Jude Devine Mystery Series

by Rose Beecham

  This wasn’t Washington DC. Violent crime was rare enough that people felt safe in their own homes. Maulle probably didn’t lock his front door while he was at home. Jude made a mental note to ask Pippa about her uncle’s habits.

  “The killing seems personal,” she said.

  Stabbings usually were. Aside from serial offenders whose crimes were sexually motivated, it was rare for a stranger to invade someone’s home and kill him with a knife. Guns or blunt instruments were the norm, and Maulle’s killer had coldly shot a dog, execution-style. How did such a calculated act jive with the messy killing of Maulle himself? Had the gun jammed when he tried to shoot Maulle?

  She considered the burglary-gone-wrong theory carefully. It was conceivable that a robbery had been interrupted. The intruder could have picked up a knife at the scene. Perhaps he’d been near the kitchen and Maulle confronted him. There was no sign of a struggle downstairs, but she and Koertig would walk the scene over the next hour and come up with an initial theory. The next day, once Belle and her team had collected all the forensic evidence, they would return for a more thorough search of the house, looking for anything that could suggest a motive for the crime.

  “We’ll need a warrant,” Jude said.

  While a warrantless search could keep things simple, she always thought ahead to courtroom challenges. The defense invariably raised questions about the competence of investigators, evidence collection, and chain-of-custody issues. The legality of the search could become an issue. Obtaining a warrant with the broadest possible scope was a good way to sidestep at least one hurdle. Prosecutors appreciated when detectives dotted the i’s.

  Belle gave the photographer a few more instructions, then looked toward Jude and Koertig. “Why don’t y’all make your notes before I get started in there.”

  A couple of flash pops were followed by a raucous squawk, and the African Grey shook the bars of his cage.

  “We ought to remove the bird,” Jude said. “If he keeps flapping around all kinds of crap is going to fly out of his cage. Let’s get animal control up here.”

  “I can carry him out,” Koertig said. “That cage lifts off the stand.”

  “Put the cover over it,” Jude suggested. “I think that’s supposed to calm birds down.”

  “Hang on. Let me dust it first.” Belle picked up her glass fiber brush. “If only he could talk. He saw everything.”

  *

  “Check this out,” Koertig said, moving to the far end of the kitchen.

  After they’d taken a close look at Maulle and left the body to be removed, they started their assessment downstairs, examining possible points of entry. As they worked, the forensic crew dusted for prints and collected trace.

  “These French doors are deadlocked, but there’s a pet door in the laundry.” Koertig pointed to custom double swing doors. “Someone could crawl right on in.”

  Jude looked out the laundry window. A fenced dog run occupied most of the backyard, a sensible precaution in the mountains, where pets were often attacked by wild animals. “Maulle’s poodle was out back when the killer arrived. And no one carries a pile of bologna in their pocket because they like the smell. He came prepared to deal with the dog.”

  “He must have cased the place ahead of time,” Koertig said.

  “Or he knew about the poodle because he and Maulle were already acquainted.”

  “Do you think Maulle let the guy in?”

  “If he did, why shoot the dog? No, I think our perp entered via the pet door and exited out the front.”

  “So the dog barks, he feeds her bologna and whacks her, then he comes in the pet door on his hands and knees—”

  “By which time, Maulle is on his way down with his walking cane,” Jude said. “He must have heard the barking and the shot.”

  “So the killer takes a knife from the block on the kitchen counter,” Koertig said.

  From the looks of the block, each slot was usually occupied. There were two knives missing. The larger one was in the sink.

  “Why take a knife when he already has a gun?” Jude asked.

  “He’s freaking out because Maulle caught him. Something goes wrong with the gun, maybe.”

  “That’s a possibility. Or he had a change of heart. His plan was to execute Maulle just like he executed the dog, but for some reason he got angry. A shooting would have been too quick.”

  “He chased Maulle up the stairs,” Koertig mused aloud. “They wrestled for control of the knife. Maulle took a stab wound.”

