Women had always flocked to her brother. At thirty-two, Neil was a handsome and enthralling man. In many ways, Melody and Neil had made a good pair. Her brother was talented and charming. He was also playful and boyish. Things had changed recently. The art market had grown stale, causing Neil to experience a bout of insecurity. The typical artist, he knew nothing about money, other than how to spend it. She had a feeling that before everything was over, the Ferrari parked next to them in the garage would be history.
Carolyn was afraid for him. She didn’t like the way things were shaping up. “Did Melody know you were seeing Laurel?”
“No,” he said, tilting his head. “Why would I tell her something like that?”
Hank Sawyer and Officer Cutter entered the garage. “We need to talk to him, Carolyn,” the detective said, a solemn look on his face. “We can either do it here or at the station.”
“Give us five more minutes, Hank.” She took a deep breath. She was used to dealing with criminals. The idea that her brother might one day be a suspect in a homicide had never crossed her mind. Because of Christmas, the case would be in limbo for several days. They had to use the time to their advantage. The jilted lover would make a viable suspect, but from what Neil had said, Melody knew nothing about his relationship with Laurel.
Now that she knew he had proposed to Laurel and she’d refused him, her brother fell into the same category. The other possibility might hurt him more than being charged with murder. Laurel could have found out about Melody. That could be the reason she turned down his marriage proposal. She might have done the same thing, though, even if she hadn’t known. It was too soon in their relationship and Laurel may not have recovered from her divorce. She turned to Hank. “You have to rule out suicide.”
“It’s impossible to kill yourself, then dive into a swimming pool.”
Carolyn felt the hairs prick on the back of her neck. Stay calm, she told herself. Think rationally. “You found a syringe, right? Maybe Laurel overdosed on narcotics and someone dumped her in the pool to make it look like a drowning.”
“Depends on what’s in the syringe,” Hank told her, his eyes fixed on Neil.
He was trying to get inside Neil’s head, Carolyn realized. She’d been surprised when he hadn’t tossed both of them out rather than take a chance they might contaminate the crime scene. He’d gone even further by discussing the circumstances of a murder with a person who could turn out to be a suspect. He was shrewd and Neil was naive. Sawyer wanted to watch Neil, hear him talk, see how he responded. Two could play the same game. She needed to find out if Hank thought they had a case against her brother.
“Laurel wasn’t on drugs,” Neil said, his face flushing. “She was a schoolteacher, for Christ’s sake. Don’t ruin her reputation.”
“People aren’t always who you think they are, know what I mean?”
“What about her ex-husband?” Neil suggested. “He was a marine or something.”
“Navy,” Hank said. “He’s a lieutenant commander. Mr. Caplin said he was on a ship somewhere in the Atlantic.”
Carolyn opened her mouth to say something.
Hank cut her off. “Don’t worry, we’ll verify his whereabouts through the proper channels.”
“Neil has security cameras in every room,” she said excitedly. “You may have the murderer on tape.”
“We checked,” the detective said. “Nothing there but a vacant house.” He turned to Neil. “Was something wrong with the security system?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “The tape recorder started making this weird sound, so I turned it off.”
“How long ago?” the detective asked.
“Maybe three months.”
They returned to the house. To keep from getting in the way of the crime scene technicians, Hank told Officer Cutter to wait with Neil in the guest bedroom.
Carolyn followed Hank back to the kitchen. Through the window, she saw the coroner still bending over the body. The rain hadn’t let up and the white carpet was covered with muddy footprints. The officers were wearing raincoats with VENTURA POLICE DEPARTMENT on the back in fluorescent yellow. “I’d like to see the body,” she said. “Maybe it’s someone who resembles Laurel. It’s pretty dark out there, even with the lights on.”
Hank opened the door in the kitchen and walked outside with Carolyn. The damp, cold air caused her to shiver. “Here,” he said, removing his jacket and handing it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, tossing it over her shoulders.
Charley Young was one of the top forensic pathologists in the county. A short man in his late thirties, he had a sprinkling of gray in his hair. He peered out at her from behind thick glasses. Carolyn had worked with him on a homicide several years ago. He spoke with a slight Korean accent. “I hear this is your brother’s house. Did he know the victim?”
