Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned

by Annette Dashofy

  “No.” Pete dug his phone from his pocket. “Tierney’s mine.”

  The detective moved toward the door. “I could meet you there if you want.”

  Zoe’s name flashed on the screen, and Pete’s gut tightened. Until a few days ago, a call from her would have brightened his day. Now it filled him with dread. “No, thanks. I’ll handle Tierney on my own.”

  Pete answered the call. The hysteria in Zoe’s voice sent a chill up his neck and into his brain. Baronick had a hand on the doorknob, and Pete snapped his fingers at him. The detective stopped. Frowned.

  “Slow down,” Pete told Zoe. “Say that again.”

  In his ear, he heard her take a breath. And in a voice stretched so tight it sounded like it would break, she said, “I have a dead body in my basement.”

  Zoe had seen some macabre things in her work on the Monongahela County EMS, but a dead body buried in a potato bin had to be some kind of pinnacle of weirdness.

  The “bins” in the root cellar had always reminded her of bunk beds. The remains of last year’s crop of onions occupied one, a few dried-up carrots another. Potatoes filled a third. Except today the spuds appeared piled higher than usual. Sprouting eyes reached out like pale tentacles straining to find soil—and had been joined by a human arm.

  She’d checked for a pulse, but the gray skin tone and the deafening buzz of flies let her know the man was dead before she ever touched the cold flesh.

  Desperate for fresh air, she thudded up the wooden stairs and out onto the porch where she leaned against the outside wall of the house gulping breaths.

  She’d placed the call to Pete before pounding on Mrs. Kroll’s door, telling her to stay put. Neither she nor Maddie was to go into the basement under any circumstances. Zoe had dodged her landlady’s demands for an explanation, but she’d probably guessed pretty darn close. After locking Jade and Merlin in her office, Zoe had perched on the back porch to wait.

  She heard them coming before she saw them. Sirens echoed through the valley, growing louder. Closer. They fell silent when they hit the bottom of the lane, and Zoe looked up to watch Pete’s Explorer followed by the township’s cruiser and a black unmarked sedan crawl up the gravel driveway. The three vehicles parked behind her Chevy.

  A canvas bag slung over one shoulder, Pete made his way down the path toward Zoe. Nate trailed him with Wayne Baronick bringing up the rear. She stood, ramming her hands into her uniform pants pockets and stepped back, allowing them to enter the enclosed porch.

  Pete stopped only inches in front of her. She met and held his gaze, surprised and relieved the awkward tension seemed, for the moment, to have dissipated.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low.

  “Terrific. With the exception of having a dead man in my basement.”

  “Where is he?”

  Zoe motioned for Pete to follow and led them into the house. As she reached for the knob for the basement door, Pete gently caught her wrist.

  “Just tell us where to find the body,” he said.

  Puzzled, Zoe glanced from Pete to the others. Three cops. Three poker faces. “It’d be easier for me to show you.”

  Pete didn’t release her. Instead he drew her back from the door. “I need you to stay up here with Nate and let Baronick and me handle this.”

  “But—”

  “The County Crime Scene Unit is on the way,” Baronick said. “And Officer Williamson has some questions for you.”

  Zoe narrowed her eyes at the detective. “I’m a deputy coroner.” She might not like the morgue part of the job, but here was a murder investigation in her own house. No way was she going to be relegated to filling in the blanks of an incident report.

  Pete moved his hand to her shoulder and gave a squeeze. “We know you are. But you also live here.”

  “So?”

  He turned her toward him and fixed her with a stern stare. “Think about it a minute.”

  She didn’t want to. So much for the tension between them having dissipated. “You know I had nothing to do with this. I don’t even know who he is.”

  “I know that. But your house is a crime scene and you discovered the body. I can’t let you work on the investigation.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I need to know where you found the body.”

  She held his gaze. When had she lost the ability to read him? “At the bottom of the basement stairs, first doorway on the left. He’s pretty much buried by potatoes, but you can’t miss him.”