  “I think he hit the killer with the head of the cane first,” Jude said. “Then the killer got mad and stabbed him.”

  “So, Maulle staggers along the hallway to his office—”

  “Accounting for the blood and the sets of bloody footprints.” There were three, from what Jude could see. One set was significantly smaller than the others. Pippa’s.

  “Why did Maulle make a run for the office instead of the bathroom?” Koertig asked. “He could have locked himself in there and called 911.”

  “Self-defense,” Jude said. “He keeps a gun in the top drawer of his desk.”

  “You looked already?”

  “Yes, and there’s a bloody handprint on the desk and blood on the drawer handle. Maulle was clutching his abdomen. He put his left hand down to steady himself while he opened the drawer with his right hand.”

  “But the killer aimed his gun and told him to freeze,” Koertig conjectured. Maybe he convinced Maulle that if he cooperated he wouldn’t be shot.”

  “Or it could be the other way around,” Jude said. “Maybe Maulle reasoned with the killer. A rich guy like him could offer money.”

  “Why didn’t the perp cut a deal?” Koertig strolled through the kitchen once more. “Either this hump is the dumbest burglar alive, or robbery definitely wasn’t the motive.”

  It was too soon to rule anything out entirely, but Jude thought they were pretty safe excluding the burglary angle. As they analyzed the evidence, their theory of the crime would evolve, but for now, she was pretty sure the killer had some kind of connection with Maulle.

  “I don’t think this was random,” she said. “Maulle had an enemy. So, we’re looking for a motive.” Murder 101: motive plus opportunity equals suspect.

  Koertig stared around. “No one gets this rich without trampling on a few toes.”

  “How do you want to do this?” Jude asked, reminding herself that she wasn’t the primary this time. “We’ll need to interview Pippa Calloway and get the search started ASAP.”

  “You take the girl. She might be more comfortable with a female.” Koertig checked his watch. “Belle’s going to be on scene all night. I’ll pick up the warrant first thing tomorrow after the briefing and meet you here when you’re through with the niece.”

  “Works for me.”

  They walked through the huge living room once more before heading out the front door. The outdoor lights were on and people were leaving. Animal control had caged Maulle’s three cats and were loading them into the back of a van. The K-9 units had found no sign of the assailant in the heavily wooded vicinity. They’d be back in the morning to resume searching for evidence. The few reporters who’d shown up for a statement from Pratt had left with breaking news to report.

  A gust of wind stirred the treetops, causing mournful creaks. Night birds cried. The thin, waxing moon was obscured by a drift of cloud cover. Around the staging area, the temporary lighting seemed garishly overbright. Jude shivered slightly. Fall was in the air, making the temperature drop sharply at night. She was puzzled to see Pippa Calloway sitting on the verandah where she’d left her.

  Approaching Sergeant Pavlic, she asked, “Why haven’t they taken Ms. Calloway to the hospital yet?”

  “She won’t leave the bird, and they wouldn’t take it in the ambulance with her.”

  “Well, she can’t stay here all night.”

  “We’re waiting on the grief counselor,” the sergeant said, plainly thankful that a c
aring professional would soon show up to deal with the stalemate.

  Jude watched Pippa Calloway press her cheek to the cage and stroke the bird’s cloud-colored breast feathers. In response, the parrot leaned into her and ran its beak across her lips.

  Jude wasn’t the only one staring in astonishment when it crooned in a soft masculine voice, “I love you, Pip.”

  Chapter Six

  Jude escorted Pippa Calloway to Southwest Memorial in Cortez and waited while the doctor examined her. She sent a deputy out to Eddie House’s place with the parrot. Eddie was an expert in rehabilitating birds. When she called him he seemed excited, or that was Jude’s interpretation when he said something long and pensive about the mysterious telepathy of the African Grey and its single-minded devotion to its humans.

