Waverly ran a finger over his upper lip. “I didn’t need it anymore; I gave up cookies.”
“It’s going to take a while to get used to.”
“I’ll manage.”
The coroner chuckled. “I didn’t mean you; I was talking about the rest of us.” He went about his job as Ray and Waverly stepped back to give him room.
Ray asked, “Can you give us the time of death, doc?”
The coroner looked over his shoulder at him. “Did you ever see the movie Caveman—Ringo Starr, Dennis Quaid and… That doesn’t matter. Anyway, the best gag came right after the opening credits. On the screen it says: One Zillion B.C. The next screen comes up and it says, October ninth. It still makes me laugh.” He turned his back to Ray and continued working. “My point is: in this case I can estimate how many days it’s been, but if you’re asking for the time, you’ve got to be joking.”
“The day will do,” Ray said.
The coroner briefly pressed his forearm to the underside of his nose. “By the state of the body, I’d say four days… give or take a day.”
Waverly did a quick backward count and nudged Ray. “Saturday, buddy. That fits our time frame.”
“Did you have any doubt?”
26
When they stepped out of the house, the fresh air was a godsend, but the odor had already lodged in Ray and Dick’s sinuses. Still, it was an improvement. They stood well within the perimeter of the yellow police tape, away from overzealous reporters and neighborhood gawkers.
“Detectives…”
Ray turned to see who was addressing them. “What is it?”
The officer gestured toward the house behind him. “There’s a woman next door, who’s anxious to talk to you.”
“About…?”
“I don’t know exactly, but she’s awfully insistent. She’s elderly—uses a walker or she’d probably have come over here herself. Name’s Harriet Dusek.”
“Okay,” Ray said. “Thanks.”
“You go ahead,” Waverly told Ray. “I’ll stay in case one of us is needed here.”
“All right. If I get something worthwhile, I’ll fill you in when I get back.”
“Fine,” Waverly told him as Ray walked away. Don’t stay too long over milk and cookies.”
As Ray ducked under the tape at the edge of the property, one reporter broke away from the others and caught up with him. Ray extended his arm, raising his palm just short of the reporter’s face.
“Not now,” Ray said.
That particular technique didn’t always work, but more discerning reporters had learned to recognize the no-nonsense tone of Ray’s voice. The reporter backed off and returned next door while Ray climbed the neighbor’s front steps and rang the bell.
The sound of movement coming from inside kept him waiting impatiently until the door finally cracked open. Harriet Dusek’s lined face poked through the narrow space. “Can I help you?”
“Ma’am, I’m Detective Schiller. I was told you had something you wanted to talk about.”
“Yes. Come in.” She gave her walker an irritated kick as she struggled to maneuver it out of his way. “Sorry. This thing’s a real pain in the keister, but I need it, otherwise it would be on the curb for tomorrow’s trash pickup.”
“It’s no problem,” Ray told her. “I can get around it.”
At a snail’s pace, she led him into the living room. Everything about the furnishings looked as old, or older, than the woman herself. Small pink patches of scalp peeked through her white hair as she carefully positioned herself on the seat of a lift chair and motored her way into a comfortable sitting position.
“Do you live alone, Mrs. Dusek?” he asked, seating himself on a flocked upholstered easy chair.
“No,” she said. “My daughter Shirley lives with me. It’s been three years now since her divorce. My grandchildren are grown and on their own. I keep telling her, ‘Shirley, you need to make a new life for yourself,’ but she insists on staying here to take care of me. I’ve told her I’m fine, but she won’t…” She stopped abruptly. “Can I get you anything to drink, Detective? Tea? Coffee? I’ve got a nice bottle of brandy in the kitchen.”
“No, thank you.” He was parched, but as frail as she looked, he didn’t want her to budge another inch. Maybe if he were dying of thirst in the middle of a desert… No, not then either, he decided.
Ray noticed the compression support hose on her legs. The top of one thick stocking was situated around the fleshiest portion of her right calf, creating a noticeable bulge above and below it, compromising her circulation.
