Murder of a Cranky Catnapper

by Denise Swanson

  “So she seems.” Wally tapped his chin. “Maybe once the tech processes the garage, we’ll have more of an idea what set Belle off.”

  “In the meantime”—Skye gestured toward the woman standing at the barricade—“we really need to talk to Mrs. Lynch. It’s cruel making her wait any longer. She looks like she’s ready to faint.”

  “What are we going to do with Belle?” Wally asked. “It’s too warm to lock her in the squad car and I don’t want to bring her inside the house because any trace she leaves might contaminate forensic evidence of her previous presence in Lynch’s place.”

  “I’ll just hold her.” Skye shrugged. “Palmer’s girlfriend told me that his mother bred prize-winning German shepherds, so she must be an animal lover.”

  “Who’s this girlfriend?” Wally asked as he moved the sawhorses so Skye could walk between them. “And how do you know her so well?”

  “Virginia Elders,” Skye said. “She’s a teacher.”

  Wally took out a pad and pen from his shirt pocket and made a note.

  “Mrs. Lynch,” Skye said to the woman when they reached her. “I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting.”

  “I see you tamed the cat.” Mrs. Lynch’s tears had disappeared, and she reached out to stroke Belle’s fur. “I’m shocked it was in Palmer’s garage. He doesn’t like animals. He . . . he . . .” She stuttered to a stop, took a deep breath, and asked, “What’s happened to him?”

  “I’m sorry to inform you that your son is dead,” Wally said.

  “How?” Mrs. Lynch swayed and Wally reached out to steady her. “Was it a heart attack? I warned him he was working too hard.”

  “When is the last time you saw him?” Wally ignored the woman’s question.

  “We spoke on the phone late Saturday afternoon, just before I went to five o’clock Mass.”

  “Did he tell you what his plans were for the rest of the night?” Wally asked.

  “Just the usual.” Mrs. Lynch sniffled. “He said he was going to order a pizza, watch the Cubs on television, and go to bed early.”

  “How about Sunday?”

  “Go to church, make some campaign calls about his run for school board president, and work on some bookkeeping for his stores.”

  Skye was impressed that the older woman was holding up so well, but from the way her hands were shaking and her lips quivering, she would break down any minute. Elbowing Wally, Skye directed his attention to the signs that they were about to lose Mrs. Lynch. He nodded his understanding, opened the Lincoln’s passenger door, and eased Palmer’s mother onto the seat.

  “Skye saw your son at Mass on Sunday.” Wally squatted down so that he was eye level with the woman. “Was he planning to go out for brunch with anyone or have them over to this house after that?”

  “Not that he told me.” Mrs. Lynch’s voice trembled and she blinked away the moisture filling her eyes. “He’d recently had a tiff with his lady friend and he hadn’t mentioned seeing anyone else.”

  “I work with Virginia Elders and she told me they were dating just last Monday,” Skye said, then glanced at Wally to see if it was okay if she continued. He smiled and Skye asked, “What happened?”

  “I don’t have the details.” Mrs. Lynch frowned. “Palmer said she took offense at something he said, but he was sure that she’d get over it.”

  “Virginia is pretty easygoing,” Skye said. “I wonder what upset her.”

  “Who knows?” Mrs. Lynch shrugged. “Young people are so politically correct nowadays it could be anything. Palmer had strong opinions and he wasn’t shy about sharing them with people.”

  “So I understand,” Skye murmured, stroking Belle’s soft fur.

  “Mrs. Lynch, where were you last night between eleven and one?” Wally asked.

  “I went on a senior trip to Franklin Barn Theatre. The bus left from the bank at three. Dinner was from six thirty to seven thirty and the show started at eight. Afterwards, once everyone used the restroom and such, we left for Scumble River about ten. We arrived back around one. I drove my friend Glory to her place and I walked into my house at one fifteen.” Mrs. Lynch frowned, then comprehension dawned in her eyes and she gasped, “Are you asking me if I have an alibi? Oh. My. God! Palmer was murdered?”

