“How? She asked. “When?”
“We’re still working on those details,” Dave said. “Although we suspect he was killed during a mugging.”
“Mugging?”
“I know this is hard,” Dave said in a soft voice. “Can you tell me the last time you saw your husband?”
“Two nights ago,” she said, honestly. “He was leaving to go to our cabin.”
“Where is your cabin?”
“About thirty miles north of town,” Sarah said.
“We need to ask you to come with us,” Dave said. Sarah stiffened again. Dave didn’t notice. “To identify your husband.”
“Of course,” Sarah said, relaxing a little.
Philip brought her the water and she took it in a shaking hand. She drank, savoring the cool liquid and thinking about what would come next. She was free. With Allan gone she could sell his novel and keep the money. She could stay in the house and everything would be fine. She consciously suppressed a smile, which would be impossible to explain to the detectives. All she needed to do was identify the body and move on with her life. It was almost perfect. She did feel bad Allan had to die. As long as he was dead though, she may as well benefit from the years they spent together.
“You ready?” Dave asked. “Need to get anything?”
“Just my purse,” she said in her saddest voice; the one she used on Allan to persuade him to do something he didn’t want to do.
They waited for her at the front door and walked her to their car for the drive. She assumed they would be going to the morgue. She had never seen a morgue and was not looking forward to seeing one now. Sometimes the means to the end were very distasteful. Sometimes the end was well worth it.
They pulled into a parking lot next to a small gray windowless building. The glass doors were bright with reflected sunlight. They parked in a space reserved for police and Dave took her arm to lead her inside. She was comforted by the strong hand clasping her elbow. The detective would not let anything happen to her during the process she was about to participate in, it suggested. She had a sudden image of those strong hands holding her wrists above her head, his body pressed to hers.
“This way,” a small man behind the counter said to Philip after the detective gave Allan’s name. “Viewing room three.”
Dave and Philip flanked Sarah as they walked down a sterile looking hallway, their steps echoing as their heels struck the polished floor. Sarah was reminded of so many horror movies where the bad guy was waiting behind one of the many doors in the hall. So many doors, each exactly the same as the next. The only difference was a small plaque mounted just below the small window identifying the room beyond. On one side of the hall were names and titles; offices. On the other were only numbers. The detectives paused in front of the door marked with a ‘3’.
“This is it,” Dave said. “You okay? Need to catch your breath? Take a moment to relax?”
“No,” Sarah inhaled, held the breath a moment and let it out slow. “I’m ready as I’m ever going to be. How do you ever prepare for something like this?”
The men did not answer. They were used to viewing bodies. They still found it distasteful, although they no longer had to steel their nerves to open the door. They saw things most people never would. They saw things people never should. And a man lying beneath a sheet on a table was nowhere near the worst. Philip pulled the door open, disrupting the flow of the hall, and Dave guided Sarah through.
Inside, Sarah expected to see Allan lying on a stainless-steel table in the center of an examining room. What she saw was a small room about six feet by eight feet with a small television mounted to the wall on one side and two chairs against the wall on the other. Dave led her to one of the chairs and let her sit. He sat next to her, his hand still on her arm. There was a phone on a small table next to Dave and he picked it up.
“We’re ready,” he said into the phone. He put it down and pointed at the television. “Just watch right there.”
The screen flickered to life revealing a light blue sheet covering what could only be a person’s face. Sarah tensed. She was ready for it to be over so she could get out of this place and back home where she could make plans for her future. An arm appeared on the screen as someone reached up to withdraw the sheet from the face. Sarah sat up straight preparing herself. The sheet was pulled away. She gasped.
“That’s Mi . . .” she caught herself. The face on the screen was not Allan. It was Mike. Caught by surprise, she almost said his name. Although she had stopped, she had said enough to prove she knew who he was. If she said it was not Allan, they would start asking questions about who he was and how she knew him. And if they started tying everyone together the evidence would implicate her. She could say Allan hit him, and Allan would probably admit to it. The problem was even she could see the dark blue bruises on Mike’s neck. It was obvious he had not died from being struck in the head. She couldn’t risk it. Besides, Mike was supposed to have died in the plane crash and if they discovered he had not, they would have to investigate who had his ticket. In the end, everything would point back to her.
“Are you okay?” Dave patted her on the back, with a gentle touch that belied his strong hands.
“I’m fine,” she said. Her mind raced. “I just . . . it was . . . I’m sorry.”
“It’s understandable,” Dave said. “It isn’t every day you see a loved one this way.”
“No, it isn’t,” she agreed.
“I just need,” Dave said, “for the record, a positive identification. If you could say aloud this is your husband for the recording, you can be on your way.”
She looked up at the screen. Mike’s face filled the picture. His eyes closed. His skin pale. She nodded saying, “Yes. That is my husband. That is Allan.”
Dave picked up the phone again, “We’re done.”
The screen flickered and went black. Dave stood and opened the door, waving Sarah out. She followed his direction and stepped back into the long hallway. Philip was waiting there. The door closed and Dave nodded to his partner. Somberly, the two men flanked her and walked her back the way they had come.