  “Potatoes?” Baronick said.

  “It’s a root cellar.”

  Pete tipped his head toward her drawing her focus back to him. “What did you do when you found the body? Did you go near it?”

  “I checked for a pulse.”

  “You touched the body?”

  “Just his wrist. Nothing else. Then I came upstairs to call you and to tell Mrs. Kroll not to go down here.”

  “Good girl.” Pete gently bumped her chin with his fist. “Give a preliminary statement to Nate. Direct the crime scene unit guys and Franklin Marshall down here once they arrive.”

  She wanted to argue. Stomp her feet. Throw a tantrum. But in her heart she knew better. At least Pete wasn’t pointing out the obvious.

  Until they cleared her, she was a suspect.

  Pete set the canvas bag on the hard-packed dirt floor and removed a camera from one compartment. Zoe had handled being kept out of her own basement and off the case surprisingly well. For a moment he’d seen a flash of anger in her eyes and thought here we go again. But then she’d clamped her mouth shut and moved out of their way. Pete snapped photos—several overall shots and then a number of closer, more detailed angles of the arm protruding from the mountain of potatoes. Baronick measured and sketched the room. By the time they were done with the overview, Franklin Marshall had arrived.

  “Zoe’s not very happy with you,” the coroner told Pete.

  Baronick laughed. When Pete shot a look at him, he covered his mouth and pretended it was a cough.

  “Yeah, well,” Pete said, “that’s become status quo.”

  Marshall grunted. “She said she checked for a pulse and pronounced him dead, but I suppose for propriety sake, I should confirm her findings.”

  Pete eyed the bluish-gray hand and huffed. “Not that there’s any question, but for the official record, yeah.”

  As the coroner did his thing, the ceiling above them vibrated with heavy footsteps. Voices drifted down. A moment later, the county crime guys clomped down the stairs and took charge.

  Pete, Baronick, and Marshall stepped out of the way as the county unit spread out a sheet and began moving potatoes onto it from the bin with the painstaking precision of an archeological dig.

  The detective crossed his arms. “How long do you think he’s been there?” he asked Marshall.

  The coroner gave him a dark look. “Estimate a TOD by the appearance of one limb? You’re kidding, right?”

  “Just asking.”

  Marshall narrowed his eyes, studying the corpse. “Although I can tell you this much. He’s gone out of rigor. And considering the visible insect activity and rather advanced state of decomp in this nice cool basement, I think it’s safe to say he’s been here a while. Possibly a week.”

  Baronick elbowed Pete. “Any idea who Mr. Potato Head is?”

  Pete had been trying not to think about it.

  “I mean, I know you can’t tell by just an arm. But has anyone been reported missing?”

  “No.” Which troubled Pete as much as anything. It also narrowed down the possibilities.

  The man’s blue shirt became visible. Then the back of his head, his hair, dusted with fine soil from the potatoes. But lying prone, his identity remained concealed.

 
“Hey, Franklin,” one of the investigators called, waving the coroner toward them. Pete went with him, hanging back, but staying close enough for a good look.

  Marshall leaned over the victim touching his head with a gloved hand. Then the coroner stepped aside. “Photographs, please.”

  One of the investigators positioned a measuring marker next to what appeared to be a deep indentation in the man’s hair and held it as another CSI tripped the shutter.

  “Skull fracture?” Pete asked.

  Marshall kept his eyes on the proceedings. “I would say so.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “Possibly. But I won’t know until I do the autopsy. You know that.”

  “We’re ready to turn him,” one of the CSIs said.

  Marshall nodded. “Do it. Let’s see who we’ve got here.”

  Moving with as much care as if the dead man were alive and suffering a spinal injury, the investigators log-rolled the body. One of the investigators grunted. “This is messy. I hope no one planned on using the rest of these potatoes.”

  Pete shifted closer without moving his feet. Milky, unseeing eyes looked out of a bloated, pale gray face. In death, the man was almost unrecognizable. Almost.

