“Mr. Nguyen, are you certain that the basement door was locked before you entered the building?”
“Yes, yes,” he said with a nod.
“Did you unlock the side door before you left the building?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“And you unlocked the front doors?”
“When the officers asked me to, yes.”
“If the doors are locked, do you need a key to get out of the building?”
“Yes,” he said. “When the bolt is thrown you cannot open the door at all.”
Then whoever killed Fleming had to have had a key. “How many people have keys to the building, Mr. Nguyen?”
“I don’t know. Lots of people. Most everybody.”
“Mr. Nguyen, what time did you leave work yesterday?”
“Me?” he asked, pointing a finger to his chest.
“Yes, Mr. Nguyen.”
“I left usual time – about three o’clock.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went home. I watch news on television. I have dinner with wife. We watched television shows and go to bed.”
“Which television shows did you watch last night?”
“Ahh, ahh, don’t remember – was something wife liked. I not pay much attention. I do crossword puzzles.”
“Your wife will corroborate that, Mr. Nguyen?”
“Yes, yes. She always tell truth. She’s good woman.”
“Thank you, Mr. Nguyen. Could you please return to the meeting room?”
“Yes,” he said. As he rose, he jerked his head forward in a half bow.
Lucinda jotted down a few notes about the interview then went back down the hall. She stood quietly in the doorway, unnoticed as she observed the behavior of the unwilling congregation. Sammy Nguyen stood with his back to a corner, shaking his head back and forth. Superintendent Robert Irving stood in front of him, badgering him with questions.
“Mr. Irving,” Lucinda said.
He turned toward her with a fast flush rising from his neck to his cheeks. “Yes?”
“This way, please,” she said and turned on her heels without waiting for his response.
As he stepped into the makeshift interrogation room, Irving said, “Lieutenant, you’ve put me in an awkward position. I should not know less than my own employees. What is going on in my building?”
“Have a seat, Mr. Irving.”
He slid into the chair but Lucinda remained standing, her arms folded across her chest. “The moment these premises became a crime scene, you ceded control and authority to the police department. I am in charge now, because, sir, you are a suspect – one of many, but a suspect nonetheless.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“Do you have a key to this building?”
“Of course I do.”
“Since we’ve not found any indications of a forced entry so far, your possession of that key makes you a suspect.”
“Do you know how many people have keys?” Irving objected.
“No. But I’m hoping you’ll provide us with a list.”
“Of course, but who was killed?”
“We are still trying to locate the next of kin for the likeliest individual.”
“Lieutenant, I have narrowed it down to a handful of people who are not in the meeting room up the hall. I may be able to help you.”
Lucinda turned her back on him and walked in front of the windows and looked down into the parking lot as a car pulled into a slot and was surrounded by a sea of blue. She spun around and snapped, “Why did you call Mr. Nguyen a ‘son of a bitch’ this morning when he called you about the murder, Mr. Irving?”
“I did no such thing. He never called me. I would never call Mr. Nguyen . . .”
Lucinda raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then Mr. Nguyen is lying to me?”
He shaded his eyes from the sun. “Could you lower the blinds?” he asked.
Lucinda did not respond. She didn’t move. She continued to stare as she congratulated herself on the way she had positioned the chairs.
Irving broke the silence. “I admit I was pressuring him to tell me what he knew, back there in the meeting room. But I have never, ever called him names.”
“Once again, you are telling me that Mr. Nguyen is lying?”
“If he said I called him a ‘son of a bitch,’ yes, he is.”
“We’ve checked his cell-phone log, Mr. Irving. We know he called you this morning. And, from your response to him, it sounded as if you already knew why he was calling. In fact, at first, he thought you’d already called the police.”
“Why would I call the police?”
“You tell me, Mr. Irving. Did you know what Mr. Nguyen discovered before he called?”
“He didn’t call me,” he said, rising to his feet.
“Sit, Mr. Irving,” Lucinda ordered and waited for him to comply.
He glared at her before sinking back down into the chair and shading his eyes with his hand.
“Mr. Irving, we have documentation of Mr. Nguyen calling your home this morning. You’re wasting my time and yours by denying that phone call. Someone answered your home phone. And according to Mr. Nguyen, it was you and you said, ‘You son of a bitch, I’m calling the police. Leave us alone.’ And then you hung up the phone. Now if that is not an accurate representation of what you said to Mr. Nguyen, you tell me what you did say. But don’t tell me it didn’t happen.”
Irving stood to his feet again and leaned forward with his fists resting on the table in front of him. “Lieutenant, if you are not going to believe anything I am telling you, perhaps I need a lawyer. But I will insist again, I did not talk to . . .” The blood drained from Irving’s face, and he slumped down into the chair. “Ohmigod.”
Lucinda leaned into his face. “Yes, Mr. Irving?”
“I didn’t think it was Nguyen. I thought it was the other person calling again.”
“What other person, Superintendent?”
