Negative Image

by Vicki Delany

  Madeline grinned and placed her elbow firmly on the paper. “Not a chance, buddy. I’ve got it now.”

  He arrived at the hotel a few minutes before eight-thirty and took the elevator to the third floor. A man answered his knock. He was well dressed, too well dressed, and put Lopez in mind of a courtroom.

  “Detective Lopez, I assume,” he said. “I am Larry Iverson, Mrs. Steiner’s attorney. Can I see some identification, please?”

  Lopez produced it, it was examined and Iverson stepped back to allow the detective into the room.

  Josie Steiner sat at a table by the window, with a glass of clear liquid at her elbow. She was ready to head for the exercise room in black workout clothes and running shoes. Her hair was tied back in a simple ponytail and her face was scrubbed clean. She looked, he thought, her age and a lot better for it.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mrs. Steiner,” he said.

  “Mrs. Steiner is of course most anxious to see the killer of her husband brought to justice,” Iverson said, indicating that Lopez could sit. The room was part of a suite, no beds but sofa and chairs arranged around a TV and coffee table. A desk stood by the window, and from the third floor they had an uninterrupted view looking out over town and across the river.

  “We apologize for the delay,” Iverson continued as Lopez sat down. “But Mrs. Steiner has not felt well enough to be interrogated.”

  Hardly an interrogation, Lopez thought, but he let it go. “Thank you.”

  “Now,” Iverson said, taking his own seat beside the woman, “What would you like to know?”

  “You mentioned you last saw your husband at around six-thirty on Monday night. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.” Josie spoke for the first time. Her voice was very low.

  “The habits of Mr. and Mrs. Steiner may seem unusual to you, Detective,” Iverson said, “but Mr. Steiner was unwell in recent months, as well as being a man of strict routine. He was a very private person, and Mrs. Steiner respected that. It was one of the reasons their marriage was so strong.” Even the lawyer looked like he couldn’t quite swallow that one.

  “That’s correct,” Josie said.

  “You didn’t go back to your husband’s room after six-thirty?”

  “I did not.”

  “What did you do for the rest of the evening?”

  “I rested in my room.”

  “Was anyone with you?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Ms. Barton, perhaps.”

  “I had little to do with Diane at any time. She was Rudy’s assistant, not mine.” Her tone was so huffy, Lopez guessed Josie had tried to get Barton running errands for her and had been strongly rebuffed.

  “That didn’t answer the question.”

  “She answered it perfectly, Detective. Mrs. Steiner was in her room for the rest of the evening. Alone. Can we continue?”

  “What did you do for dinner?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I rarely eat dinner,” she said. “And never alone.”

  Lopez remembered her telling Winters she didn’t eat breakfast. What on earth did the woman live on? He studied her face. Her eyes were a bit red and puffy, natural considering her husband had just died, but her nose wasn’t running and her pupils were a normal size. No obvious evidence of drugs.

  “What did you do?”

  She nodded toward a pile of magazines tossed on the floor. “I read, I watched T.V. I turned out the light and went to sleep about ten.”

  “Did you go for a walk?”

  “No.”

  “Your husband’s room was right next door,” Lopez said. “Did you hear anything…unusual?”

  “No.” She grabbed a tissue out of a box on the table and held it to her eyes. When it came away, he could see that she was crying. “I like the TV to be on loud,” she said. “Perhaps Rudy called out to me when…when it happened. And I did not hear.”

  Iverson got to his feet. “Mrs. Steiner would like to go to the gym now, Detective. She finds that the exercise offers her some small degree of comfort.”

  Lopez knew when he was dismissed.

  His next stop was the hotel office. He asked Peter Wagner to check room service records.

  In the eight days the Steiners had been in residence, fourteen bottles of wine, some of them costing as much as two hundred dollars each, had been delivered to Mrs. Steiner’s room. Instructions were always to leave the order outside the door, and in the morning the empties were picked up by the chambermaid.