  “I don’t know him,” Baronick said from over Pete’s shoulder.

  “I do.” Pete let out a breath. “It’s Stephen Tierney.”

  What was taking them so long?

  Zoe sat at Mrs. Kroll’s table playing a half-hearted game of Go Fish with Maddie. Zoe had opened all the windows—not an easy task considering they were original to the house—to help alleviate the odor wafting through the floorboards. She’d pleaded with Nate to let her take the little girl outside, but he’d insisted they stay where he could see them while he sat in the parlor with Mrs. Kroll, asking questions in tones too low for Zoe to make out the words.

  He’d already questioned Zoe. Questioned sounded better than interrogated. Where had she been the last few days? At the ambulance garage. Could anyone verify that? The rest of the crew. What had she done, where had she gone since she got off duty? Zoe retraced her steps for Nate, who wrote down everything she said while offering no indication of whether or not he believed her.

  More police had arrived. County detectives. State troopers. Milling around on the back porch, tromping through Zoe’s side of the house. Good thing she’d locked the cats in her office.

  “Is there really a dead guy in the basement?” Maddie asked, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

  “Yeah, there really is.” Zoe forced herself to focus on her hand. “Got any eights?”

  Maddie scowled at her cards and removed one, handing it to Zoe. “I didn’t want it to be a groundhog. They’re kinda cute. But I didn’t want anyone else to be dead either.”

  “I know.” Anyone else. Who was the “anyone else” in her basement? How had he gotten there? And who had killed him?

  “At least it isn’t my dad.”

  Zoe looked up. “Huh?”

  Maddie sighed. “My mom’s dead.” A simple, calm statement of fact. “I don’t think I could stand it if something happened to my dad, too.”

  The girl’s straightforward pronouncement, spoken without a hint of a tear, twisted Zoe’s heart into a knot. She reached across the table to lay a hand on Maddie’s thin arm. “I’m not going to let anything happen to your dad.”

  From outside voices grew louder. Footsteps pounded across the porch. A scuffle. Maddie’s eyes widened and she dropped her cards. Zoe set hers down as well and rose, crossing to the window. Two Pennsylvania State Police troopers held Holt by his arms as he tried to wrestle free.

  Zoe spun and pointed an authoritative finger at the girl. “Stay right there.” With a don’t-dare-to-stop-me glance at Nate, she stormed through the kitchen and onto the porch.

  Wild-eyed, Holt looked at her. “Has something happened to Maddie?”

  “Maddie’s fine.” Zoe took two big strides toward Holt and the troopers. “Let him go. He lives here.”

  “We’re simply securing the crime scene, ma’am,” one of the troopers said. “No one in or out.”

  “Crime scene?” Holt twisted, trying again to break the troopers’ hold. “What crime scene?”

  “There’s a dead body in the basement,” Zoe said.

  A small yelp behind Zoe spun her around.

  Maddie stood in the kitchen doorway, her dark eyes in stark contrast to skin that had lost all color. “Dad!” she shrieked and bolted past Zoe.

  The troopers released Holt, and he dropped to his knees to catch his hysterical daughter in his arms.

  Zoe caught movement beyond the troopers. Pete emerged from her side of the house. He appeared to assess the situation for a moment before striding toward them.

  “Pete. Did you find out who the victim is?” She winced. “Was?”

  He stole a glance at Maddie, his shoulders sagged ever so slightly as he shifted his eyes to Zoe. “I think you better take her inside.”

  Holt climbed to his feet. Maddie clung to him, and he kept one protective arm around her. “What’s going on?”

  “Zoe,” Pete said, his voice low, but insistent. “Get her out of here.”

  Maddie dug in her heels. “I’m staying with my dad.”

  Zoe hadn’t noticed Nate and Mrs. Kroll were standing in the kitchen doorway until her landlady spoke up. “Come on, Maddie dear. Let’s leave the grownups to sort this thing out.”