“Yes,” Carolyn said, staring into the face of Laurel Goodwin. Her eyes moistened. She’d seen her share of dead bodies, but most of them she didn’t know. She remembered what a pretty teenager Laurel had been, always a smile on her face, bubbly and cheerful. She wasn’t pretty now.
Other memories passed through Carolyn’s mind. She recalled waking up late one night and catching Neil and Laurel necking on the living-room sofa. Laurel didn’t get along with her parents, so she spent a lot of time at the Sullivans’ house. When she stayed for dinner, she always insisted on cleaning up the kitchen.
“It’s her,” Carolyn said, unable to avert her eyes. A large umbrella had been placed over the body. Portable lights allowed her to see the deceased woman fairly clearly. Her skin had a bluish cast and her limbs were awkwardly positioned. Her face was twisted. Carolyn wasn’t an expert, but she’d seen scores of autopsy pictures. What they referred to as a death mask was not a pleasant sight. Laurel’s soggy bra was ripped from the paramedics’ attempts to resuscitate her and the electrodes from the EKG machine were still attached to her unmoving chest. Her cotton panties had slipped down her hips, exposing a portion of her pubic hair. Even though the person who’d killed her didn’t appear to have tortured her, Laurel Goodwin did not die with dignity.
“Hank said you only found one puncture wound,” Carolyn said, turning to the coroner.
“When I get the body to the lab,” Charley Young told her, “I may find more puncture wounds. See this contusion on her forehead? I suspect she may have fallen forward onto a solid surface, perhaps a table of some sort. She could have passed out after the contents of the syringe entered her body, or the assailant may have knocked her unconscious prior to the injection.”
Carolyn returned to the house while the detective lingered. The killer could be Neil’s rich girlfriend. She asked the officer to give them some privacy and sat down on the bed across from her brother in the guest bedroom. “Did Melody have a key?”
“No,” Neil said. “No one has a key but you and Addy.”
Since Melody had spent time there, Carolyn knew she could have taken Neil’s keys and made a duplicate while he was either sleeping or engrossed in his painting. She didn’t ask about the security code, as anyone who came in and out with her brother could have seen which numbers he punched into the alarm pad.
The fact that Laurel was a teacher didn’t mean she lived a pristine life. And Neil had only recently started seeing her again. They would have to rule out the chance that her ex-husband or a former lover might have found out about Neil and had become enraged enough to kill her, then staged it so it looked as if her brother was responsible.
At the moment, they didn’t even know what type of drug had been ingested, or whether it was the cause of death. For all they knew, Laurel could have had blood drawn for medical reasons.
When Hank stepped back into the room, Carolyn told Neil to give him Melody’s phone number and address, as well as inform him that he’d been with her for most of the afternoon and evening.
“How many times did you go in the pool today?”
“Only once,” Neil said, a blank look on his
face.
“And you were wearing your jockey shorts, right? You were in bed when you saw the object floating in the pool.”
“Yeah,” he answered. “I told you all that before. What’s the problem?”
Carolyn stopped the detective before he asked more questions. He was fishing, but she didn’t know why Neil’s clothing was an issue. Regardless, it was time to shut him down. “I’m sorry, Hank,” she said. “You’ll have to question Neil in the presence of an attorney.”
He was quiet for some time. She could tell that he wasn’t prepared to make an arrest. She understood his position. He needed information. Refusing to cooperate with the police was also viewed as a sign of guilt. Carolyn recognized several reporters waiting on the front lawn behind the evidence tape.
“Excuse us,” Hank said, guiding Carolyn into the bathroom, then kicking the door shut behind him. “We had another homicide this afternoon…three blocks away.”
“Christ, Hank,” Carolyn exclaimed, “why didn’t you tell me?”
“I haven’t exactly had time,” he tossed back. “Besides, we’re trying to keep the press at bay for as long as possible. Don’t repeat anything I tell you, understand?” He paused, then said, “There’s a strong chance the two murders are related.”