“It appears your husband never made it to your cabin,” Philip said. “He was found south of the airport near an abandoned factory. We assume he was mugged and things went bad. He may have put up a fight or just didn’t react to them fast enough. Doesn’t take much these days.”
“We will be investigating,” Dave assured her. “You need to understand in cases like this it is very rare that a suspect turns up. We will try our best and follow every lead. It’s just that with random murders like this, it is almost impossible to tie the victim to the assailant.”
“You’re telling me no one will ever pay for my husband’s murder,” Sarah said.
“We’re telling you it is very unlikely we’ll find the killer,” Dave nodded. “Cases like this usually go unsolved unless a witness comes forward.”
“Wouldn’t a witness have called the police?” Sarah asked.
“Not always,” Dave said. “Sometimes they don’t want to get involved. Later they may change their minds. Other times they are involved in the crime and turn in their partners to make a deal on another charge their facing. If that happens, we’ll get him. If not, it will just depend on what forensic evidence was left behind. Don’t get your hopes up about someone paying for your husband’s death.”
“I understand,” Sarah said. And she did. She understood her husband was not dead so no one could pay for his murder. She also understood Mike’ murderer was already dead. The only one left to pay for the part she played was her. More than that she understood, although Allan was still alive, her husband was now officially dead. It was no longer a matter of deciding between staying with Allan or not. It was a matter of keeping Allan from reclaiming his life.
Chapter 11
(The Investigation)
The detectives drove Sarah back to her home in silence. Sarah sat in the back seat with her head down and her
hands clasped together in her lap as if in prayer. Philip pulled up to the curb in front of the Tuttle home where Dave offered to walk the new widow to the door. She accepted graciously and Philip watched as the two of them ascended the steps, Dave’s hand on her elbow. He waited, with the motor running, for his partner’s return.
Dave sat heavily in the passenger seat and Philip pulled away without a word. Philip drove in the general direction of the station without taking the most direct route, making numerous turns as if trying to find his way through a maze. Dave watched his partner with a furrowed brow. A block from the department, Philip turned again. Dave turned in his seat to face him.
“What’s on your mind?” Dave asked.
“I’m thinking you and Ms. Tuttle were a little too cozy,” Philip said without thought. He had obviously been waiting for Dave to ask. “I think you need to watch yourself.”
“I was not being cozy,” Dave responded. “I was being friendly. The woman just lost her husband.”
“She’s also a suspect,” Philip challenged.
“Do you really believe she’s a suspect?”
“I don’t think she killed her husband, if that’s what you mean,” Philip said. “But until we know for sure, she’s a suspect. Guilty or not, flirting with a woman whose husband was just killed is dangerous on so many levels.”
“Why are you so sure she didn’t kill him?” Dave asked, ignoring everything else his partner said.
Philip glanced at his partner. “Now you think she’s guilty?”
“Didn’t say that,” Dave said, keeping his voice steady as he would if negotiating a hostage situation. “Just wanted to know what made you so sure she didn’t do it.”
“Well,” Philip thought for a moment, “For one thing, the bruises on his neck. Her hands are too small to have caused them. And there’s the reaction she had when she saw his face. I was watching through the window in the door. She was truly surprised. If she had killed him she would have known she was going to see his face. She wasn’t expecting what she saw. She may have been acting. But what I saw seemed genuine.”
“I think that’s what bothered me,” Dave said.
“That she was surprised?”
“Not exactly,” Dave said. “We had told her he was dead. We asked her to identify him. Why, then, would she be that surprised to see him dead? Wouldn’t she be expecting to see him?”
“They all hold out hope that we got it wrong. That it won’t be their loved one on the table,” Philip said. “They are all disappointed when it is.”
“Disappointed, yes.” Dave agreed. “Emotionally shocked, even. But she was completely surprised, caught off guard. Like she was expecting to see someone else.”
“Hoping to see someone else,” Philip corrected.
“She never cried,” Dave said.
“Oh, so that’s it,” Philip said as if everything was clear as glass. “You think because she didn’t break down in front of us, she is some heartless bitch who killed her husband? Is that why you were flirting with her?”
“I was not flirting,” Dave snapped.
Philip was taken aback momentarily. Then he nodded. “I know. I know. Just being friendly.”
By the time they arrived at the station, they were discussing the evidence of the case. There was little to talk about, but they looked at each detail from several different angles. Dave checked his messages and informed his partner that the autopsy was already under way.
“I’m going to order a sandwich from the deli,” Dave said. “You want something?”
“No, I don’t want anything,” Philip said, as if offended.
“That’s right. I forgot about your autopsy thing,” Dave nodded, knowingly.
“It’s not an autopsy thing,” Philip argued. “And I doubt you forgot.”
“What would you call it, if not an autopsy thing?” Dave asked.
“I would call it normal,” Philip said. “Because normal people do not want to eat just before walking in on an autopsy.”
“Are you saying I’m not normal?”
