He pulled me in close and wrapped his arms around me. “I hate to see you like this. Do you want to go home?”
I shook my head as a sense of resolve started to build up inside me.
David stared deep into my eyes. A curious expression then came to his face. “Sabrina, what’s on your mind now?”
I scrunched my nose. “Did Kaitlin Anderson seem like she was hiding anything?”
“Now that you mention it, both Julie Lambert and Kaitlin Anderson were really tense.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way.”
“Sabrina, are you sure you want to talk about the case right now?”
“It’s not that I want to. I just can’t get this case off of my mind,” I said.
“I certainly understand that.”
“You know, when the police came and talked to me after my sister disappeared, I volunteered all the information I had. I was as open as could be with them. I just wanted the truth to come out. It’s never like that with the people we interview.”
“There’s one key difference between you and everyone we interview.”
“What’s that?”
“When the police talked to you after your sister’s disappearance, you didn’t have anything to hide.”
“Are you telling me that you think Julie and Kaitlin are hiding things from us?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t have an answer for you on that one yet, but I wouldn’t rule it out. I’ll say this, if they are hiding things from us, we’ll figure it out.”
My eyebrows arched. “We’ll?”
“Yes. As in, you and me. Unless you’re not feeling up to investigating this case.”
“No, I am.”
“Good. Now, I think Clarissa’s husband should be the next person we talk to. Are you ready to head out?” David asked.
I shook my head. “Not quite yet.”
“Are you still rattled?”
“No. I just want to take a moment to acknowledge something.”
“Sabrina, there’s a lot of work to do.”
“I know that,” I said. “At the same time, this is a pretty big moment. After all, you’ve never asked me to investigate a case with you.”
“I didn’t ask you to investigate. I just assumed you were going to search for Clarissa’s killer, regardless of whether I was okay with it or not. Am I right?”
I was coy with him. “Well, you’re not wrong.”
“Exactly. Given those circumstances, I’d rather have you by my side than throwing yourself into danger all alone.”
I folded my arms. “So that’s what this is about? You wanting to protect me?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I would prefer it if you would sit this one out and just leave the investigating to me, but since I know you won’t, I figure it’s a waste of time arguing with you.”
“So your decision has nothing to do with the fact that I’m pretty good at this whole sleuthing thing?”
“Sabrina, why are you making such a big deal of this? You know you have really good instincts.”
“Yes, I know that. But I just wanted to hear you say it. A little appreciation goes a long way.”
“Trust me, I appreciate all the good work you have done on previous cases,” he said. “I would also appreciate it if we could get to work on this case.”
“Sure thing, partner. Let’s do this,” I said.
He held his pointer finger out. “Let me just clarify something. You’re not my partner.”
“I hope you’re not planning on calling me your sidekick. Because let me tell you something, I am no one’s sidekick.”
“Calm down. You’re not my partner or my sidekick. If anyone asks, you’re an independent consultant who is assisting me with this case. Got it?”
I nodded.
“Good,” David said. “Now, let’s get to work.”
Chapter Eighteen
David and I ended up making a short, but very productive stop at Jimmy Schulz’s place. The rotund thirty-two-year-old dishwasher had worked the closing shift at the restaurant with Kaitlin Anderson the night before. I fully expected the conversation with Jimmy to be littered with half-truths and an excessive amount of secrecy. Instead, I ended up completely surprised.
Not only did Jimmy have an alibi for the time of the murder, but four different people were able to confirm that he had been at Paulie’s Sports Bar at the time of the murder. With great relief, David and I were able to cross one of the potential suspects off of our list.
I wondered if Ted Anderson would have a rock-solid alibi as well. In a strange twist of geographic happenstance, the route from Jimmy’s house to Ted’s took David and I past Ted’s recently shuttered print shop. Ted had held on as long as he could, but in the digital age, running a business that revolved around photocopies, stationary, and other various printed products was more difficult than ever. Especially in a town like Treasure Cove where there wasn’t exactly an endlessly hungry customer base.
After driving by the shuttered print shop, David and I headed over to Ted’s light-blue Victorian-style house on Colfax Road. There was a shade-bearing maple tree in the front yard, which kept the temperature nice and cool during the summer months.
Much to my delight, Ted Anderson opened his front door after the first round of knocks. He was a tall, gray-haired, pot-bellied, fifty-eight-year-old man. His beer belly and head of gray hair were both new and, undoubtedly, unwelcome additions. Although, after wrestling with the stress of failing to keep his business open, I was not surprised by the changes in his appearance.
Ted did not seem surprised to see us. I had a feeling that was because his daughter had called him immediately after we finished speaking with her. There was a slight chance that I was wrong, but my instincts were telling me that I was spot-on.
