Wolfe, She Cried

by Addison, Bliss

  “Bright enough to score a job with the government.”

  “Not hard to pass those one-and-one-make-two ground floor tests, and if you have clout, it’s even easier.”

  “Did he have any of that?”

  “His father worked as a supervisor for the department of transportation, if memory serves.”

  “That explains that.”

  “Have you checked if there were other similar murders elsewhere?”

  “Yep. Not lately and even those have different MO’s.” He stared into space. “People are going to start locking their doors, pulling shades and drawing drapes, thinking one of them is a murderer. No one will feel safe until we make an arrest.” He massaged his face. “Let’s pay a visit on those employees who put our tax dollars to good use, shall we?” His intercom buzzed. With the patience of Job, Simon answered the call. “Yes, Tallulah.”

  “Wallace O’Connell, Esquire, is here to see you.”

  “Whoop-tee-do. Have him cool his heels a minute, then send him in.” He walked to the evidence board and flipped it to its blank side. “Some lawyer is here to see me.”

  “I’ll leave you to deal with that.”

  “You’re too generous.”

  Chapter Six

  Simon propped his legs on the desk and laced his fingers behind his head, appearing totally relaxed for the attorney’s impromptu visit.

  Wallace O’Connell, a mustachioed, portly man in his late fifties entered, looking every bit the distinguished lawyer in a navy pinstriped three-piece suit, white shirt and red tie. He nodded. “Chief.” He extended his hand and introduced himself.

  “Coffee, counselor?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He settled back in the chair Evie had vacated. “Two of each in the coffee. Deborah Miller was in to see me this morning. She’s extremely agitated with you.”

  Simon nodded. “Because of what I had to ask. I understand why she would be. Questions are hard to take at a time like that.”

  “Doesn’t get any tougher.”

  Simon handed him the coffee. “I can appreciate that.”

  “She doesn’t want you to question her anymore without benefit of counsel.”

  “She have something to hide?” Simon sat and studied his coffee.

  “Nope. Didn’t like where your questions were headed.”

  “And where was that, sir?”

  O’Connell looked at him over the rim of his ‘Bookie’ glasses. “Like you suspected her.”

  Simon stared at him as solemn as a vow. “People watch too much television today, get ideas and jump to conclusions they shouldn’t. Where was she last night?”

  “At home with the kids.”

  “Will Mrs. Miller agree to a DNA test?”

  “I’d strongly oppose it.” He studied his coffee.

  “I could get —”

  “Place my client in the time and place and a judge just might issue one.”

  Simon gave him that one. “Miller was castrated.”

  “I heard.”

  “A wife who found out about her husband’s extramarital activities might do something like that.” Simon studied him for a reaction. O’Connell gave away nothing. “Did Mrs. Miller know her husband ran around on her?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she still loves her husband and because she wants to find out who did this to him as much, I suspect, as you do.” He touched the tip of his nose. “I’d know if it were an act.”

  “Did you know the Millers?”

  He took a sip of coffee. “This is good.”

  “You were saying?”

  “Represented them on their house purchase. Drew up their wills.”

  Simon studied him over the ridge of the cup. “How about Miller’s DUI. Represent him on that, did you?”

  He smiled, a smile that said he expected nothing less of the chief of police. “You’re worthy of your reputation. I did. He was one point over the legal limit.”

  “Still against the law and like saying ‘I almost didn’t kill him’. How well did you know Miller?”

  “Only as a client, and that’s privileged.”

  “Of course.”

  In the silence that followed, O’Connell ran a hand over his balding pate and stared at the board. “That your evidence write-up on the other side? Can I have a look?”

  On the one hand O’Connell gave him kudos for looking into something considered part of a thorough investigation and on the other he gave him the brain of an antelope. Weren’t lawyers damn weird? “Nope. That’s privileged. And it’s ‘may I’.”

  ***

  “Henry!” Simon waited a moment. “Tallulah, is Henry out there?”

