“Amanda! I’m driving.”
“If you girls want,” I said, “I can turn on my gazillion-watt, moldy-Dolby surround sound system and find some music you like.”
Julie laughed and said, “Ben, do you have any idea what kind of music we like? I never see you listening to any new music. I mean … do you even know any pop singers from this century?”
I pretended to be insulted. “Of course, I know pop singers! There’s Brittany Spears and Madonna and Lady Gaga and, uh … Justin, uh, Timberwolf—” The two of them roared with laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I asked. Julie was out of control, so I turned and looked back at Amanda Jane.
She rolled her eyes and grinned from ear to ear. “Dad,” she said, “you are such a dork. But I love you so much.” More hysterical laughter.
“But what’s so funny?” I repeated. They didn’t respond.
Every few minutes one of them would start growling like an animal. Then, they’d crack up. I still don’t get it.
For the next hour they took turns driving my car around the parking lot. They would have stayed all night, but we had to get back for dinner. Finally, I took the wheel, and we headed home.
We got back to the estate just in time for the girls to help set the table for dinner. Today’s gourmet special was broiled flounder filets with sage brown butter sauce, caramelized carrot risotto with mascarpone cheese, roasted asparagus and cherry tomatoes with goat cheese and balsamic vinaigrette, and a basket of freshly baked, warm homemade bread. Roberta served grilled pineapple slices with a scoop of vanilla ice cream in the middle for dessert. I started my plan to leave Maggie for Roberta.
The girls excused themselves after dinner and went upstairs while the rest of us remained at the table and finished a second bottle of sauvignon blanc. Nora, who’d been fairly quiet since Thursday, dominated the conversation by talking about old times she’d experienced with Maggie’s father. It was a welcome distraction.
The police security detail arrived on time, and Oscar and I went out to the guesthouse. It took an hour and forty-five minutes to setup and configure my new computer and install the software. It would have been quicker, but Oscar wanted up on my lap where he helped for a while before eventually falling asleep. He had his nose on the keyboard and I had to lift it every time I needed to type an a,s,z, or x.
When we returned to the main house, everyone but Maggie had retired for the night. The sofa was made up again, and she was curled up on it reading a novel. I leaned down and gently kissed her on the neck.
She looked up at me with her beautiful brown eyes as I pulled her into my arms and kissed her again. She twinkled with mischief as she reached over and turned off the light.
“Take off your clothes,” she said, “and climb in here with me … but you have to be quiet.”
CHAPTER 21
The next morning, I called my parents after breakfast and did my best to mend fences with them and the rest of the family. The conversation was tense, and it gave my dad the perfect opportunity to deliver his favorite line. “Why couldn’t you have gone into engineering like your brothers?” As usual, he droned on, “Look what you’ve done! Ya know, you used to have a level head on your shoulders, but after Christine’s death, you changed. And now you’ve put your family in danger.”
By the time I hung up, I was totally pissed off—not so much about the lecture, but because neither one of them had said anything about the success of my book. I guess my book just didn’t matter because it wasn’t about engineering.
My next task would be even less pleasant. After the family left for church, I drove back to Cary and passed 237 West Bradford Street. I scanned the area but saw no one. Fortunately, it was cold and drizzling rain. I parked my car two blocks away in a church parking lot and sat there trying to build up my courage. Finally, I put on a plastic shower cap and pulled on a black hooded sweatshirt. I flipped up the hood, got out of the car, and walked back toward the house.
My luck was still holding when I reached the house. No one was in sight, and I quickly walked up to the front door that was sealed with crime scene tape. The molding around the door was new and the lock had been replaced. But it didn’t matter. I swiftly headed around back and through the patio gate, watching where I stepped. Mrs. Lucinski’s dog had visited recently.
More luck. The lock on the back door was still the original lock. I pulled on a pair of Tyvek booties and latex gloves. I took the key from my pocket, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. Then I walked in and quickly closed the door behind me.
It was at this point I realized Pure Reason was back in the car. But I was not about to go get it. My heart was racing, and I felt slightly nauseous. It was different than the feeling I’d had at the Clancy residence—mostly because I was alone this time, and I’d once loved the victim. I don’t remember ever being so terrified of silence. My plan was simple. Look around, look for anything out of place, take photographs as quickly as possible, and then get the hell out.
The garage was mostly empty except for a garbage can, a couple of rakes and shovels, a few miscellaneous hand tools, a lawn mower, and a can of gasoline. Most of them I recognized because I’d purchased them. I assumed Jennifer’s SUV had been towed to the county impound lot. Nothing looked unusual, but I photographed the garage anyway.
I worked my way through the kitchen, living room, and laundry room before heading upstairs. This was all taking longer than expected, and I kept glancing nervously at my watch. I stopped short of the master bedroom doorway. I put my hands up to my face and rocked back and forth, deciding whether to take that last step.
Finally, I took a deep breath and walked in, totally unprepared for what was in that room. The sight was horrific! I recoiled instinctively, spun around, and collapsed against the wall outside in the hallway.