“Is your daughter here, Mrs. Dusek?”
She turned her head and squinted through thick lenses at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “Shirley’s at work now, but she’ll be home around five—just a couple more hours.” She was off by more than double that number.
Ray wasn’t sure whether she’d misread the clock or was confused, but he was certain of one thing: the half-mast compression stocking had to be causing pain if not actual damage.
“Stew tonight—that’s what we’re having,” she told him. “Shirley cooked it up last night. It’s one of those meals that always tastes better the next day once the flavors have blended. She used more pepper than I like, but it’s all a matter of taste. I find that if you use just enough to—”
“Mrs. Dusek, excuse me, but it looks like one of your stockings needs adjusting.”
“Oh.” The old woman leaned forward and looked below the hem of her house dress at the offending support hose. “It’ll be all right, I think.”
He saw the abnormal bend of her fingers and the swollen joints and realized her lack of action probably wasn’t a matter of choice. “Could you use some help?”
Ray went to her before she could decline his offer and gave the stocking several gentle tugs. “There you go.”
“Thank you, Detective. That feels much better.” Noticeably embarrassed, she flicked her eyes in his direction and then away again, “It was an itch,” she told him. “I pushed the stocking down to get at it better and couldn’t pull the darned thing back up.”
“No problem,” Ray said, taking his seat again. “Ma’am, you wanted to tell me about something?”
She looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, yes, that’s right. I looked outside a while ago and saw all the commotion going on, and then that nice young officer came by asking questions. That’s when I remembered something I saw and decided I’d better go right to the top.”
“I’m hardly the top, ma’am,” he said, smiling, “but this case is connected to another one my partner and I are working on, so I’ll be doubly grateful for any information you can give me.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s important, but I saw something odd Friday night,” she said. “It was about nine. I was heating up some milk for myself before going to bed.” Her gaze drifted away taking her off course again. “Shirley replaced my gas stove with an electric range about a month ago. I don’t like it. It takes too long to heat up, but she was fussing about my cooking with open flames and—”
“I understand. I prefer gas myself,” he said, nudging her back on track. “You were saying you saw something.”
“Oh, that’s right, I did. I saw someone sneaking around Mrs. Dunn’s house that night.”
“Around Elena Dunn’s house… Friday night?”
“Yes.”
“When you say he was sneaking around, do you mean—”
It was her turn to interrupt. “It wasn’t a man; it was a woman. Average height. Average build.” She grinned. “I know that’s the kind of thing you detectives want to know about.” She gave him a playful wink. “Those police shows on TV… I watch them all the time.”
“That’s very good,” he told her. “Can you tell me what this woman was doing?”
“She was skulking around, going from window to window, looking inside. If it had been a man, I’d have taken him for one of those awful peepers.”
&n
bsp; “Did you get a good look at her—her face, the color of her hair, anything like that?”
“I wish I could say, but it was too dark for me to really tell.”
And probably too far away, too. “Did it look like she was trying to get inside the house?”
“Once she went around the corner, I couldn’t see what she was up to. I said to Shirley… I told her, ‘Shirley, call the police,’ but she wouldn’t do it.”
“Why’s that?”
“My daughter took a look and said it was just Ms. Dunn’s friend, Betty. Shirley claims I worry too much about every little thing.”
Ray frowned. “Betty?” There was no Betty on Dave Dunn’s list. He asked, “Mrs. Dusek are you sure your daughter said Betty, or could she have said Beatty—Rachel Beatty maybe?”
“I thought she said Betty, but I wouldn’t swear to it. My hearing lately…”
“That’s all right. I’ll check with your daughter. What’s her last name?”
“Becker.”
“Got it. Shirley Becker, Ray said. “Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?”
Her eyebrows rose, then dipped as she thought it over. “No, I think that’s all, Detective. I wish I could tell you more, but I’ll keep my eyes open.”