  By the looks of it, Josie Steiner lived on alcohol. By nine o’clock on any given night she could be counted on not to notice much.

  ***

  The Smith family was shown into the waiting room beside the OR. They’d been allowed to have a few minutes with Andy before he was taken away. His color was better this morning, Molly thought. Lucky, on the other hand, looked simply dreadful. It was unlikely she’d had much sleep. Sam had arrived with their mother. He gave his baby sister a deep hug, and she was glad he’d come.

  Lucky dug into her purse for her reading glasses and a thick paperback. She sat in the chair, turning the pages, staring into space. Smith had also brought something to read, but the words couldn’t keep her attention.

  “I’m going downstairs to get a coffee,” Sam said suddenly. “Mom? Moon?”

  “Coffee would be nice,” Lucky said. Smith shook her head.

  Images of dead rats returning to life had plagued her dreams. Line after line of them goose-stepping in formation like black-booted, stiff-armed Nazi soldiers on parade. She’d woken before the alarm, feeling thick-headed and groggy and mildly sick to her stomach. She stood under the shower for a long time, and by the time she was toweling her hair dry, had decided to call Sergeant Winters after Andy’s op. Charlie Bassing had beaten up Christa Thompson because she was too kindhearted to think he was anything more than an annoyance. Molly Smith, of all people, had better not make the same mistake. Winters would know what do to. Before leaving, she opened a file on her home computer, and sent a copy to her e-mail at work. Time to start recording what was going on.

  She heard the sound of an ambulance coming up the hill. Then a police siren, followed by another ambulance.

  Sam, who had never forgiven his parents for naming him Samwise after the Lord of the Rings character, came back with two coffees and a bag of muffins. A thin newspaper was tucked under his arm. “Big happenings at the police department, Moon,” he said, handing her the paper. “Won’t they be missing you?”

  “It’ll be tough but they’ll get by.” She took the paper. “Oh. My. God.”

  Lucky and Sam looked at her. “What?”

  “This is awful. Just awful. Meredith again, of course. She needs to be taken out and shot.”

  “What? What’s happened?” Lucky repeated. Smith ignored her and read.

  So that was the sergeant’s wife. Smith had never met her, but had seen her around town without knowing who she was. She was pretty hard to miss. Even though she must be almost fifty Eliza Winters looked a lot younger, still attractive, and usually dressed in comfortable, casual clothes that said this woman had no shortage of money or taste. No wonder Winters had been so edgy yesterday. The paper said he’d been relieved of duties. That wasn’t true, he’d been hard at work when Smith left last night, but as a matter of procedure he would have been taken off the homicide. No wonder he was so intent on the B&E—it wasn’t as if he had a murder case to be involved in. Or a pleasant home to return to at the end of a hard day.

  Lucky jumped to her feet and Smith stopped reading. The doctor was standing there, in green scrubs, his surgical mask pulled down around his neck.

  “Already!” Lucky cried. “You can’t be finished already. What’s happened?” Her children each took one of her arms.

  “We’ve had to delay the procedure, Mrs. Smith,” the doctor said. “I’m very sorry. There was a major vehicle accident on the highway, involving a van taking children on a s
chool trip. There are several life-threatening injuries and we need the OR and every resource we have. I know this must be upsetting, but it can’t be helped.”

  “When?” Lucky said.

  “I’ll let you know when we can re-schedule Mr. Smith. They’ll be taking him back to his room shortly.”

  They stared at his back as he walked away.

  Lucky moaned.

  ***

  Meredith was highly pleased with herself. Her story was a sensation, and she was hopeful the bigger papers would spot it. She’d had to fight hard to get it printed. Joe Gessling was as timid as ever. He wouldn’t let her say that Mrs. Winters had been arrested, just as well as that turned out not to be true. She couldn’t say Mrs. Winters was a suspect, only that she was being questioned. Meredith had wanted the headline to mention that the woman was married to the TCP’s head detective. Something like: “Did Top Cop’s Model Wife Murder Lover?” But Joe said they weren’t a tabloid, and he wasn’t going to go anywhere near implying the police were attempting a cover-up.