One thing was perfectly clear—Ted was an emotional wreck. Ted had already cracked into a beer as he answered the door. When he invited David and me inside his living room, I saw a number of empty cans on his coffee table. That made me wonder if the beer in his hand was his first of the day or his fifth. Regardless, the fact that he was drinking at eleven in the morning was pretty telling.
Ted plopped down on his sofa and took a sip of his drink. “I can’t believe Clarissa’s gone.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” David said.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do without her,” Ted replied.
“I wish I had a good answer for that,” David said.
“Do you have any answers?”
“I’m sorry, but grief counseling is not my area of expertise.”
Ted shook his head. “I was talking about your investigation. Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
“I was just about to ask you that same question,” David replied.
Ted’s eyes widened. “Me? Why? I didn’t do anything.”
David stared him down. “I never said you did.”
“Then why do you think I would have an idea about who did this?”
“Because you were her husband—”
Ted cut David off. “Oh no you don’t.”
David’s eyebrows knitted. “Mr. Anderson, I’m not sure why you’re so worked up—”
“Because I know where you’re going with this. When something like this happens, the police always go after the spouse,” Ted said.
“Ted, I’m not going after you. I just want to ask you a few questions.”
Ted held his pointer finger out. “That’s what you said to my daughter, too. Then it turned into an inquisition.”
David’s eyes widened.
“That’s right. Kaitlin told me how you browbeat her,” Ted said.
“We did no such thing.”
“You should be ashamed of yourselves. Kaitlin is traumatized by what happened to Clarissa. So am I. That’s why I’m not going to let you take advantage of my raw emotional state.”
I squinted at Ted. “You are awfully defensive.”
“Y
ou’d be too if you were accused—”
“We didn’t accuse you of anything,” David said.
“Oh yeah? Then why did you ask me if I knew who killed my wife?” Ted replied.
“I just figured that as her husband, no one knew Clarissa better than you,” David said.
Ted backed off. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”
A look of embarrassment came to Ted’s face as he grew quiet.
David brought a quick end to the silence in the room. “Was your wife having problems with anyone? Or did she have any enemies that you knew about?”
“Uh, yeah, actually.”
“Who?”
“Well, there was Felix Martin.”
“We know about him.”
“And Wade Becker.”
“How about anyone in Clarissa’s personal life?”
Ted shook his head. “No. Not that I can think of.”
David took a deep breath. “All right. Now back to you for a second.”
Ted’s face filled with outrage. “What do you mean, back to me? I already told you I didn’t do anything.”
David became visibly frustrated. “Mr. Anderson, I just need to ask you a few routine questions. The quicker you answer them, the faster we’ll be out of your hair.”
Ted hemmed and hawed, then let out a groan. “Fine. Make it quick.”
“Where were you last night?”
Ted folded his arms. “Last night? You mean when my wife was killed? What happened to you not accusing me of anything?”
David shot him a glare. “Mr. Anderson, if I accuse you of something, you’ll know. I just want to know where you were last night. Now will you please answer the question?”
“I was here.”
“All night?”
“Yes.”
“Now we have a problem.”
“Why is that?”
I spoke up. “Because I spotted you having a heated argument with your wife outside the restaurant a few hours before the murder.”
Ted was as tense as could be as he replied, “I wouldn’t call it heated.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What would you call it?”
“We just had a little disagreement. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“What was this disagreement about?” I asked.
“It’s not even worth repeating.”
David gave him a stern look. “We’ll be the judge of that.”
“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal of this,” Ted said. “Clarissa and I had a little argument then made up right afterward.”
“Stop stalling and answer the question. What did you argue about?” David asked.
Ted became outraged. “This is ridiculous. You’re wasting your time going after me. Max Cooper is the man you should be talking to right now.”
“Why is that?” David asked.
Ted blurted out a confession. “Because he was having an affair with Clarissa.”
My eyebrows arched. “Is that what you were arguing with your wife about last night? The fact that she was cheating on you.”
Ted took the conversation in a different direction. “I didn’t kill Clarissa.”
“That isn’t what I asked. Why don’t you answer my question?” I asked.
“Because the only thing that matters is that I didn’t kill my wife.”
“Prove it,” David said.
Ted threw his arms out. “How do you expect me to do that?”
“By telling us where you really were between eleven and midnight last night?” David asked.
“I was here,” Ted replied.
“Is there anyone who can verify that?”
“I just told you I was here.”
“Why should we believe you?” I asked.
David piggybacked on my question. “After all, when I asked you if you knew of anyone who might have wanted your wife dead, you didn’t mention Max’s name. Why not?”
Ted looked down at the ground, but didn’t answer.
“It’s because you were afraid of implicating yourself, isn’t it?” I asked.
“That’s insane,” Ted snapped.
“Is it? You desperately want to point the finger of blame at Max, but by admitting that you knew your wife was having an affair, it proves that you had a pretty killer motive of your own for wanting your wife dead,” I said.
