A Capital Offense

by Gary Parker

  CHAPTER

  12

  Not wanting to act until she considered all her options, Connie kept the information about the insurance policy to herself. No reason to tell anyone yet anyway. The company wouldn’t pay until the police made a determination about Jack’s death, so she saw no rush to go yapping to anyone that Jack had left her a million dollars in insurance.

  On Saturday afternoon Luke Tyler called and told her some

  Columbia cops had stopped by the address of the woman who claimed the affair with Jack. As Connie suspected, they found no one home. But, to her surprise, the woman’s apartment gave every appearance of occupancy, right down to a flowerpot full of pansies by the front door and a pair of muddy boots by the pansies. Though Connie felt in her bones the whole thing was a setup, Tyler wasn’t ready to concede that.

  “The Columbia guys said everything looked pretty normal, like the woman had just gone for the day. Maybe she’s just got phone problems,” he insisted. “A disconnected line is no guarantee that someone has skipped out.”

  “Just wait,” argued Connie. “This time next week, everything will still look normal, and she will still be gone.”

  “We’ll stay on it,” said Tyler.

  “You do that.”

  Connie spent Saturday night stewing over the mystery woman’s identity. Who could she be? A stooge hired by who-ever killed Jack? Someone ignorant of everything but how much money she’d receive to do someone else’s dirty work? Or someone deeply involved in it all, someone directly tied to the murder?

  She went to bed wondering about it, but no word of revelation came to her, and she awoke Sunday morning as much in the dark as the previous night. Climbing out of bed, she slipped on her bathrobe and padded to Katie’s room to rouse her for church. Though still dreading it, Connie knew she had to go back. Regardless of the emotion the experience would tear out of her, she knew that to deal with her grief, she had to go straight through it. She wouldn’t sit in their old pew, of course. That would cut too deeply. Instead, she would take Daniel and Katie and find a quiet spot in the back.

  To her surprise, she found Katie already out of bed and in the bathroom she and Daniel shared at the end of the hall. But she wasn’t taking a shower. Instead, she sat in a chair by the commode, her head bent over her stomach, a wet washcloth on her lap.

  “What’s wrong, precious?” asked Connie, kneeling by Katie.

  “I’ve got a stomachache, Mommy,” moaned Katie. “I threw up.” She pointed to the toilet.

  Her heart skipping a beat, Connie grabbed the washcloth from Katie’s lap and gently wiped her baby’s face, feeling for the hot flesh that signaled a temperature. To her relief, Katie’s forehead felt normal.

  “Are you feeling any better?” Connie asked.

  “Not too much. My stomach hurts.”

  “Do you need to throw up again?”

  “No, I think I’m finished, but I feel bad.”

  “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

  Lifting Katie off the chair, Connie carried her back to her room and eased her under the covers.

  “Stay here, precious, I’ll get you something for your stomach.” In her bathroom, Connie grabbed a bottle of stomach medicine and then got a spoon from the kitchen. Back by Katie, she spooned out the medicine and placed it on her lips. Katie slurped it down, made a face of disgust, then lay her head back on her pillow.

  “I think I just need to stay here for a while,” said Katie, sounding like a doctor giving a diagnosis.

  “You do just that,” agreed Connie. “I’ll clean up the bathroom and come right back.”

  The bathroom cleanup didn’t take long. Katie’s aim at the toilet had been good. Back with Katie, Connie watched quietly as her daughter hugged a Beanie Baby to her chest and breathed softly, her eyes closed. Obviously, she was headed to sleep again. Not wanting to disturb her, Connie made a quick decision. She would stay home from church one more week. No reason to haul Katie out of bed if she felt bad. Everyone at church would understand. Though feeling slightly guilty, she left Katie asleep and headed toward the kitchen. Passing by Daniel’s door, she didn’t stop. Let him sleep, too, she thought. An extra day’s rest would do them all some good.

