were starting to wind down when Joanna’s phone rang in her shirt pocket. Excusing herself, she hurried inside. “Okay,” Dave Hollicker said. “The background check Claire Newmark sent has been a great help. I have the names of Guy Machett’s next of kin. His mother, Selma, and sister, Liza, both live in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. I can’t find a phone listing for the mother, but I’m texting you one for the sister along with the nonemergency phone number for the Great Barrington Police Department.”
“Thanks, Dave,” Joanna said. “That’s a huge help. I’ll give the information to Chief Bernard as soon as he finishes the briefing.”
“What information?” Chief Bernard asked, following Joanna into the house.
Joanna opened the text application and handed him the phone. He looked at his phone and then at his watch. “It’s midnight on the East Coast,” he said. “Since it’s a joint operation and I just did the briefing, how about if you handle next of kin?”
Which is how, a few minutes later, Joanna found herself speaking to the clerk who answered the phone at the Great Barrington Police Department. Once she explained that she needed someone to do a next-of-kin notification to either Selma Machett or her daughter, Liza, Joanna wasn’t the least bit surprised to be put on hold. She also wasn’t surprised by the extended delay before someone else picked up the phone, but she was surprised by the way he answered the phone.
“Homicide, Detective Franklin.”
“I’m sorry,” Joanna said quickly, switching the phone to speaker. “I’m afraid there’s been a slight misunderstanding. I’m Sheriff Joanna Brady, calling from Bisbee, Arizona. I didn’t want to speak to a homicide detective. The homicide is here on my end. I’m looking for someone to do a next-of-kin notification.”
“They said you were looking for Selma Machett,” Detective Franklin said. “You missed her. She’s deceased. Her funeral was Thursday. You’re saying someone else is dead?”
“Her son, Guy Machett,” Joanna answered. “He was found murdered in his home here in Bisbee, Arizona, earlier today. Perhaps you could put me in touch with his sister, then. I believe her name is Liza.”
“No can do,” Detective Franklin said.
“Why not?”
“Her boss reported her as a missing person when she didn’t show up for work yesterday. That’s bogus, of course. There’s a big difference between going missing and being on the lam. As far as Liza Machett is concerned, I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.”
“What do you mean?”
“Miss Machett’s mother’s house burned down Thursday afternoon either during or after the funeral. Miss Machett’s landlady, Olivia Dexter, was found murdered later that same evening. I brought Liza in for questioning because I think there’s a good chance she was responsible for both—for the landlady’s murder and for the house fire as well, which, by the way, we know for sure was arson. I knew Liza was lying when I talked to her, but I had no way to prove it. I had to let her go. However, when a person of interest in a homicide investigation goes missing the moment she’s let loose, it doesn’t take a Philadelphia lawyer to figure out what’s really going on.”
“Do you have any idea where she went?” Joanna asked.
“None at all,” Franklin answered, “and believe me, we’ve been looking. She’s not driving. She left her car behind. We
’ve checked car rental agencies, airports, train stations, and bus terminals. I’m guessing she’s holed up here in town somewhere.”
“Is there a chance she might be responsible for her mother’s death as well?”
Detective Franklin laughed heartily. “I like the way you think, Sheriff Brady. Since Liza was Selma’s sole beneficiary, I wondered the same thing. I went so far as to check with Selma’s doc. He told me Selma had been in hospice for two weeks before she passed and that she definitely died of natural causes. Anything else I can do for you?”
The conversation had taken such a turn that for a moment Joanna had no idea what to say next.
“Are there any other relatives, then?” she asked at last. “Anyone else we should know about?”
“Not around here, certainly,” Detective Franklin answered. “I’ve been asking questions, of course. It turns out Liza’s father took off years ago, when she was little. My understanding is that he ran off with another woman. As far as I know, no one’s heard a word from him since, but he could still be alive. Do you have a cause of death on your victim?”
“We’re not sure at this point. He may have drowned, but he was tortured extensively before he died. Was there any evidence of something like that in the landlady’s death?”
“Nope, that was a straight-out strangulation. She was found on the stairway leading to Liza’s upstairs apartment. She may have stuck her nose into something Liza was trying to keep quiet and, as a consequence, poor Olivia had to go. That’s one theory anyway. We’re still referring to Liza as a person of interest in the Dexter homicide, but between you and me, I think she’s a lot more than that.”
“Is there a chance that Liza’s involved in what happened here?” Joanna asked.
“When did your guy die?” Franklin asked.
“Sometime Friday night or early Saturday morning. He was supposed to perform an autopsy on Saturday afternoon. When he didn’t show up for that, someone went looking for him and found his body.”