He thanked her and stood, motioning for her to stay put. “I’ll let myself out.” He left one of his cards on the end table beside her. “My number’s on this card. Have your daughter call me.
You take care, Mrs. Dusek. Thanks very much.”
Ray left the old woman’s house, cut across the yard, ducked under the crime scene tape and joined Waverly, who was standing outside Elena Dunn’s front door.
“You’re back,” Waverly said.
“Showing off your observational skills?”
“If you’re cracking jokes you must’ve gotten more than milk and cookies from next door. Good news or bad?”
“The neighbor saw a female creeping around the house, looking in Elena Dunn’s windows on Friday night.”
“A woman?” The surprise in Waverly’s voice was clear.
“Yeah. Mrs. Dusek says her daughter recognized the woman as a friend of Elena Dunn’s—said her name was Betty. But if Mrs. Dusek’s hearing is as questionable as her vision, I’m wondering if her daughter might’ve said Beatty, not Betty.”
“As in Rachel Beatty the photographer?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Ray said. “I’ll check it out with the daughter.” He looked toward the street and noticed the coroner’s vehicle was gone. “Did anything interesting come up while I was next door? With your mustache gone, I’ve got to relearn how to read your face.”
Waverly didn’t comment on the remark. “We may have hit the freakin’ Mother Lode. The techs located Georgia Schwartz’s and Elena Dunn’s cell phones. Both of ’em, buddy.”
“If the phones give us something to go on, I’ll bring the party favors and drinks, but I’m not ready to celebrate just yet.”
“Detective Schiller…”
Ray zeroed in on the voice. Officer Fielding had singled a man out of the crowd and escorted him inside the confines of the tape, away from prying ears. “Detective Schiller, over here.”
Together, Waverly and Ray approached Fielding and the man fidgeting beside him.
“Detectives Schiller and Waverly,” Fielding said, “this is Tom Resnick. Mr. Resnick saw something Friday night you might be interested in hearing about.”
“Great. Thanks,” Ray said. Foregoing handshakes, he dug the notepad out of his jacket and jotted down the man’s name. “What is it you saw, Mr. Resnick?”
Resnick ran a hand over the few remaining red hairs at the crown of his head. “Friday night I was in bed with my wife, just getting ready to fall asleep when a ruckus started up.”
“What kind of ruckus are you talking about?”
“There was no mistaking it. It was a car engine revving up over and over again. My wife was bitching about it. Why, I don’t know. I was the one trying to get to sleep. It seemed like it went on for a long time, but when something’s as annoying as that, it seems to go on forever, you know what I mean?”
“Right,” Ray said. “Is that it?”
“No. I heard a loud bang… like a collision. That’s when I got up to see what was going on. Before I even got to the window, there was another slam-bang. When I looked out, I couldn’t believe it. I mean, come on. Who does that sort of thing?”
Exasperated, Ray looked at him and said, “What sort of thing?”
“Some idiot parked his car right on top of this guy’s rear bumper. Chances are he was drunk when he did it, being a Friday night and all. Either that or he was just a real jackass. The guy who got pinned in was ramming the cars in front and in back of him, trying to get out.”
“About what time was this?” Ray asked.
“Between eleven and eleven-thirty, I think. That guy really lost it—banged those cars up real good… his own, too, like he must’ve been having a total meltdown.”
“Or he was desperate,” Waverly said, looking at Ray.
“You saw it happen, Mr. Resnick?” Ray asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Resnick said. “Most of it, anyway. The guy had to be a real nutcase to do that, especially to his own car—a new one at that.”
“What makes you think it was new?” Waverly asked.
Resnick unfolded his arms and tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. “Well, I’m not sure it was straight-out-of-the-showroom new, but the paper was still taped on the rear window. You know—the list of features and the price and stuff.”
“Good, that’s helpful,” Waverly said. “What make of car was it?”
Resnick slanted his lips at an odd angle. “I’m not much of a car buff. I can pick a Dodge Grand Caravan out of a line-up, but only because that’s what I drive.”