  *****

  Seven miles away, Sammy Sanks dropped a trotline into the water not far from the same bank on which he had found Jack Brandon’s body. A good Catholic, Sanks took his Mass on Saturday night for just this reason—some of the best fishing he did came on Sunday mornings.

  More attentive than ever to the driftwood and debris the island routinely caught in its branches and brambles, he kept his eye peeled to the shore as the sun warmed his back. Once a man finds a body in the water, he stays eternally vigilant. Letting his boat glide slowly with the current, he moved west to east down the island. Within a couple of minutes, he passed the spot where Jack Brandon had come to rest. What a tragedy, he mused. A good man with a precious family. Sanks had noted the pictures in the newspaper in the last few days. He sure did hurt for those kids.

  He spotted the denim caught in the branches of the underbrush before he knew how to identify it. But it didn’t take him long to whip his boat to ground, tie it up, and climb out. Seven quick strides and a grab and he had the object in his hands. A blue denim backpack like all the kids carried to school.

  His curiosity overcoming his caution, Sanks unhooked the straps on the bag and peeked inside. Books? But what else should he expect in a backpack? Books.

  Not knowing whether the books had anything to do with Brandon or not, he nonetheless decided he better get them to the police right away. But this time he wouldn’t call the cops to the island. This time he would take his catch to the police himself.

  *****

  At two o’clock, just as she finished cleaning up the lunch dishes, Connie heard the doorbell ring.

  “I’ll get it,” yelled Daniel, jumping from the sofa where he was reading a book.

  Figuring it was someone from church, Connie continued to work, wiping off the counter by the sink. At least a half dozen phone calls had come from church friends since noon, so it didn’t surprise her that someone had dropped by. In a town like Jefferson City, people still did that, even without calling ahead.

  Drying her hands on the flowered apron that covered her yellow cotton blouse and blue jeans, Connie started toward the door. She appreciated the congregation’s concern, but it made her feel a bit guilty that she hadn’t returned to services yet. She hoped the people understood. Reverend Wallace, who had called about one, assured her they did.

  “You can’t rush these things,” he said, his voice genuine. “With Katie sick and all, the Lord just gave you another week to get things in order. We’re not going anywhere. Take care of yourself and those good kids, and I’ll drop by early this week to check on you.”

  She didn’t find a church member standing with Daniel as she walked into the living room.

  “Mom, it’s the detective working on Dad’s case,” said Daniel, his tone excited. “He said he needs to talk to you.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Tyler,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron again. “You’re working on Sunday?”

  Tyler shrugged. “Please call me Luke,” he said. “Yes, I’m working on Sunday.”

  Connie noticed his clothes. A dark gray suit, a light blue shirt, a yellow tie. No toothpick in his mouth.

  “You’ve been in church?” she asked.

  “I started there,” he said. “But I got called out.” He glanced briefly at Daniel.

  “Have a seat,” said Connie, indicating the sofa. She turned to Daniel. “I think Mr. Tyler and I need a couple of minutes of privacy. Why don’t you wait in the den?”

  Daniel’s blue eyes narrowed. “I want to stay here, Mom. I want to hear what Mr. Tyler has to say.”

  Connie looked at Tyler.

  “It’s up to you,” he said. “What I have to say will be in the paper tomorrow anyway.”

  Connie nodded to Daniel. He imm
ediately took a seat in the wing chair by the sofa. Connie perched on the ottoman by his feet. Both of them looked at Tyler.

  He rubbed his beard a couple of times, then began to speak, his tone matter-of-fact. “The same guy who found Jack was fishing in the same spot this morning. As he was checking his trotlines, he spotted a denim bag, a bag filled with books. Jack Brandon’s name was inside the bag.”

  Connie almost jumped off the ottoman. Jack’s backpack! He carried it everywhere. Kept it filled with his current reading list and notepads for his writing. She hadn’t even noted it missing. Of course, she realized as she considered it, she hadn’t noted it missing because she hadn’t gone through his belongings yet. Though she knew she needed to face that task, she just hadn’t managed to do it.

  “Did it help you any?” asked Connie, focusing on Tyler. “Tell you anything useful?”