  With that, Mrs. Lynch burst into hysterical sobs and collapsed against the seat. Skye thrust Belle into Wally’s arms, knelt beside the open car door, and took the older woman’s hand. She let her cry, handing her the last of the tissues from her purse, which thankfully was still strapped across her chest.

  Once Mrs. Lynch’s weeping subsided, Skye said, “I can’t imagine how awful it is to lose a child, especially to violence, but we really need your help.” The older woman sniffled and nodded. “Do you have any idea who would want to harm your son? A business deal gone bad maybe?”

  “He didn’t talk about that kind of thing with me,” Mrs. Lynch said. “He always tried to protect me from the harsher truths.”

  “What about his personal life?” Wally asked, and Skye knew he was thinking about the sexual implications of how Palmer’s body was found.

  “Virginia seemed like a lovely girl.” Mrs. Lynch shrugged hopelessly. “And as I said, I’m not aware of anyone else he might have been dating.” She paused. “Although that doesn’t mean he wasn’t seeing another woman. Maybe that’s what they fought about.”

  There was an uneasy expression on Mrs. Lynch’s face, and Skye wondered if the woman knew more than she was sharing about her son’s love life. Even if that were true, this wasn’t the time to push her to reveal it.

  After several more questions, Skye could tell that Wally was wrapping up the interview. She tugged him aside and whispered, “Can I tell Mrs. Lynch about Palmer being tied up, et cetera? I think she’ll react better with it coming from me and maybe be more open regarding what she knows about her son’s sex life.”

  “I want to keep that quiet as long as possible.” Wally rubbed his cheek. “Although I’m not sure how long Dorothy will last before blabbing.”

  “From what she said to me, Dorothy is afraid of somehow being tarnished from the same brush of this scandal. I sincerely doubt she’ll tell anyone,” Skye reassured him. “And there is no way in heaven that Mrs. Lynch is going to share the information.”

  “Okay.” Wally squinted at the broken woman sitting with her head in her hands. “But first let me confirm her alibi with the bank’s Senior Club director, then warn Mrs. Lynch not to say a word about the murder.”

  “How about if I drive her home?” Skye suggested. “She’s in no shape to be behind the wheel of a car. I can tell her about Palmer then.”

  “Good idea.” Wally gave Skye a one-armed hug, then gestured to the cat he was holding. “What about Princess Honey Bluebell here?”

  “Want me to call Dr. Quillen?” Skye offered. “I’m sure he’ll be relieved she’s okay and will come right over here and get her.”

  “You do that, but don’t give him any information other than that his cat has been located. While you telephone him, I’ll go round up the crime scene tech to process her for evidence. Then I’ll contact the bank’s activity director.” Wally started toward the garage, but paused and said, “I better get the guy in the house to handle Belle. The one in the garage might still be bleeding and holding a grudge.”

  Skye dug out her cell and made the call to the vet. Ten minutes later, Dr. Quillen’s Ford E-450 pulled up behind Mrs. Lynch’s Lincoln. The white cutaway van had STANLEY COUNTY MOBILE VETERINARY CLINIC painted in blue on the side along with yellow and brown paw prints climbing up and over the roof.

  The vet burst from the vehicle and raced toward Skye. He skidded to a stop in front of her and demanded, “Where’s Belle?”

  “The tech is processing her.” Reading the worry in the vet’s face, Skye added, “She seems to be fine, but this is a crime scene.”

/>   “Wow.” Dr. Quillen seemed to look around for the first time and said, “I’m impressed. I had the impression that the officer that took my report about Belle’s catnapping wasn’t going to do much to find her.”

  “I’m not aware of what was put into place regarding that search,” Skye hedged, thinking that the vet’s assessment was probably correct. Missing animals didn’t get much attention. “Belle was discovered during another investigation.”

  Wally joined them before the vet could respond and introduced himself, then said, “The tech is almost through. We’ll bring her to you as soon as he’s finished scraping under her claws.”

  “Great.”

  Wally steered Dr. Quillen toward his van, with Skye trailing behind. “Belle has been a perfect lady since she came to Skye, but she attacked the first crime scene tech when he entered the garage. Do you have any idea why she’d act that way?”