  “He’s just coming in now. And you don’t need to raise your voice. There’s nothing wrong with my hearing.”

  “Sorry, darlin’,” he said softly. “Would you tell him I want to see him, please?”

  Two seconds later, Henry sprinted into Simon’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

  “We’ve got a little problem, Henry. I just got paid a visit from Deborah Miller’s lawyer.”

  “Deb’s lawyered-up?”

  Simon nodded. “That complicates things. You’re going to have to be my eyes and ears for the time being where she’s concerned.”

  “Yes, sir!” He stood at attention.

  “I want you to pay her a condolence visit and have a look around.”

  “W-what will I be looking for exactly?”

  “Get a look at Miller’s computer if he had one, e-mails and such, his desk—papers, memos, telephone messages. His cell phone wasn’t on him or at the office. Everyone has one these days. Maybe he left it at home yesterday. If you find it, check the directory and messages and the calls he made and received.”

  “Okay.” Henry frowned.

  “What is it, Henry?”

  “H-how am I su-supposed to d-do that, chief?”

  “It’s a bungalow. Ask to go to the bathroom and do a quick surveillance.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Don’t get caught.”

  “I-if I do?”

  “Tell her you heard a noise and investigated.”

  Henry frowned again.

  “What is it, Henry?”

  “Why don’t you ask Deb to see these things yourself?”

  “I’ll have to go through her lawyer first.” Simon ran a hand over the top of his head. “I hate dealing with lawyers.”

  “What about a subpoena or a search warrant?”

  “I don’t have probable cause for a warrant and I want to keep this amiable. Get on that right away.” Simon remembered one last detail. “Oh, and Henry, change into civvies. Remember this is a condolence visit.”

  “Yes, sir.” Henry left in a rush.

  “Evie?…Tallulah, where’s Evie?” Simon remembered to keep his voice soft. He really didn’t want to upset his dispatcher.

  “She’s on her way in.”

  He grabbed his coat and Stetson and met her in the hallway. “All set?”

  “How’d it go with the lawyer?”

  “Good.”

  She studied him a moment. “Good? You dislike lawyers.”

  “You just have to know how to talk to the white man.”

  She laughed. “What did he want?”

  “It seems Deborah Miller hired him.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Simon placed a hand on the small of her back and ushered her toward the rear exit. “Apparently, she didn’t like my questions and won’t answer any more without her lawyer present.”

  “That doesn’t sound like an innocent wife. Maybe she does have something to hide.”

  “Maybe. Doesn’t everyone know today cops look at the spouses as their first suspects?”

  Simon and Evie entered the government building and took the elevator to the fourth floor. He led the way to the receptionist. “Ralph Watson is expecting us. Chief Wolfe and Officer Madison.”

  The receptionist, who
se desk plate read Desiree Lewis, said with an outstretched hand, “Through that hall, turn left and continue to the back of the building. Mr. Watson’s office is the one to the right.”

  Simon ushered Evie ahead of him.

  Somber looking employees stood around talking in hushed voices.

  Simon held their gazes and headed toward Miller’s supervisor’s office.

  “Chief Wolfe?” Ralph Watson stood from behind his desk.

  “Yes.” Simon shook Watson’s hand and indicated to Evie. “This is Officer Madison.”

  Watson nodded, offered them a seat and settled back in his chair. “Terrible thing what happened to Doug.”

  “How long did he work here, Mr. Watson?” Simon asked.

  “I pulled his file after you called.” He flipped through pages in Miller’s employment record. “Let’s see…his first day was May 1st, 1995, so that would make it eleven years and some.”

  “Was he a good employee? Any complaints, any problems?”

  “No, none. I would know. Those employees we have problems with are the ones we remember. Douglas wasn’t one of those.”

  “What can you tell me about him?”

  “A gregarious sort, the type who wanted everyone to like him, flirty, but innocent, never caused any waves, married. Happily, I thought, but it seems that wasn’t the case. Man, you just can’t tell about some people. You think you know them, and then… castrated, my God…” He shook his head.