  “Well, it’s hard to say. We’ve checked it out, but we need to send it to the state crime lab, see what they find, but that’ll take a few days. It’s been in the water for quite a while now. Don’t know what, if anything, we can pick up. But every little bit helps.”

  Connie wondered about the backpack. What was Jack reading at the time of his death? Even if she knew, what difference would it make?

  “Can you tell us what was in there?” she asked.

  Tyler reached under his suit coat and tugged at his waist in the back. A second later, he produced a blue folder from the small of his broad back. Connie almost smiled. Tyler produced a blue folder for every occasion.

  “I’ve got a list,” he said. “Seven books in the backpack.” He handed Connie the folder. She took it and flipped it open. A computer printout lay inside. She quickly scanned the list of titles—a biography of Billy Graham, four recent novels, a book of daily devotions, and a reference work on the effects of gambling in a community.

  Finished with the list, she handed it to Daniel, then raised her eyes to Tyler again. “It’s just a list of his current reading,” she said. “Nothing significant I can see.”

  Tyler rubbed his beard and licked his lips as if searching for a toothpick. “I hoped you might see something there,” he said. “Something out of place, I don’t know . . . something to get us—”

  “Mr. Tyler?”

  “Yes.” He faced Daniel, who had interrupted him.

  “There’s one book missing.”

  Connie stared at Daniel. “What do you mean, son?” she asked.

  “One book isn’t there. Dad’s book is missing, the black notebook he used for his writing.”

  Connie grabbed the list from him and studied it again.

  “He’s right!” she said to Tyler. “Jack had a black notebook he kept with him all the time. Never went anywhere without it. It contained his own work, the novel he’d been writing for the last five or six years. It should be on the list, but it isn’t.”

  “So where is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You think it’s here at the house somewhere? Or down at the store?”

  “I don’t know about here, but I don’t think it’s at the store. Andy gave me Jack’s things from there a couple of days ago.”

  “If it’s here, then everything is fine. He just left it out of his backpack for once. But if it’s not—”

  “If it’s not, then someone else took Jack’s book out of his backpack and they did so for a specific reason.” She handed the folder back to Tyler.

  “You think Mr. Brandon left something in the book, some kind of warning or something?” he asked.

  Connie rubbed her forehead a second. Should she tell Tyler about the insurance policy? If Jack had taken it out because he felt he was in danger, she felt certain he would have left a clue, some kind of final statement to help her know what happened. But she didn’t know if that’s why he took out the policy.

  “I don’t . . . don’t know for sure,” she stammered. “But it’s possible.”

  “Do you have any reason to think he did?” asked Tyler.

  Connie stared hard at Tyler. Did he know about the policy? Had the insurance company contacted him to find out about the investigation? That made some sense. As far as she knew, the insurance company had every right to make such an inquiry. But if they had, why didn’t Tyler just say it plain out? His gray eyes told her nothing.

  Not sure if she should trust him, Connie decided to stay quiet. If he already knew about the policy, she didn’t need to tell him. If he didn’t know, then she needed to see where this led before she said anything. Making sure she spoke honestly, she responded to Tyler.

  “I don’t know if Jack left anything behind or not. But I do need to find his black book.”

  Tyler scratched his beard. Connie thought he started to say something else but then chose to let it go.

  “Okay,” he said, pulling himself off the sofa. “I won’t keep you any longer. Hope you two enjoy the rest of the afternoon.” He moved toward the door.

  Daniel and Connie stood, too, and walked him out. On the stoop, he suddenly turned back to them, rubbed his beard, then blurted, “By the way, I got a call from an insurance company Friday. A woman there said something about a policy they had written on Jack. I guess they’ll get in touch with you.”

  Connie almost fell backward. Her face reddened. Tyler knew about the policy! But did he know its value? Did she dare ask? Unsure how to respond, she chose silence again.

  “I’m sure they’ll call,” she said.

  “I’m sure they will,” said Tyler, a slight grin on his face. “If it’s a big payoff, maybe I can investigate you.” With his blue folder under his arm, he walked to his car.