  “She’s the most docile cat that I’ve ever worked with.” Dr. Quillen looked at Skye. “You’ve seen her with the boys in your group.”

  “Exactly.” Skye patted the vet’s arm. “That’s why her behavior seems so odd. All the guy did was walk into the garage. He didn’t threaten her in any way. He said she leaped on his head from above.”

  “The only explanation that I can think of is that she was drugged,” Dr. Quillen said. “I received a call Sunday night from a guy who claimed to have Belle and wanted me to supply him with ketamine to get her back.”

  “Did you recognize the number or the voice?” Wally demanded.

  “The ID was blocked and the voice was mechanically altered.”

  “Did you agree?” Skye asked gently. “Did you set up the exchange?”

  “I told him I needed time to get the pharmaceutical as I don’t keep much in the clinic.” Dr. Quillen winced. “I didn’t want to give him the drugs.”

  “Of course not,” Skye said sympathetically.

  The vet wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “The catnapper told me I had until Tuesday. If I didn’t give him the ketamine by then, he’d send me one of Belle’s paws. And every day after that, I’d get another piece of her.”

  CHAPTER 9

  No matter how much cats fight, there always seem to be plenty of kittens.

  —ABRAHAM LINCOLN

  Skye watched Dr. Quillen drive away with Princess Honey Bluebell. Wally had questioned him about the catnapping and the ransom call, but he had had nothing meaningful to add. After advising him that the police would want to talk to him further, Wally allowed the vet to leave.

  Since the animal clinic had been closed Sunday and Monday, Wally had expressed hope there still might be some usable evidence present and had ordered the crime scene techs to process the break-in as soon as they finished with the murder scene. Dr. Quillen had been cautioned not to touch anything until after they were finished. The vet had promised full cooperation and stated that he’d make himself available anytime that Wally needed him.

  As Dr. Quillen’s van disappeared from sight, Skye turned to Wally and asked, “So was Palmer the catnapper? Or do you think maybe the catnapper killed him and for some unknown reason put Belle in his garage to frame him for the crime?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Wally shrugged, then pointed to Mrs. Lynch. “You better drive her home. She looks as if she’s fading fast. Maybe on the ride you can ask her if she knows anything about her son taking ketamine.”

  “Yeah.” Skye rolled her eyes. “Right after I tell her about the kinky sex stuff.”

  Wally’s expression was sheepish as he said, “Reid and the crime techs are just about done here, and I’ll leave Quirk to watch over the scene.” He kissed Skye on the cheek. “I’ll pick you up at Mrs. Lynch’s in twenty minutes or so. We can grab some lunch somewhere nice while you fill me in on her reactions.”

  “Sounds good.” Skye started toward the Lincoln. “I’m starving.”

  Wally grabbed her arm. “Do you need to eat something right now?”

  “No.” Skye waved her hand. “Juniorette and I can wait a little longer.”

  Before Wally could answer, the tech that Belle had attacked came up to him and announced, “We’re finished here and the coroner is ready to remove the body. Want to take one last look to make sure we processed all the areas you’re interested in before we go?”

  “Sure.” Wally squeezed Skye’s fingers and said, “See you in a few.”

  * * *

  It had taken a bit of persuasion, and all of Skye’s counseling skills, but Mrs. Lynch had ultimately agreed that it was best if Skye drove her home. The older woman told Skye that her house was by the north bend in the river and had been built by her grandfather over a hundred and fifty years ago—before Scumble River had even officially existed.

  While Skye slowly navigated the narrow street, she examined Palmer’s mother and decided this was as good a time as any to tell her how her son had died. She wanted to have the conversation in the car so that she could control the environment, and depending on traffic, which was generally nonexistent, the ride would take less than ten minutes.

  “Mrs. Lynch,” Skye said hesitantly, “we told you that Palmer was murdered. But we didn’t explain the circumstances of his death.”

  “What do you mean?” Mrs. Lynch asked, a puzzled expression on her pale face. “I assumed he’d been killed during a home invasion.”