  Jude planned to escort Pippa to the Holiday Inn once the she was cleared by the doctor. She was staying at the same hotel, her usual accommodation when she had work to do at the MCSO headquarters in Cortez. Pippa would have to remain there until her uncle’s house could be occupied or she made other arrangements. Sheriff Pratt had called her mother, Maulle’s next-of-kin. Mrs Calloway was planning to fly to Durango with her husband tomorrow. According to Pratt she was “the snooty type.”

  Jude hoped Pippa would be comforted to hear that her folks would be in town soon. After she’d signed off on the paperwork and picked up a sleep aid prescription, they strolled out to the parking lot and she told Pippa the good news.

  “Your parents are flying in tomorrow.”

  Pippa’s reaction was interesting. She said, “Of course they are, the vultures.”

  “You don’t sound pleased.”

  “I just escaped from them.” With the melodrama of youth, Pippa added, “They ruined my brother’s life by making him marry my sister-in-law. I’m not letting them ruin mine.”

  Jude wondered how bad it could be. During the conversation with the grief counselor before they left for the hospital, Pippa had described graduating from Harvard and realizing, after a few trips abroad to various European capitals, that she could never face being a dentist. Her parents had arranged a cushy job for her and were angry that she was throwing her training away. Not that she needed to work, anyway, she’d pointed out. She had a small annual allowance from her grandfather’s estate, enough to scrape by on if she lived somewhere inexpensive and grew her own vegetables.

  Her plan had been to stay with her uncle for a while and pursue a career as a sculptor. Obviously she wouldn’t have to worry about ending up on the street if that didn’t pan out.

  “Your uncle never married?” Jude asked as they climbed in the Dakota and set off for the hotel.

  “He was gay.”

  “Is there a partner?”

  “Years ago he was with someone. That didn’t work out and since then I don’t think there’s been anything serious.”

  “It sounds like you were close to your uncle.”

  “Yes.” Pippa’s voice was husky. “He’s the only person who really cared about me. I mean I know Mom and Dad love me, it’s just that it feels totally conditional. They want me to be a certain way, to have certain people as my friends. My first serious boyfriend was African American. You wouldn’t believe what happened.”

  “Try me,” Jude prompted.

  She could sense that Pippa was chattering to distract herself from all she’d been though. In this state, she could reveal quite a lot in an interview. Jude was tempted to drive direct to headquarters and make the most of the opportunity. On the other hand, just talking like this would establish a rapport and build trust.

  “Dad got him into Vanderbilt and paid his tuition for a year,” Pippa said in disgust. “That was the deal. We break up, he gets ahead.”

  “Well, if he agreed to that—”

  “I made him agree. Things weren’t going to work out anyway.” Anger sharpened her tone. “Not that my parents could see that. I thought he may as well get a parting gift at Dad’s expense.”

  “Pippa, I’m going to ask you this question again down at the station tomorrow, but do you have any idea who killed your uncle?”

  “I wish I did.”

  “Even a vague suspicion. Just a feeling.”

  Pippa shook her head. “I really don’t know any of Uncle Fabian’s friends. He kept family separate. I mean, I met people sometimes if we were out and ran into them. But honestly, I don’t know much about his life outside of home.”

  “You spent time with him regularly?”

  “Usually a couple of vacations each year and some long weekends.”

  “Did you ever notice anything odd? Phone calls late at night. People dropping off parcels to the house, and your uncle acting strangely. Anything like that?”

  Pippa was silent for a long while. “I don’t know if this counts, but after Katrina, something happened at the house in New Orleans and all of a sudden Uncle Fabian hired a security guard.”

  “Do you know what occurred?”

  “No. It was in November. He said I didn’t need to worry about it.”

  “When Detective Koertig and I were examining your uncle’s office, we found his computer was dismantled and the hard drive removed. Do you know when that occurred?”

  “No, but Uncle Fabian would never have done that,” Pippa said with certainty. “He was the ultimate technophobe. He wouldn’t have known what a hard drive looked like.”

  “Would he have backed up his computer onto a CD or a memory stick?”

  “No, I did that for him when I stayed. I showed him how, but he never got organized about that stuff.”