“Oh, sweet Jesus!” I said aloud. I was shaking uncontrollably. It was worse than anything I could ever have imagined. There was blood everywhere—the floor, walls, ceiling, drapes, furniture. Blood trails flowed down the glass on both windows. And I saw all of that in less than a second.
I forced myself to walk back into the bedroom. The enormity of it was overwhelming and I stopped once more.
Tears ran down my face as I sobbed. The last minutes of her life must have been horrifying beyond imagination. My nose was running, and I wiped it on my sleeve. I didn’t want to leave snot DNA in the room. My entire relationship with Jennifer replayed in my mind, and I felt terrible about the mean thoughts I’d had about her. I wanted desperately to tell her how sorry I was that things hadn’t worked out between us and—
The sound of someone behind me shocked me back into awareness. I whirled around and jumped back at the sight of the person standing in front of me. It was Netter, in a traditional Weaver stance, with his pistol aimed at me. He had an unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth, and he slowly lowered the gun.
“Tucker!” he shouted.
“Jesus Christ, John,” I screamed back. “You scared five years off my life!”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I needed to see for myself. Partly for personal reasons … but also, I wanna get this son of a bitch … I was taking photographs.”
“How’d you get in here? The place was locked up tight.”
“Came in the back door. I took Amanda Jane’s key while she was showering this morning.”
“You damned well know better than this! You can’t be here, and you’ve got thirty seconds to get the hell out!” He jerked his thumb toward the stairs. “And not a second more!”
“I need ten more minutes,” I said.
He glared at me, jaw muscles working, chewing the end of his cigar. Finally, he looked at his watch.
“Your thirty seconds starts in two minutes! And if you’re not out of here, I’ll drag your ass out in cuffs!”
I took photographs of the entire room as fast as my camera could take the next shot. Netter followed me the enti
re time, ranting and raving. “I’ve seen some stupid bastards in my time, but you take the cake! Ya know that? You take the fuckin’ cake! I could’ve shot your dumb ass a minute ago—especially wearing that stupid fuckin’ getup! Do you know I could arrest you for criminal trespass? And also obstruction of justice? No! Of course you don’t know that! And ya know why? Because you’re a stupid son of a bitch, that’s why! It would serve you right if he cut your fuckin’ head off! But you don’t really need to worry about that, do you? Because your head’s already so far up your ass you need a window in your stomach just to see where the fuck you’re goin’!”
When I’d finished taking my photos, I headed downstairs to the back door with Netter right behind me. As I flipped my hood up and reached for the doorknob, a mischievous impulse overtook me. I turned to him and said, “Elvis has left the building!”
Netter jerked the cigar from his mouth, pointed at the door, and yelled. “Elvis, my ass! Get the fuck outta here!”
CHAPTER 22
Netter’s tirade had accomplished one good thing. It had focused my attention, so I could finish my mission and get out of that godforsaken house. Before he exploded, I was crippled with emotion. Now the horror of it all came back to me and grief overwhelmed me again. I tried to shake it off, but it wasn’t working.
Poor Amanda Jane. She must have been feeling an unimaginable sense of loss. I had been obsessed with her physical safety, but not her emotional trauma. Why hadn’t I thought of that until I experienced it myself? And why didn’t I know she took violin lessons? What kind of a father was I? Now overcome with guilt, I vowed to make things right with her. I was certain she needed professional grief counseling, and it would be my top priority in the morning.
I approached a red light at Cary Parkway and stopped in the right-hand lane. Something compelled me to glance at the car to my left, and I saw two black ladies gaping at me. I self-consciously forced myself to look straight ahead, but I wanted to ask them, “What the hell are you looking at?” They drove off when the light turned green, and I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. Shit! I reached up and yanked the stupid shower cap off.
It was shortly after three o’clock when I arrived back at the estate. There were still a couple of hours before dinner, so I went to the guesthouse to begin downloading the photos I’d taken at Jennifer’s murder scene. But first I needed to install the photo editing software on my new computer.
Halfway through the installation, Maggie’s voice came over the intercom. “Ben, are you there? Agent MacKenzie is here to see you.” There was a pause. “You didn’t tell me how pretty she was.”
I pressed the button. “No need to worry, my love,” I said laughing. “I think she’s a lesbian.”
Lainie’s voice came over the intercom. “I’m standing right here, Ben.”
I winced, closed my eyes, and shook my head. “Be right there.”
Maggie, Roberta, and Lainie all looked at me sternly when I entered the main house.
I grinned and ignored them. “Let’s go out to my office,” I said to Lainie.
“C’mon, Oscar,” I called. He darted to the door, whipping his tail in excitement. “At least I’ll have one friendly face.”
When I opened the door, he took off in a mad dash—headed straight for the pool. “Watch it! Watch it!” I yelled. Too late. Sploosh! “Dammit!”
I raced to the cabana side of the guesthouse and grabbed the net. A minute later, I had fished him out and set him by the side of the pool. He blinked at me in astonishment and then vigorously hurled water all over the place. Maggie, Roberta and Lainie all stood behind me, laughing.
“Why did he do that?” Lainie asked when she finally caught her breath.