Her jaw thrust forward. She started to yell at him again, but she didn’t want Neil to overhear. “Then why are you treating my brother like a suspect?”
The detective shook his head, refusing to answer.
Carolyn erupted, stomping her feet like a child. “Don’t you dare pull that shit on me. You may have a serial killer on your hands. Why put Neil through the wringer? He might have information that could help you put these two cases together. Besides, I thought we were friends. Do you think I’d treat you like this if your brother found his girlfriend dead in his swimming pool? Neil is distraught enough as it is. Level with me, damn it.”
Hank turned to the sink and splashed water on his face. “You think I’m not under stress,” he told her. “Raphael Moreno killed seven people last month. Now I’ve got two homicides in one day.”
“That’s not the point,” Carolyn said, closing the lid on the toilet and sitting down. It was hard to think when she was surrounded by her brother’s Fendi cologne, a rich mixture of leather, citrus, and musk. She knew it well since she’d bought him a bottle for his birthday. They were in the guest bathroom near the garage. Neil probably stopped in here to check his appearance before he went out. She stared at the gold fixtures, the lion’s head ornament on the spigot. His talent had provided him with a rich life, far better than hers when it came to material possessions. She’d never begrudged him his success, though, and he had always been generous. “Maybe I’ll forget about the attorney if you tell me what’s going on,” she said. “I’m not trying to conceal anything, Hank. I just don’t want my brother railroaded for a crime he didn’t commit.”
“I won’t deny the cases have similarities,” Hank told her, wiping his hands on a brown-and-gold-striped towel. He braced himself against the wall, focused at a spot over Carolyn’s head, then began an unemotional recitation of the facts. “The other victim was named Suzanne Porter. We think she may have died from a lethal injection. Charley said there was no other apparent cause of death. Few contusions on her forehead, but not as severe as what we found on Laurel Goodwin. The murders occurred in the same geographical area. Both women were found in their bras and panties. The crime scenes were wiped clean, no evidence whatsoever. This isn’t your garden-variety killer. He’s ritualistic, methodical, and neat. There was no indication either of the victims was raped. Odd, considering the suggestive clothing. Mary Stevens thinks he may have had them model for him before he killed them.”
“I was right, then,” Carolyn said, flicking the ends of her fingernails. “There is a possibility it’s a serial killer. Jesus, Hank, at the rate this maniac’s going, he could kill five more women by tomorrow morning. You need to warn people, get help from other agencies.”
“This is one of the reasons I didn’t tell you sooner,” he said, sucking in a deep breath. “We can’t jump the gun and throw the city into a panic right before Christmas. The chief wants us to keep a lid on this until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. It may not be the same killer. Don’t you see? We’re looking for similarities. All murders are similar in one way or the other.”
“What doesn’t make sense,” Carolyn said, “is why the killer left a syringe in Neil’s bathroom.”
“You know what frightens me the most?”
A muscle in Carolyn’s face twitched.
“I feel like I’m in the murderer’s house,” Hank continued. “Both the victims could have stepped out of one of your brother’s paintings. Same bone structure, same body conformation. This house is too neat, too sterile. It reminds me of an operating room. It’s awfully strange that your brother claims he knew nothing about the syringe. Murderer or not, he had to have seen it. Doesn’t he brush his teeth before he goes to bed? Doesn’t he take a piss? Our guys claim the prints on the syringe appear to be the same as all the other prints we’ve lifted in here.” He stopped and locked eyes with her. “For all we know, your brother killed both of these women.”
“There’s got to be an explanation,” she said, feeling herself trembling. “He has a housekeeper. Being neat doesn’t mean you’re a murderer.”
“This isn’t merely the work of a housekeeper,” he insisted. “Even his studio gives me the creeps. Tubes of paints are lined up perfectly. Brushes are sorted as to size. The maid only comes in one day a week. Your brother showers and dresses on her off days, doesn’t he? Why aren’t there any towels on the floor, coffee cups in the sink, newspapers and mail thrown around? Don’t bullshit me, Carolyn. You know he’s a perfectionist and so was the murderer in these two crimes.”