“Hell, Dave,” Philip said, “nothing about you is normal.”
Dave contemplated for a moment, saying, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You would,” Philip said.
Dave smiled, picked up the phone and ordered his lunch. They delivered the order shortly after, the young man walking rapidly. He made change and set it on the desk in front of the detective, turned and was gone on his way to his next delivery. Dave picked up the bills, counting them as he put them back into his wallet.
“He shorted me,” Dave said.
“What?” Philip looked up.
“I’m a cop and he shorted me a buck of my change,” Dave clarified. “Can you believe that?”
Philip tried to look concerned, but was betrayed by a grin he couldn’t suppress.
“You think it’s funny?” Dave asked, taking a large bite. He watched his partner while he chewed.
“Not funny,” Philip said. “Maybe deserved.”
“Deserved?” Dave said. “What the hell does that mean?”
“You never tip them.”
“The delivery boys?”
“Yes, the delivery boys,” Philip said. “Who else?”
“Why would I tip them?” Dave frowned. “They get paid to deliver. They charge me a damn delivery charge.”
“It’s common courtesy,” Philip said. “Everyone tips them.”
Dave grunted and took another large bite. He chewed for a long time before swallowing.
“What do you think about the case?” Dave asked, pushing another bite of ham and cheese into his mouth immediately afterward.
“Well, I still don’t think the wife did it,” Philip said. “I’m not sure who did, and honestly, I don’t think we’ll ever find out. We have no motive other than robbery. We have no suspects. And we don’t know where to look for any. We don’t even know where he was killed, so we can’t canvas for suspects.”
Dave swallowed hard. “I don’t buy the robbery angle. Most muggers don’t kill their victims and dump the bodies. If something goes south and they kill someone, they run. So why hide the body? Unless they can be tied to the victim, why worry about the body being found?”
“Maybe he panicked,” Philip offered. “First time someone argues or even fights back. He hits the vic in the head to defend himself. Now he’s up to assault. But the guy saw his face and he can’t risk an assault charge. So, before he knows it he strangles the guy. Now it’s murder. His panic increases. He loads the body in his car and tries to get rid of it.”
Dave shook his head and pointed his half-eaten sandwich at the other like a weapon. “That’s exactly why I don’t buy it as a robbery.”
“Because he tried to hide the body?” Philip asked. “I just went over that.”
“No,” Dave said. “The whole mugging gone bad idea bothers me. I figured the half-empty wallet was left behind to make it look like a robbery. Why would the thief leave credit cards but take the man’s driver’s license? Why did he need the license? And another thing . . .” He took another bite and started waving a finger in the air.
“What?”
“We know the body was loaded into a car, right?”
“Yes,” Philip nodded. “We assume so.”
“You ever hear of a mugger standing next to their own car waiting for a victim?” Dave asked. “Usually they’re on the move, trying to work their way close to a target before striking.”
Philip nodded again and Dave was reminded of a bobblehead.
“He would have tried to mug the guy,” Philip followed his partners lead. “Things went bad. He killed the victim. Then he would have had to walk to wherever his car was and driven back to get the body.”
“That would be taking a huge risk,” Dave said, “returning to the scene. If you got away, would you go back to get the guy? I don’t think so. Once you get away, you stay away.”
“Maybe the location was secluded,” Philip of
fered.
“Maybe the victim knew his killer,” Dave countered. “Or at least was expecting them.”
“Which brings us back to the wife?” Philip said.
“Not necessarily,” Dave said. “It’s possible the victim and killer were doing business together of some kind. Something brought them together in the same place. Something went bad between them, maybe one was trying to cheat the other, and our vic ends up dead. At that point, if the killer can’t be tied to the victim, he would have run. But there is something that connects them, something that will tell us where to look or even who to look for. That’s why the killer hid the body.”
“For as much good as it did.”
“All we have to do is draw the connection from Tuttle to the killer,” Dave concluded. “Just need to determine who he’s been in contact with the past couple days.”
“That’s all?” Philip rolled his eyes. “That could be a hundred people.”
“They couldn’t all have motive and opportunity. I bet we can scratch off a half-dozen names without even trying,” Dave smiled, standing. “Let’s get to that autopsy.”
“Sometimes I think you actually like these things,” Philip said, rising to his feet.
“The autopsy itself I can live without,” Dave assured him. “The results are what I like. Answers will be in the findings.”
“What if they aren’t?” Philip said.
“There are always answers,” Dave grinned. “Sometimes it just takes longer to make sense of them.”
A half-hour later, Philip stood with his back against the wall of the autopsy room. The odor of decay and disinfectant lingered in the air like a fog. Together they made the younger detective’s stomach turn. Dave gave him a knowing grin from across the body where he stood next to the coroner.
“First of all,” Steve kept his eyes on the body as he spoke. “Although the blow to the head was severe,” He pointed. “and if left untended, potentially life threatening, it was not what killed him.”
“Can you tell what made the wound?” Dave asked.
“An object with a point, and three sides,” the coroner said. “Like a corner of some object.”
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