  “That’s certainly still a possibility.” Skye braked at the stop sign on the corner of Kinsman and Maryland Streets. “But there may be more to it than that.”

  “What do you mean?” Mrs. Lynch’s voice was heavy with dread.

  “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this”—Skye looked both ways, then eased the Lincoln across the intersection—“but your son was found nude. He was bound to his bed and wearing a blindfold.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Lynch stared out the windshield for several seconds, then said, “Will those details be released to the public?”

  “My husband is going to try to keep them quiet.” Skye wondered why Mrs. Lynch didn’t seem more shocked. “Presently only Wally, the county crime scene techs, the coroner, Dorothy, and I saw him like that.”

  “But there’s a good chance it will get out.” Mrs. Lynch’s mouth thinned. “I should have confronted Palmer when I found those magazines.”

  “What kind of magazines?” Skye asked, although she had a darn good idea.

  “Smut.” Mrs. Lynch scowled. “Naked people being tied up and . . .”

  “I get the picture,” Skye said quietly. “When did you discover them?”

  “A year or so ago.” Mrs. Lynch sighed. “He didn’t hire Dorothy until he’d been divorced awhile and I used to do his laundry and grocery shopping for him.” She quirked a brow. “He’s my only child, so I suppose I spoiled him a little bit.”

  Skye smiled her understanding, thinking of how much her own mother tried to do for her and her brother. Thinking of May’s obsessive need to be acquainted with every detail of her children’s lives, Skye figured Mrs. Lynch knew more about her son’s habits than the man thought.

  “Palmer had someone do the heavy cleaning, but while the clothes were washing, I’d tidy up.” She slid a glance at Skye then continued, “When I was dusting his bedroom, I noticed that the mattress was sitting funny on the box spring, so I shoved it over.”

  “And the magazines were there,” Skye guessed. “It’s perfectly understandable that you didn’t speak to your son about them. He was a grown man and what he did in the privacy of his own home was no one’s business but his and his partner’s.” She paused then added, “That is, as long as the relationship was consensual.”

  “Maybe that was what he and Virginia fought about,” Mrs. Lynch murmured.

  “It’s certainly something to consider,” Skye agreed, knowing Wally was undoubtedly intending to investigate that possibility.

/>   “Virginia was the first woman since my son and Felicia split up whom he dated seriously,” Mrs. Lynch offered. “And he’s been single for over a year.”

  “Why did he and his wife separate?” Skye asked. She hadn’t realized that Palmer was divorced, but at his age it made sense. It was rare to find an unattached man in his late forties who didn’t have an ex or hadn’t been widowed.

  “Irreconcilable differences was the official reason.” Mrs. Lynch shrugged. “But I suspect it was because Felicia had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. My son saw her illness as a weakness.”

  “I see.” Skye kept the disgust she felt for Palmer’s actions from her voice, then forced herself to ask, “I hate to bring this up and I can’t tell you why I’m asking, but are you aware of any reason Palmer might want to secure a large amount of ketamine?”

  “Palmer did not use drugs if that’s what you want to know.” Mrs. Lynch folded her arms and glared at Skye. “My son might have had unusual sexual preferences, but he was too much of a control freak to take any form of recreational pharmaceuticals.”

  After making that statement, Mrs. Lynch was silent except to tell Skye when to turn. Following the older woman’s directions, Skye realized that Palmer’s mother lived just to the west of Red Raggers’ territory.

  Two groups of people dwelled in an uneasy alliance along the river. There were the upstanding citizens, like Mrs. Lynch, who either had inherited the land or bought it for their retirement homes, and the others who the locals disparagingly called the Red Raggers.

  The Red Raggers was a group that consisted mostly of loosely related individuals who lived near one another on a two-mile stretch of land beside the Scumble River. Skye likened the group to a pack of wild hyenas. They were extremely loyal to their own kinfolk, but lacked the ability or desire to care about anyone else. They weren’t known for being the brightest gems in Scumble River’s crown, but they did have a talent for stumbling on, and taking advantage of, those who were even lesser jewels.