“I don’t know,” he looked up at her, a pleading look in his eyes. “Honest, I don’t know.”
“Tell me about it,” Lucinda urged.
“The first call came before five thirty. My wife answered. The caller wanted to know if I was there. I took the phone but he wouldn’t tell me who he was. He just hung up. Then he called again and hung up again. I thought the third call was from the same person. And, yes, that is just what I said. But I had no idea it was Nguyen. The first two calls certainly weren’t him. I’d recognized his voice. He has a slight accent.”
“I suppose your wife will verify your story?”
“Of course, Lieutenant,” Irving bristled. “But do you really need to drag her into this? It’s school business not personal business.”
Lucinda sighed. “Did you really need to ask that question, Superintendent?”
Irving flushed again. “Sorry. Stupid of me. I really do want to help, Lieutenant. I just don’t know how I possibly can without a better idea of what is going on – of who died here last night.”
Lucinda stared down at him, contemplating the wisdom of providing him with more information. Her reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door frame. She looked up at Ted Branson.
“I’ve got the warrant and brought along a couple of detectives to execute the search. Should I assist them or is there something else you need me to do?”
“Thanks, Ted,” Lucinda said. “I could use your help with these interviews. Could you pick a room, set up and get started?”
“Consider it done,” he said as he turned and walked away.
“I thought you didn’t need a search warrant, Lieutenant,” Irving said.
“We probably don’t but we have a side issue in addition to the homicide and I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“A side issue? You mean Sean Lowery, the tech guy?”
“Yes,” Lucinda said.
“Please, Lieutenant. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help you,” Irving pleaded.
She studie
d him for a moment and said, “Okay, Superintendent, but it has to stay in this room.”
“No problem, Lieutenant.”
“Illegal drugs were found in Lowery’s car. We need to search his office for any additional drugs or drug paraphernalia and any information we might find to help identify his supplier. And, just in case, we’re also searching for a murder weapon.”
Irving gasped. “Drugs? Are you serious?”
“So far, just a small amount of marijuana.”
“There’s nothing small about that. He will be fired immediately.”
“That’ll have to wait. We’re holding him on resisting arrest, reckless driving, interfering with a homicide investigation, obstructing justice, driving under the influence and anything else we can think of to pile on top of the possession charge. He’ll be busy for a while.”
“I can’t wait to take action, Lieutenant. I would be underestimating the reaction of some of the parents if I did. If they even suspected that anyone on our payroll ever inhaled second-hand pot smoke at a college party, they’d be demanding termination. But this? If the school district is slow to take action, they’ll be lined up on our doorstep with pitchforks.”
“I thought most of your parents would have experimented with drugs when they were younger.”
“A lot of them did, but at times I get the impression that some of those who didn’t are bitter that they missed out on the fun,” he said with a laugh.
“Fun, Superintendent?”
Irving sighed. “Just a joke, Lieutenant. Now, are you going to tell me who died in my building?”
“We think it’s Sharon Fleming,” Lucinda said.
“Shari? Are you sure?” Irving asked.
“Pretty much. Her car was the only one in the lot besides Mr. Nguyen’s when the first officers arrived on the scene.”
“You haven’t told her husband?”
“Can’t find him, Superintendent. Have you got any ideas about that?”
“Have you checked the lab where he works?”
“Sure have. He’s not there. He’s not at home. We have no idea where he might be.”
“So you think . . . No, no, Lieutenant. Not Conrad. He adored his wife. And he put up with a lot.”
“What do you mean by that, Superintendent?”
“She works all the time. She stood up Conrad at company events and on social occasions. Shoot, if the poor man won a Nobel prize, she’d probably miss the flight to Sweden.”
“Do you encourage your employees to work that hard, Superintendent?”
“She’s not my employee. Sure, she works in my building and provides a program in my schools but she’s not on the district payroll. She works for Communities in Schools, a non-profit organization with its own local board of directors.”
“Are you on that board, Mr. Irving?”
“Well, yes,” he admitted. “But I’m just one of nine members.”
“Why are you trying to distance yourself from the victim?”
“I’m not.”
Lucinda’s shot up an eyebrow in disbelief. “Oh, really?”
“Look, Lieutenant, I have to distance the school district from this crime.”
Lucinda laughed. “Mr. Irving, the crime happened in your building. The list of possible suspects includes every one of your employees.”
“I know. I know. But I have a board to answer to, too.”
“Okay, Superintendent. Let’s get down to basics. Can you think of anyone who’d want Shari Fleming dead?”
“No. She was idolized. The social workers she hired to work at each school acted like they were working for Mother Teresa. The teachers and administrative staff think she walks on water. The parents of our at-risk students treat her like she’s omnipotent.”
“But you, Superintendent? You don’t seem to share their unqualified adoration of Ms. Fleming.”