Ted shook his head vehemently. “No. You’re twisting things around.”
“Feel free to clarify them, then. I’m all ears,” I said.
He exploded. “I’m not going to sit here and let you accuse me of murder.”
“Give us a good reason to believe you and we will. The problem is, your story keeps changing. Why don’t you try telling us the truth?” David asked.
Ted groaned. “Fine. I went to the restaurant last night to confront Clarissa about her affair. We had a brief argument, then I went home and stayed home for the rest of the night.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s the truth.”
“Only you don’t have anyone who can verify that.”
Ted erupted. “That’s it. We’re done here.”
David waggled his pointer finger back and forth. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“That’s what you say,” Ted replied. “You can keep trying to intimidate me if you want, but I know you don’t have enough to arrest me.”
“What makes you so sure?” David said.
“Because if you did, you’d be slapping your handcuffs on me right now,” Ted said. “Now, since you don’t have enough to charge me with anything, I’m not saying another word to you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Unfortunately, Ted was true to his word. The interview hit an abrupt stalemate that David was unable to break through. Once David realized that there was no use pressing on, he brought the interview to an end.
The detective was visibly frustrated as he and I walked back to his car. I could relate. It was clear to both of us that Ted hadn’t told us the entire story. The problem was, neither David nor his police badge could force Ted to talk.
In addition, if investigating previous cases had taught me anything, it was that suspicious behavior did not mean that a suspect was necessarily guilty. And even if they were, evidence was essential in detaining a suspect, much less convicting one. So even though Ted looked awfully suspicious, there was no evidence to tie him to the murder.
Reluctantly, David and I moved on to question the next suspect on our list. The good news was that we had a pretty substantial lead to work with.
Max Cooper lived on the south end of Treasure Cove, which sometimes felt like a whole different town entirely. The majority of the houses in town were Victorian-style. While there were a few bungalows and ranch-style houses, it was odd to go down a residential street and not see at least a few Victorian homes.
All that changed when you entered the south end of town. In a drastic break from the architectural norm, from Elm Street all the way to Greeley Way, almost all of the houses were Spanish-style. A large swath of these houses had been built in the last five years—most of them by noted residential real estate bigwig Tom Dillon.
When the plans for this section of housing had been announced, a number of the locals had become pretty vocal about their distaste for this new housing tract. But, as was so often the case in history, clout had a way of winning out, and Tom Dillon had plenty of that in this town. Tom ended up building the houses he wanted the way he wanted. And, despite the dissent from some of the locals, Tom had no problem finding a buyer for every one of the Spanish-style houses that he built.
Max Cooper lived in one of those houses. David turned onto Elm Street and pulled into the driveway of Max’s four-bedroom brown Spanish-style house.
It only took a few sets of knocks for Max to open his door. Unfortunately, he did not look happy to see us.
Ugh.
Interviews were hard enough when the suspect started out in a good mood. When they were unhappy from the get-go, the situation sure got unplea
sant in a hurry.
The forty-one-year-old glanced at us with a critical stare in his eyes. As I looked at him, I couldn’t help but notice how different his appearance was to Clarissa’s husband. Max had a handsome face, crystal-blue eyes, a goatee, and a lean body.
“Mr. Cooper, we need to talk to you,” David said.
Max’s forehead wrinkled. “What’s this about?”
David flashed his police badge. “Can we come in?”
Max stood his ground and shook his head. “Not unless I know what this is about.”
“We need to ask you some questions about the murder of Clarissa Anderson.”
Max’s eyes widened. “She was murdered?”
“You didn’t know?” David asked.
“No.”
“Why don’t we talk about this inside?”
Max ignored David’s request and stepped out onto his front patio, closing his front door behind him. “No. Out here is fine.”
“All right. That’s your call.”
Max squinted. “What do you want to talk to me for?”
David must have been more frustrated than I even realized. I had always known him to be very measured and deliberate with his questioning. Yet, right then, he blurted out the most incendiary detail that he had. “Because you were sleeping with Clarissa.”
That wasn’t the approach I would have gone with, but the cat was out the bag now and there was no way to put it back in.
I prepared myself for the worst, worried that the metaphorical fur was about to fly.
Max managed enough restraint not to blow his lid, but he did slather his response in disdain. “Where did you hear that from?”
“Her husband told us.”
“He did, huh?”
David nodded. “He did not speak kindly of you.”
“I don’t care what he thinks about me.”
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
Max shook his head. “No. What I have to say is this. If you’re looking for someone with a reason to want Clarissa dead, Ted is your man.”
“Is that your entire response? You’re just going to try to point the finger of blame back at Ted?”
“That’s where it belongs.”
“I’m going to reserve judgment on that,” David said.
Apple Pie With A Side Of Murder Page 7