  Still, despite all the changes, she was pleased with the piece. She could only wish she were a fly on the wall at the station this morning. The Chief Constable would be in such a fit, he’d start smoking without benefit of a cigarette. If they tried to get her to give up her source, she’d fight them all the way to the Supreme Court.

  That would be nice.

  She stopped daydreaming about being the nationally famous defender of press freedom as a patrol car pulled up in front of the hotel. Sergeant Madison got out, and Meredith approached him.

  “Meredith Morgenstern, Trafalgar Gazette,” she said with a bright smile. “Do you expect to be making an arrest shortly, Sergeant?”

  “I’ll be arresting you, if you don’t get out of my way,” he snarled.

  “Just doing my job. Will Eliza Winters be assisting you further?”

  “You know I’m not going to say anything about that.”

  “What are you going to say? The people of this town are naturally interested in the progress of your investigation.”

  “Chief Constable Keller will speak to the press when, and if, we have anything to say.” Madison brushed her aside and went into the hotel. Dave Evans sat behind the wheel of the patrol car. She saw him staring at her, his face set into a deep scowl. She tossed him a friendly wave. He threw the car into gear and sped away as if he were in a high speed chase.

  It would appear she wouldn’t be getting any more scoops from the dishy Constable Evans. Meredith turned around. A man and a woman watched her from the hotel steps.

  The woman was Josie Steiner, the widow, the man much older. His gray suit, red tie shot with matching gray thread, and white shirt ironed with too much starch were perfect. Too perfect for the casual town of Trafalgar where wearing socks with shoes was considered formal. Meredith checked her professional smile was in place and approached them.

  “Mrs. Steiner,” she said, “My condolences on your loss.”

  “Thank you. Everyone has been so kind. You’re with the newspaper?”

  “Meredith Morgenstern, Trafalgar Daily Gazette.”

  The man held out his hand. He was shorter than her, and she should see the top of his round bald head, surrounded by a fringe of gray hair. “I’m Larry Iverson, Mrs. Steiner’s attorney.” Meredith shook.

  “Would you care to join us for a coffee?” Josie said. “Maybe you can help us make sure my husband’s killer is brought to justice.”

  Meredith accepted quickly, suspecting Iverson was about to object.

  “She wasn’t his lover, that old bag,” Josie said, apropos of absolutely nothing. “She must be like, what, forty?”

  “Do you mean Eliza Winters?”

  “You said in the paper she killed him, but she’ll get off because she’s married to that detective. I spoke to him yesterday. If I’d known he was involved I would have walked out.”

  “That’s not what anyone is saying, Josie,” Iverson said with a heavy sigh. He sounded as if he was tired of repeating himself. “Please don’t make wild accusations.”

  “I’d love to hear all about your husband. I’ve admired his photography for a long time,” said Meredith, who had never heard of the guy until the day before yesterday. She’d been wondering how she could convince Mrs. Steiner to give her an interview, and here it was presented to her on a plate. Her luck was turning.

  Josie dabbed dry eyes with a tissue. “He will be greatly missed.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What are you doing here?” Jim Denton said. “I’ve got you down as having the day off. Is your dad’s operation over already?”

  “It never happened,” Smith said. “He got bumped for the kids from that crash up on the highway.”

  “Bad one,” the dispatcher said.

  “I couldn’t stand sitting around listening to Mom trying not to cry. I’ll need to take another day when they try again on Dad so told Al I’d come in.”

  “I’m sure he’s happy to have you. Everyone’s busy driving IHIT around.” He lowered his voice. “You heard about the Sarge?”

  “Read this morning’s paper. How’d the Chief take it?”

  “About as well as could be expected. The Coke delivery truck backed up to the doors earlier. Seriously, Molly, this is bad. He’s on the warpath. Someone leaked that story, and I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes when the boss finds out who it was.” Denton shook his head and answered the phone.