There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell, but Ray had to ask. “Did you get the license number?” He got a head shake. “What about the color?”
“Dark. Black or navy blue, I think.”
“Sedan?”
“Yeah, a four-door.” Resnick’s eyes widened. “Wait a second. I remember seeing shields when he pulled away.”
“Shields?”
“You know,” he told Ray. “The emblem—three shields inside a circle.”
Waverly jumped on it. “A Buick.”
From the look on Waverly’s face, Ray knew the same thought was tickertaping its way through his mind, too: Dunn Motors—GM, Buick, Cadillac.
Other Buick dealerships were scattered around from Chaska to Forest Lake, and there was no way to say it hadn’t been purchased even farther away, but it was something.
“Can you describe the driver?” Ray asked him.
“No. It was dark out and the car windows were tinted.”
“But it was a man,” Ray said, checking.
“It had to be. I’ve never seen a woman drive like that… not intentionally anyway.”
“Then you never actually saw the driver?” His question was answered with silence. “Mr. Resnick?”
“It must’ve been.”
Crap. Ray’s sigh seemed to come all the way from the soles of his feet. “Where were the three cars parked?”
Resnick pointed down the street. “Right across from my place—the fifth one down—the yellow house with the small porch and little second-floor balcony.”
Ray looked past the spectators in the direction Resnick had pointed, and turned to Waverly. “That puts the car only seventy-five or eighty yards away from the scene. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yeah. We just got the answer to Elena Dunn’s head start. The guy didn’t have to run far, but he practically needed a crane to get out of his parking space. That would’ve given her exactly the kind of lead she needed to get as far as she did, even with the engine damage.”
“What lead?” Resnick asked. “What are you guys talking about?”
Ray ignored his question and asked another of his own. “The
cars that pinned the driver in… Any chance you know who they belong to?”
“One is Harry Bremer’s. He lives right across the street from me.”
“And the other one?” Waverly asked.
“The one that caused the problem? I didn’t recognize it, but I don’t think it’s from around this neighborhood or it would’ve had a parking permit. It didn’t. You could ask Harry.” Resnick suggested. “He might know. By the time I got my pants and a shirt on and went out, he and the other guy were already at the curb, checking the damages. Harry was really pissed. Anyway, that’s about as much as I can tell you.”
“Thanks for coming forward, Mr. Resnick. You’ve been a lot of help,” Ray told him.
Officer Fielding stepped closer and held his cell phone in Ray’s direction. “Detective Schiller, I’ve got Mrs. Bremer on the phone, if you’d like to talk to her.”
Ray took the phone from him. “Nice going, Fielding.” He put the phone to his ear. “Mrs. Bremer, this is Detective Schiller. I’m calling about the incident that resulted in damages to your car on Friday night.” It was the last thing he said for nearly three minutes. “Yes,” he said at long last, “we’re working on it. Thank you, Mrs. Bremer.”
Waverly grinned. “Insert a dime and let ’er rip, eh? So what did you get for your money?”
Ray thanked Fielding and handed the phone back to him. “Filtering out the expletives, it boils down to this. Her husband has the car at work right now—W.P. and R.S Mars Company. Neither of them saw the driver, but she agrees it was a sedan—navy blue. The paint transfer left on their car doesn’t leave any doubt. Resnick wasn’t exaggerating about the amount of force the driver used to get the vehicles out of his way either. She told me she had a lamp in the trunk—a housewarming gift for a niece. Now it’s nothing but a gift-wrapped box full of broken glass.”
Waverly turned to Officer Fielding. “We’ll need paint scrapings from the Bremer’s car. Can you take care of it?”
“I’ll let the forensic team know,” he said.
27
The prospect of delivering death notifications tied Ray’s stomach in knots—always did. Georgia Schwartz’s ex-husband—the latest one anyway—would be the recipient of the bad news.
Web of Silence: A Ray Schiller Novel (The Ray Schiller Series Book 4) Page 17