  Maddie looked up at her father, pleading. Holt tipped his head toward the older woman. “Go on, baby. I’ll be okay.”

  The girl’s lower lip jutted and tears glistened on her dark lower lashes, but she released her grip on her dad. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she shuffled past Zoe and into the kitchen.

  Once the door was closed, Zoe spun on Pete. “Now tell me. Who is the dead man in my basement?”

  Pete’s gaze locked on Holt. “Would you care to answer her question?”

  Holt shook his head at Pete. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just came in from the barn and saw all the cop cars.”

  Zoe had seen the look on Pete’s face before, when everyone had shown their hands at poker, and he knew his was the best. “It’s your neighbor. Stephen Tierney.”

  “Tierney?” Visions raced across Zoe’s mind. Tierney. The guy in the fort. The man she’d seen arguing with Holt three days ago. Maddie’s words, Dad hates him.

  Nineteen

  Farabee grew still. His face might as well have turned to concrete for all the better Pete could read it. He kept his gaze on Farabee and closed the distance between them until they were nose-to-nose. “Thanks for your help,” Pete told the troopers. “I’ve got it from here.”

  They nodded and left Pete, Holt, and Zoe alone on the porch.

  “Zoe,” Pete said, “you can go, too.”

  “Not on your life.”

  He figured as much. Without acknowledging her smartass retort, he honed in on Farabee, close enough to feel the man’s breath. Close enough to smell his nervous sweat. “You and I are going down to the station to have a little talk. You have the right to remain silent—”

  The door at the far end of the porch crashed open, interrupting the Miranda warning. Wayne Baronick, a brown evidence bag in his gloved hand charged toward them. “Good. You’re still here. You’re gonna want to see this.”

  Pete took a step back from his murder suspect. “What have you got?”

  Baronick opened the bag. “The boys found something besides a dead body in the potato bin.” He reached into the bag and removed a black ball cap.

  A black ball cap with a blue UK stitched on it. Just like the one Farabee’s daughter had been wearing on Saturday.

  Pete closed in on Farabee, whose stone-faced façade had started to crack. “Do you recog
nize that hat?”

  Farabee’s eyes had widened, locked on the hat. Pete could almost hear the whir of the man’s mind processing his predicament. Farabee opened his mouth.

  From behind him, Zoe cleared her throat. “You were about to Mirandize him, weren’t you?”

  Damn.

  She continued where Pete had left off. “Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

  “Zoe,” Pete warned.

  “So shut up.”

  Farabee gave a barely discernible nod. “I think I will.”

  Pete resisted the urge to snarl at Zoe. Stop helping. Instead he shrugged. “Fine.” There would be plenty of time to get the truth. Baronick dropped the cap back into the evidence bag while Pete unclipped a pair of handcuffs from his duty belt. “Holt Farabee, you’re under arrest for the murder of Stephen Tierney.”

  Farabee made no effort to resist, but as Pete closed the cuffs on the man’s wrists, he turned his head toward Zoe. “Maddie.”

  “Mrs. Kroll and I’ll take care of her. I’ll call Mr. Imperatore, too.”

  “Not Mrs. Kroll. You. I need you to protect her. Don’t let her out of your sight.” Farabee’s voice sounded strangled. “Promise me. Don’t let anything happen to my little girl.”

  Zoe watched Pete and Holt from the bank of windows on the back porch. Pete put Holt in the Explorer’s backseat, climbed behind the wheel, and drove away. Downstairs, Franklin Marshall and the Monongahela County Crime Scene Unit along with Wayne and his county detectives processed her basement. Unless they’d removed Stephen Tierney’s body through the outside doors, he was still down there, too. The assorted police jurisdictions remained on the premises, some talking among themselves outside, some moving in and out of her side of the house. Yet the commotion all around seemed muffled by the noise inside her mind.

  Protect Maddie.

  Holt didn’t say watch. Or keep an eye on her. He said protect.