“He’s crazy,” I said, “like everything else at this house.” I looked down at him. “And now you don’t have to pee, do you? Which means you peed in the pool. That’s just great!”
“I take care of him, Mr. Ben.” Roberta picked Oscar up and said, “Come with me, pobre diablo, and I will get you dry. I think you need some warm milk too.”
Lainie and I continued to the guesthouse. “Make yourself at home,” I said. “I need to put on a dry shirt.”
She walked around surveying the entire guesthouse. “Your wife is very lovely,” she said, looking at a beautiful framed picture of Maggie.
I nodded. “Yes, she certainly is.”
“So she must be a lesbian too,” Lainie said, laughing.
“Well, she probably will be tonight.”
A few minutes later, I returned from the guesthouse master wearing a dry shirt.
Lainie raised her eyebrows. “You have clothes in the guesthouse? That’s a bad sign.”
“Yes,” I said, “Maggie and I are just two people in love.”
The software installation had completed, and I began downloading photos from my digital camera.
Lainie continued looking around and examined the books in my bookcase. “You have an excellent collection of forensic science and homicide investigation textbooks,” she said.
“Yeah, being Maggie’s husband helps pay for some things I couldn’t otherwise afford. There are more on criminal psychology coming any day now.” I showed her my order slip.
She smiled. “Ah, you got the one by DeVarsi. He’s the leader in the field.”
“Yeah, I read them for a few minutes most nights, but I can’t do it for very long. Some of it … most of it … is pretty disturbing. Especially the ones on child abuse. I don’t know how you can do the type of work you do.”
“Sometimes I wonder myself,” Lainie said. “My line of work certainly diminishes the chance for a meaningful relationship.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” she said, “with a man.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
She smiled. “So what have you learned about the Plum case?”
I leaned back in my chair. “Frankly, I haven’t learned much at all. I’ve been through the photos of the Clancy crime scene a dozen or more times, and nothing stands out. I’ve also studied my interview with Sally Briggum, and I don’t see anything there either. However, I haven’t had a chance to look at these most recent photos.”
I got up and went into the kitchen.
Lainie gestured toward my monitor. “May I?”
“Help yourself.”
She pulled up another chair and began flipping through the photos.
I came back with a chilled bottle of chardonnay and held it up. “Would you like a glass?”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said. “This is how you work? With a glass of wine?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you still on duty?” I started to turn back to the kitchen.
“Wait a minute! Bring that back,” she said. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
I pulled the cork, filled two glasses, and brought them back to the desk.
She stopped at one of the photos and studied it. “Hey, this is the Bradford crime scene. How did you get these?”
I took a sip of wine and smiled. “Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies.”
Lainie studied me with narrowed eyes. I watched curiously as she decided not to ask.
She finally changed the subject. “This computer specialist … Sputnik, or whatever the hell his name is.”
“Skelnik,” I laughed.
“Right. Anyway, he gives his report tomorrow, which will confirm you were telling the truth about being here on your computer right before Jennifer’s murder. But Mrs. Lucinski still swears she saw you in front of 237 West Bradford late Thursday afternoon. Why would she do that?”
I shook my head. “What can I say? She’s obviously confused. Or maybe she was hittin’ the sauce that afternoon. She’s been known to knock back a few since her husband died. I suppose that means there’s little chance of my getting back on the task force, right?”
“There’s absolutely no chance … even without Mrs. Lucinski’s stateme
nt. You’re just too close, Ben. But let me give you an update on this morning’s meeting.”
She sipped her wine. “This is very good, by the way. Thank you.
“Anyway, the SBI has located the bookstore where they believe Plum purchased the Bibles left at the crime scenes. It’s a quaint little place called The Durham Book Nook. According to a clerk, a tall white man purchased twelve Bibles … all King James Version, Pure Cambridge Edition. The clerk remembers it distinctly because he had to place a special order, which he doesn’t do very often.”
“That’s great! Did the store have security cameras?” I asked.
“No. It’s just a small family-owned place. Plum was wearing a dark hoodie when he placed the order on Thursday, February 26, and again when he picked it up on Tuesday, March 3. He paid cash, so there’s no credit card trail.”
“Damn!” I said. “Did we learn anything?”
Lainie shrugged. “Just that we’re looking for a tall white guy. The SBI is watching this little bookstore and other bookstores in the area. But it’s doubtful Plum would make another purchase at the same store, and he wouldn’t need to until he runs out of stock anyway.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Christ, that’s a horrific thought.”
“Has Plum made any further contact with you?” she asked.
“No, not a word. No phone calls, no email messages. But he wouldn’t know how to reach me, anyway.”
“Don’t bet on it,” she said. “He’ll probably contact you again. Maybe next week. Anyway, keep your eyes open.”
I removed two DVDs and two flash drives from my desk drawer, and set them in front of her. “I made copies of the Knudsen memorial DVD for you and Netter. I’ve also copied the photographs I took at the Clancy crime scene, Bradford Street scene, and Sacred Haven Cemetery onto these flash drives.”
Vengeance is Mine - A Benjamin Tucker Mystery Page 11