  “He had computers in both his homes?”

  “In all four houses. And he had a laptop. I helped him buy that around Christmas.”

  Four homes. What was he, head of a drug cartel? Jude decided to leave that intriguing question unanswered for the moment. She turned into the Holiday Inn parking lot and took her bag and Pippa’s from the back of the pickup. After the exhausted young woman had settled into her room, Jude handed her one of the sleeping pills with a glass of water.

  “I don’t do drugs,” Pippa said.

  “You need to rest so I can pick your brain in the morning. I want to catch the guy who killed your uncle.”

  Pippa took the pill and flopped dejectedly onto one of the armchairs in front of the TV. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up and this will all be a horrible nightmare.”

  “Take a shower before that pill makes you woozy, then get into bed and close your eyes,” Jude instructed, surprised at herself. She sounded like someone’s mother.

  The young woman nodded absently. “He spoke to me before he died. I asked him who did it but he didn’t say. All he talked about was Oscar.”

  “You were there with him at the end.” Jude soothed her as best she could. “The last thing he saw was the face of someone he loved. I know it’s not much, but most victims of violent crime are not so fortunate. I’m sure it was a comfort to him.”

  Tears drenched Pippa’s deep-sea eyes. “Yes, I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks, Detective Devine. You’ve been really nice.”

  Amazing, Jude thought cynically, some of us are human beings. “Is there anything else you need before I go?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

  Jude wrote her room number on the hotel notepad and said, “Just in case.”

  As she left, she glanced back before closing the door. Pippa was hugging herself like a hurt child, tears rolling down her face.

  *

  “What does it take for you to answer your phone?” Mercy’s throaty tease made Jude’s skin prickle. “I’ve been calling all day.”

  Jude deleted the voicemail message without listening to the rest of it. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with her ex. Not today, and probably not tomorrow, either. Mercy had been phoning her and stopping by the stationhouse on flimsy pretexts ever since she returned from her honeymoon in March. Jude wasn’t sure why Mercy wanted to pretend they could be friends. She’d never been suckered in
to that lesbian daydream, herself. When it was over, it was over. Whatever “it” was.

  By any definition, she and Mercy didn’t have a “relationship.” A relationship implied emotional connection, a togetherness that existed on more than one plane. Jude didn’t know how to categorize their liaison. She supposed the term “hookup” could be applied to a series of nonexclusive sexual encounters with the same person. Zero commitment. Fun while it lasted. Anyway, she was a free agent now.

  Unenthralled by the thought, Jude tossed her cell phone on the bed and stalked into the tiny bathroom. She turned on the shower, stripped, and stuffed her dirty clothes into the laundry bag she’d brought with her. She always felt disgusting after walking a crime scene, as if death had soaked into her pores. For that reason she kept a scrubbing brush and loofah mittens in her overnight bag.

  After she’d gone through the motions of cleaning her body, she toweled off and checked out her physique in the mirror, a habit she ascribed to common sense, not vanity. If she wasn’t well toned, she was vulnerable, and Jude didn’t like feeling subpar. She turned slowly and saw powerful shoulders and arms, but a belly and hips that needed work. Since her broken ankle she’d slacked off and it showed.

  Irritated, she scrubbed her teeth. She needed to get back into her old routine, taking long hikes whenever she had a couple of days off. That was one thing she loved about living in the Southwest. There was always something new and wonderful to explore. She could always find solitude and silence.

  Her cell phone rang, and she spat the foamy toothpaste and rinsed hastily. It was probably Koertig or Pratt calling to see how things were going with Pippa Calloway. She rushed to the bed and flipped the phone open before voicemail could pick up.

  “Jude?” came a soft query.

  Horrified, Jude lowered the phone from her ear and peered at the caller ID. In her haste to take the call, she hadn’t checked before answering.

  “Is this work related?” she asked, just in case the Fates had decided to torture her and Mercy had been assigned to conduct the autopsy on Fabian Maulle.