“Listen, she was fabulous. She was dedicated. She really cared about our at-risk students. But like I said, she worked too hard. She was supposed to be an administrator and quite frankly, she was too hands-on. I tried to counsel her to focus on her job, which in some ways is just like mine; but she always wanted to get involved with the work in each of the schools, with parents in the schools. She instituted a number of remarkably successful programs, but she could have turned over some of the responsibility to staff once she got them up and running.”
“Like what, Superintendent?”
“Well, she set up an annual field trip with the kindergarten classes. She’d take these little at-risk guys and as many parents as she could cajole into attending to an area college or university and give them a tour. It was the first time a lot of these parents – many of them high school drop-outs – ever considered the possibility of college for their children. Over the years, many students, who might never have graduated from high school, went on to four-year schools. She credits the parents’ involvement from an early age. She says that’s the key to every child’s success.”
“You doubt that?”
“I think it’s one of the keys.”
“Okay. Did you ever have any other problems with her?”
“When she was in the office, she had a constant stream of parents before, during and after office hours.”
“Aren’t you all here to serve the community, Superintendent?”
“Yes, but it’s usually handled on the school level. People who work here go to the schools to meet with the parents. With the exception of the ones coming to see Shari, they rarely come here except for when the school board meets each month.”
“She’d let parents in here after hours when no one else was in the building? She had her own key?”
“Yes, to both questions.”
“Are there any parents who might hold a grudge against her? Who might be dissatisfied?”
“I know where you’re going with that, Lieutenant. But I can’t say that I’ve heard of anyone. I could ask her staff. They might know of someone.”
“You do that, Superintendent. That’s all for now.”
“Can I go down to my office and get to work?” Irving asked.
“Oh no, sir. You just go back to the meeting room. We may need to talk to you again.”
Irving opened his mouth to object, shook his head and walked away. Before Lucinda could return to the room to fetch another interview subject, her cell phone rang.
“Lieutenant, we found Conrad Fleming’s car.”
Seven
Ted stepped into the doorway of the conference and asked, “Is the Human Resources Director present?”
A woman in a red suit exhaled a long “yes” as she uncrossed her legs and rose to her feet. Placing one hand on her hip and tilting back her head, she added, “I’m all yours, Officer.”
“That’s Sergeant Branson, ma’am. And your name?”
“Monica,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
Ted scrawled on a pad of paper as he asked, “Last name?”
“Theismann,” she answered with a strong emphasis on the first syllable.
“Come with me, please,” Ted said, stepping back into the hall. Although totally aware of her slow walk and swaying hips, Ted gave no outward indication that he was paying any attention to her at all. He led her down to another room and stood by the door. “After you,” he said.
Monica walked past him, making sure she brushed against his body as she did. She smiled up at him but he ignored that, too.
“Please have a seat over at that table,” he said, gesturing to the middle of the room.
Monica took her time settling into the chair. Ted remained patient and seemingly oblivious until she was still.
First, he established Monica’s claim that she knew nothing about what had happened in the building the night before or even what was going on right now. Then Ted took her a step forward. “If I were to tell you that someone was murdered in this building last night, what would come to your mind?”
“Mmmm?” Monica hummed and looked upward, swinging a fo
ot back and forward in the air.
Ted was surprised by her lack of emotional reaction to the news of a homicide in the place where she worked. He folded his arms across his chest as he studied her for any other suspicious reactions.
Suddenly, she looked straight at him and winked. “I think I know what happened,” she said with a coquettish grin.
Good grief, is she flirting with me? Ted struggled to maintain the passive expression on his face to hide his shock from her. “Ms. Theismann, what do you know?”
“Well,” she simpered, “I don’t know know.” She uncrossed her legs and placed an elbow on one knee and tapped a bright red fingernail against her lips. “But based on who was not in the meeting room and the logical process of elimination, I’d say someone killed Shari Fleming.” She beamed at him as if awaiting a pat on the head.
At first Ted was too stunned to respond. How did she know? Did she kill her? This silly, vain woman? But maybe her behavior is all an act – an act designed to divert suspicion away from her. If it is, it’s not working.
Monica continued to smile at Ted. She titled her said to one said, raised an eyebrow and asked, “Well, Officer, am I right?”
“What makes you think Ms. Fleming is the victim, Ms. Theismann?”
“So you’re not going to answer my question. I could assume that your silence means I’m right.”
Ted looked at her with a blank expression and waited for her to continue.
“Well,” she said, brushing her skirt smooth with two manicured hands. “Of all the people not in the room down the hall, Shari Fleming is the only one I know who is engaging in risky behavior.”
“What do you mean by ‘risky behavior,’ Ms. Theismann?”
“Monica, Sergeant. Please call me Monica.”
“Please answer the question, Ms. Theismann.”
She rolled her eyes and tutted. “Very well, Ms. Fleming was engaged in an extramarital affair.”
“An affair?” Ted echoed. “Are you sure about that?”
“Oh, definitely. I suspect she was killed by her husband, or her lover or her lover’s wife.”
“Just who do you allege is her lover?” Ted asked.
Punish the Deed (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Page 3