  It didn’t surprise Simon that word of Miller’s castration had leaked. Things had a way of slipping out. He imagined how everyone would sensationalize the murder and hypothesize the reason behind the killing. “Was he into drugs?”

  “Yesterday I would have said no, but today…”

  “Did he have any enemies that you know of? Did he gamble?”

  “Not that I’m aware.”

  “Did he have any romances going in the office?” Evie asked.

  Watson turned to her. “Like I said, I thought he was happily married.”

  Simon closed his note pad. “Could we talk to your staff?”

  “No problem. Follow me, and I’ll introduce you.”

  In the work pool, Watson cleared his throat. “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Chief Wolfe and Officer Madison, and they’d like to ask you a few questions about Douglas.”

  Employees emerged from their cubicles and joined their coworkers who stood in the hallway.

  Simon stepped forward. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, Douglas Miller was found murdered yesterday. Does anyone know anyone who would have reason to kill him? Did he have any enemies? Did he appear to be troubled lately?”

  Everyone shook their heads.

  Simon waited, hoping someone would speak up if they had something to say. No one did. “If you change your mind about that, let Mr. Watson know.” He took a business card from his pocket and handed it Watson. “If anyone remembers anything, give me a call.”

  “I will.” Watson turned to his employees. “Back to work.”

  “Did Miller have any friends here? Anyone he socialized with?”

  “Douglas was a likable fellow, talked to everyone and anyone, but friends…I wouldn’t say so.”

  “Uh-huh. I’d like a look at his desk.”

  “All of his files he’d been working on have been redistributed. You wouldn’t have learned anything from them anyway, they’re just government business, and the rest are personal items. Mrs. Miller is coming by later today to box them up. You can have a look at them if you’d like.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Outside on the street, Evie turned to Simon. “I’ve never seen such a clean and tidy desk.”

  “Was Miller always such a neat freak?”

  She thought about that a moment. “I think so. At least, with his appearance. Mrs. Miller’s not wasting any time.”

  “She’s not, that’s a fact. Maybe it’s nothing, but it could also mean she knows her husband had something to hide.” He watched the traffic whiz past. “We’ll check out the local watering holes tonight. Maybe Miller stopped for a nightcap before heading home. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will remember seeing him leave with someone.”

  ***

  Simon checked the time. 2:10 Where was Henry? How long did it take to pay condolences and snoop around a little? “Tallulah, would you get—” Henry swaggered into Simon’s office. “Henry, you look like a peacock in a gaggle of peahens.”

  He came to a stop in front of the desk and crossed his arms against his chest. “Just got back from Deb’s. I did like you said and asked to use the bathroom so that I could have a look around.”

  “Okay.” Simon nodded, remarking on Henry’s flawless speech.

  “Only trouble was Miller’s office was in the basement.”

  “Damn.” Simon rolled his eyes. “Now I’m going to have to call her lawyer to arrange a look at Miller’s things. Or get a warrant. I hoped it wouldn’t become necessary.”

  “No need.” Henry’s lip curved upward on one side. “I got what you wanted.”

  “How’d you manage that?” Simon’s brows arched.

  “As luck would have it, after I’d been at Deb’s for awhile, some pipes clanged in the furnace and she asked me to check it out.”

  Henry’s Cheshire grin had Simon smiling. “What did you find?”

  “I didn’t find any note saying ‘If I die from suspicious circumstances, my wife killed me because she found out I was screwing anything in a skirt’ if that’s what you mean.”

  His laugh sounded like a combination of the horse’s whinny and the grunting of the wind-down of a bray—whineee, ending in aw ah aw. In the six months Henry worked for Simon, he never heard him laugh. In fact, he thought he never did. Now that he heard it, he wished he never had.

  “What did you find?” A stash of porn, a stash of Mary Jane—”

  “Marijuana.” Which might explain Miller’s happy outlook the morning he was killed. “Anything else?” Simon asked.