Neil had a touch of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Today, Carolyn thought, they had a fancy name for everything. In the past, her brother’s tidiness would have been viewed as an attribute instead of an illness. So what if he liked things in order? Because of her children, her house was always a disaster. This could be one of the reasons why Neil had never married. Her father had been the same way. Once, she left a speck of ice cream on the kitchen counter and when her father came home and saw it, he flew into a rage and tossed all the silverware on the floor.
There were far more serious things that could come out about Neil. Could she keep the police from finding out? Not if they pursued him for the deaths of two women. The room seemed to be closing in on her. When she tried to swallow, she felt like something was lodged in her throat. “I—I need air.”
Hank placed his hands on her shoulder and turned her around. “When something goes wrong with a perfectionist, they come unglued. That’s what happened with your brother. He tried to control it, but he couldn’t. After he killed her, he went into a meltdown and started making mistakes. Even if he was a heroin addict, a guy this neat would have never left a syringe in his bathroom sink.”
“Let me go, Hank,” she said, pulling away from him. “The murderer left the syringe and that’s not my brother. You’ll know when the lab report comes back. Neil never touched it.”
“He lied to us, Carolyn.”
She placed a hand over her chest, slumping against the bathroom door, feeling as if he had slugged her. “What…what do you mean?”
“He told us he’d only been in the pool one time that day. You were there when I asked him. He was wearing a pair of jockey shorts when the security guard got here. We found a complete set of clothing in the laundry room, all of it soaking wet. And don’t tell me he washed them. We’re talking a silk shirt and expensive slacks. They were tied up inside a garbage bag. He must have intended to get rid of them, then forgot. When he set off the alarm, he messed up his plan. Maybe he was going to put the wet clothes in the trunk of his car with the body. After he set off the alarm, he decided to dump Goodwin in the pool.”
“This is insane,” Carolyn said, shaking her
head in disbelief. “When you set off the alarm, the company calls you before they send someone out. All Neil had to do was give them the password.”
“How would he explain the alarm going off? He knew we’d contact the alarm company. There’s a dead body floating in his pool and he calmly tells the alarm company that everything is okay. They keep recordings of those calls.”
“You’re grasping at straws!” she shouted. “I told you to stop, Hank.”
“He didn’t call the paramedics, Carolyn; the security guard did. He could have killed Goodwin earlier in the day, either before or after he killed the Porter woman. Then he thought he could dump her in the pool and make it look like a suicide.”
“As to the clothes,” Carolyn said, ignoring his suppositions, “he was out in the rain. My clothes are wet, too. Just because you found some wet clothes doesn’t mean Neil lied.”
Hank reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Then he slipped off one of his shoes. Handing them both to her, he continued speaking. “I’ve been walking around in the rain all night. Is my wallet wet? Are my shoes ruined? We found your brother’s wallet in the bathroom, only a few feet from the syringe. We also found a pair of fancy leather shoes that look like they’ve been in the washing machine. Leather is a fairly good water repellent.”
“Why is this important?” Carolyn and the detective were face-to-face. His breath reeked of garlic. She felt nauseous. Knowing Hank, he was mad that he’d allowed her to speak with the coroner, now that she was preventing him from questioning her brother. He wouldn’t let her leave until he planted seeds of doubt. Sadly, he’d already accomplished his goal.
“Your brother could have injected Goodwin, then struggled with her, causing them both to fall into the pool. Afterward, he went to the bathroom, where he neatly laid out his wallet to dry, then accidentally knocked the syringe into the sink. He stripped off his wet clothes, placed them in a plastic bag, then went outside in his jockey shorts. He might have thought it was too risky to dispose of the body. Besides, how could he get rid of Suzanne Porter’s remains? Two bodies is one too many, especially in an eight-hour period. So he intentionally set off the alarm, knowing the company would dispatch an officer. Now he’d have a witness who saw him sobbing over the body, and we’d assume a maniac was running loose in the neighborhood killing women.”
Sullivan’s Justice Page 9