  Staff-Sergeant Peterson ordered Smith to go around to the hotel and help IHIT out. By which she figured he meant run errands for them. She didn’t mind. She never minded peeking over the detectives’ shoulders. Right now she was happy being a constable third class, breaking up fights, keeping an eye on the drunks, helping old ladies cross the street. One day, one day, she might like to be a detective. Which reminded her that she still hadn’t decided what to do about Toronto. She’d never make detective if she spent her whole career in Trafalgar. She briefly considered joining the RCMP and getting a posting with Adam, but dismissed the idea. It probably wouldn’t work out too well if she were in the same department as her over-protective boyfriend.

  She took a car and drove to the hotel. She stopped at a red light and watched a laughing couple cross the street, arms around each other. She realized that she hadn’t even asked Adam if he wanted to move. Jobs for dog guys probably weren’t all that easy to find.

  Ray Lopez gave her a weak smile as she put her head into what had been Steiner’s room. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

  “Al told me to ask if you need anything,” she said.

  “Double double and a chocolate glazed,” a man said. He was wearing the white SOCO outfit, kneeling on the floor under the window, examining the sill. He looked up, and his face almost visibly lit up when he saw that she was young and attractive. He jumped to his feet and crossed the room, peeling off gloves. “Hi. I’m Kevin Farzaneh. We met at the airport, but we didn’t get a chance to talk.”

  “Molly Smith.”

  “I’ll come with you to get those coffees, Molly.” Kevin was about her age, tall and lean and good-looking. His dark brown eyes twinkled with charm and mischief. He didn’t have a single hair on his head.

  “That can wait.” Madison walked through the door. “I want this room finished today. The hotel needs the floor back.”

  “Sure, Sarge. Come get me when you’re ready to go for lunch, will you, Molly.” Farzaneh gave Smith a wink and went back to his work.

  Sergeant Madison wasn’t a very friendly guy. She might have been the doorman for all the attention he paid her.

  “Did you speak to her?” he barked at Lopez.

  “Yes.”

  “Out in the hall.” He noticed Smith. “You. Get out of here if you don’t have anything to contribute. You’re distracting Kevin.”

  “I wish,” Farzaneh shouted.

  She felt her face burning and hurried into the hall. Where she stood, because no one had told her what to do now.

/>   “So?” Madison asked Lopez. The detective opened his note book.

  “Her story seems straight. She wasn’t supposed to be working this floor, but asked one of the other maids if she’d switch. They didn’t tell the head of housekeeping about it, who said it’s unusual for maids to switch floors. So we wondered if she had a reason to want to be near Steiner. And she was the one who found the body.”

  “You’re telling me what I already know. Get to the point.”

  “I like to refresh my memory,” Lopez said. His words were clipped, as if he’d taken a pair of scissors to the ends of each one. That was not, Smith knew, a good sign. Lopez was usually pretty easy going, but when he blew he had a temper to match his red hair.

  “She, Rachel Lewis the chambermaid, wants to be a model.”

  “She sure doesn’t look like one,” Madison said.

  “Nevertheless, she does. That checks out. She has a bunch of photographs, what she calls her portfolio, taken by a professional last year. She showed me the pictures, and I called the photographer’s studio and confirmed. She says when she heard Steiner was staying here, she figured if she could get close to him she’d show him her portfolio and he’d make her a star.”

  “Well that isn’t going to happen is it?”

  “Not now. She was lurking—my word not hers—around the hallway for days and spoke to him Monday morning, probably on this very spot, and asked if he’d like to see her pictures. He said he would, and she brought them in on Tuesday, when she found him. She’d been planning to leave the pictures on the bed, with a note. She was at home alone, so she says, the night before, when he was killed. No alibi, but no reason to sneak back and off him.”

  “Maybe he laughed at her for wanting to be a model, and she took offense.”

  Smith said nothing. If every woman shot a man who insulted her looks, the world would be a less-populated place.

  “Maybe,” Lopez replied. “But unlikely.”

  “Did you check her?”