  “Uh-huh. Miller left his cell phone on his desk, but there wasn’t anything of interest in it. The last number called was a pizza place and the directory had the usual numbers stored: home, work, dentist, doctor, etc. It turned out Miller had his computer password-protected.”

  “Damn.”

  “Not to worry. I got in.”

  “You did?” Henry was full of surprises today.

  “Uh-huh. He used ‘Valentino’ as his password.” Another donkey’s bray. “Valentino. Can you imagine? Comparing himself to a sex symbol. Arrogant s.o.b.”

  As much as Simon enjoyed this side of his deputy, he wanted him at home plate. He checked the time. “Henry, I have to be somewhere in five minutes.”

  “It seems Miller frequented porn sites and chat rooms.” The words rushed from Henry’s mouth. “Chat rooms where they discuss sex, sex toys and the many ways to use them. It didn’t come as much of a surprise to me, given what I know about him. He kept all his e-mails. Arrogant s.o.b. Deb could have stumbled onto them anytime.”

  “Maybe she did.”

  “She didn’t.”

  Simon recognized the depth of Henry’s faith in Deborah Miller. He hoped it wasn’t misplaced.

  Henry unzipped his jacket and pulled out several sheets of paper tucked into his waistband. “I made copies of everything.” He laid them on the desk.

  “You go, Henry.” Simon stood, walked around the desk and slapped him on the back. “Good job. Now write up a report and get cracking on getting the names and addresses of Miller’s correspondents.” He noticed a long, blond hair on Henry’s shoulder. “What’s this?”

  Henry examined the grease stains on his hands, apparently misunderstanding Simon. “I had to make it look good, chief. Explain the reason for being in the basement so long and to cover up the noise the printer made.”

  “No, not that. This.” Simon took the strand into his hand and examined it. He couldn’t be sure without seeing it through a magnifying glass, but it seemed to have follic
les.

  Henry squinted. “It must be Deb’s. Sure as hell ain’t mine.” He lifted a lock of black hair off his forehead.

  Simon bagged the strand. “Sure it’s Mrs. Miller’s?”

  “Can’t be anyone else’s.”

  “Did you fix it?”

  Henry’s brows furrowed. “Fix what?”

  “The furnace.”

  “Chief, I know dick all about those contraptions. I called a serviceman for her.”

  “Well done, Henry. Everything.” He held up the plastic bag. “And now we might have Mrs. Miller’s DNA to compare with the epithelial cells found on our victim. If the comparison comes back a positive match, we’ll make our move on her.”

  Henry turned rose red. “There’s something I forgot to tell you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Deb has an alibi. Her friend, Bridget Johnson, visited with her from seven to nine last night. I spoke with Bridget, and she confirmed it.”

  Simon threw his hands into the air. “Why in the name of Christ didn’t Mrs. Miller just tell me that!”

  Chapter Seven

  At the end of his shift the following night Simon took a drive along the coast. The water, bathed in the silhouette of the crimson hues of a setting sun, gently lapped to the sandy shore. While a walk in a park, or a stroll down a favorite lane might serve to relax some, coming here to where in an earlier century his people had lived, loved and fought never failed to put things in perspective for him. He never forgot where he came from. Perhaps that made him a stronger, better man.

  He stared at the lights on the mainland across the bay. From this view, the island seemed a misfit, like a piece of the state had broken off and drifted away. Turning onto Main Street, he pulled to the curb in front of Tony’s Tavern, a dive where his snitch, Rodney “The Roach” Adams, and lowlifes like him, hung out. He hopped from his truck, walked into the bar and looked around.

  Simon noticed Adams spotting him. With a glance toward the rear door, Adams put the pool cue in held in one hand and the beer he held in the other on the pool table. In no mood for a foot chase, Simon sprinted to him before he had a chance to make a quick exit.

  Adams held up his hands. “I’m clean, man. I swear.”