  Pivoting to go back inside, Connie thought a strange thing. Wives had been known to kill a husband for a million dollar payoff. As crazy as it sounded, when word of the policy came out, and it surely would, some people might actually see her as a suspect.

  *****

  Back in his squad car, Luke Tyler took a deep breath and picked up his cell phone. Within thirty seconds, a man responded on the other end. Tyler gritted his teeth.

  “I don’t like this,” he said. “It’s close to the line for me, you know what I mean.”

  “Easy, detective, easy. You’re not hurting anyone here. I’m trying to help Mrs. Brandon, you must believe me when I say that. She needs to let you do your job, keep herself out of the mix. She’s too fragile for things like this. I’m protecting her. So what did you find out?”

  Tyler frowned, then said. “I’m not sure. She didn’t say whether she knew about the policy or not.”

  “You couldn’t tell?”

  “No, she played it pretty straight.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I don’t know if I can call you again.”

  “Oh, you’ll call me again.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The man on the other end paused. Tyler wished he had a toothpick.

  “She knows about the policy,” said the man.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, let’s just say a surveillance camera in the vault room at the bank told me. You don’t think I’d put all my eggs in your basket, do you?”

  Tyler flushed. He was a good cop. Keeping this guy informed seemed like the right thing to do at the time. No harm in it. The man had insisted his intentions were good and, from all he knew, Tyler suspected they were. A man with an influential position and a good reputation. Besides, with the power the man held, Tyler couldn’t just dismiss his request out of hand. But this was going too far. Spying on a defenseless woman, prying into her business. No matter what the motive.

  “I’m out of this,” he said. “I’m just going to do my work, nothing less, nothing more.”

  “All I want is information,” said the man.

  “Get it from someone else.”

  “I’ll call later.”

  “I won’t answer.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Tyler shut off his phone and reached for the box of toothpicks si
tting in the passenger seat. Sometimes he hated the demands that came with his job.

  *****

  By three o’clock, Connie had comfortably situated the children— Daniel with a friend from next door and Katie at Mrs. Everhart’s house. Determined to do the one thing she had put off until now, she took off her apron, pushed her hair into a ponytail, and took a deep breath. Whether she wanted to face it or not, she had to sort through Jack’s belongings, had to decide what to keep and what to throw or give away. With the discovery of the backpack and the realization that Jack’s novel was missing, she now had enough motive to make her act.

  Deciding to begin in the den, she moved to the wall of bookshelves that covered the right wall of the room. Jack owned a lot of books. Though the house had no study as such, a condition he often vowed to change, Jack had stacked a huge assortment of novels, biographies, and inspirational titles onto the wall of bookshelves.

  Knowing she didn’t have time to search them closely, Connie nevertheless leafed through a few of the most current ones, hoping against hope Jack left a message in one of them. Without knowing what she hoped to find, she quickly became frustrated with the task. No way could she look through all these volumes! Anxious to move ahead, she gave the remainder only a cursory glance. Nothing jumped out at her. Though she lingered for a couple of seconds over Jack’s high school year-book, she saw nothing that grabbed her attention.

  Giving up on the books, she trudged to the bedroom, her shoulders sagging but her chin set firm. She edged around the bed to Jack’s side of the room. His dresser came first. Top drawer on the left. She opened it and peeked inside. Old handkerchiefs he hadn’t used in years. Keys left over from heaven only knew where. Three golf balls and a few tees, though he only played a couple of rounds a year. A box containing his high school ring.

  Connie opened the box and held up the ring. Miller High School. The Wildcats. The ring wasn’t big, but neither was Jack. She supposed Daniel would want it. She rolled the ring around in her hands for a second, then dropped it back into the box. She didn’t know much about Jack’s high school days. He had said so little about it. For that matter, he said little about his early life period. An orphan since ten. His parents killed in a house fire. He grew up with his grandfather who died the year Jack left for college. Other than that, she knew almost nothing.