Death Trap

by Karin Kaufman

  “Are you sure we should be talking about this?” Turner asked. “What if McDermott finds out? I don’t want him to fire the chief.”

  “He might do that anyway,” Underhill said glumly.

  “McDermott doesn’t want you talking to Gilroy and vice versa,” I pointed out, “but he can’t tell me who to talk to.”

  “You’re the designated go-between,” Underhill said. “So listen to this and pass it on to the chief.” He paused to give the sidewalk outside the station’s front window a good scan. “I finally got hold of McDermott, and I asked him if he knew about the chief’s lapel pin being at the crime scene. He sounded very slippery. Obviously, he knew it had been found. Turns out he got a phone call about it.”

  “And it influenced his decision to take Gilroy off the case,” I said, wanting to pound the front desk with my fists.

  “I said if he didn’t tell me who called him, it was obstruction of justice and I’d arrest him on the spot.”

  Turner gaped. “You can’t do that.”

  Underhill lifted a shoulder. “McDermott didn’t know. Anyway, he swears the call was anonymous and he didn’t recognize the voice because it sounded strange, like it was recorded or filtered through electronics. But he said it was a woman’s voice. He couldn’t guess at the woman’s age, so he says.”

  “Could it have been Brynne Ware or Jova Dillman?” I said.

  “Possibly,” Underhill said.

  “I could see either one of them doing it. I think Brynne was having an affair with Stuart—”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, and Jova’s known Stuart far longer than his other guests. She might actually be his friend, unlike the others.”

  Turner put an end to our running hypothesis by asking a sensible question. “Why would either of them want to frame the chief?”

  That was the real question, and we had no answer. Whether Stuart had killed Lesley or one of his guests had murdered her, the question at hand, the one that might lead us to the killer and the killer’s motive, was clear: Who wanted to frame Gilroy?

  “I’m wondering if this goes back to Gilroy’s troubles with Mayor Wick in Fort Collins,” I said. “Before he took the job as police chief.”

  “I came on after the chief was hired, but I’ve heard about that,” Underhill said. “The chief was burned for carrying out his duties, case closed. How do you not arrest a woman for committing her third or fourth DUI? He had to. And what kind of mayor destroys a cop’s career just because he did what’s right? I’m sure Gilroy didn’t want to arrest Mrs. Wick, but you can’t pick and choose how you enforce the law. They ran him out of Fort Collins, but it was their loss and our gain.”

  Bewildered, Turner looked from me to Underhill. “I thought the chief wanted to leave Fort Collins. He didn’t?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Underhill said. “Right now we need to get to work.” He straightened and threw out his chest, making it clear who was in charge. “If we don’t solve this case, McDermott and the Board of Trustees will go after the chief’s job. It’s bad enough it happened in Fort Collins. It’s not going to happen here. Not on my watch. Turner, I want you to round up our suspects for questioning, bring them in one at a time. And when they get here, you’re going to Mirandize them. Let them know we’re not playing games anymore.” He grabbed the keys to the squad car and tossed them Turner’s way. “No more vague answers, no more not recalling where they were. There’s a thing called ‘obstruction of a criminal investigation,’ and if I think they’re lying, I’ll charge them.”

  “You want me to Mirandize them?” Turner said.

  “I just said so.”

  Underhill turned his newly authoritative voice on me. “Rachel, can you find out if any of the suspects have a connection to Fort Collins or the former mayor? I’m not counting on our guests to be forthcoming.”

  I told him that I’d done a preliminary check and that as far as I could tell, none of them had a connection. “But I’m just getting started. Holly, Julia, and Royce Putnam are looking into their backgrounds too.”

  “Good, thanks. Turner, why are you still standing here? Bring back Kip Dempster first. He works at Wyatt’s.”

  Turner dropped the keys, picked them up, and flew out the door.

  At times Underhill could be officious, whiny, and even lazy. But mostly he was a darn good cop, and right then, I could have kissed him.

  “Do you remember that note you found last September? ‘Chief Gilroy is a liar’?” I would never forget the sight of Officer Underhill standing in my kitchen, his hand and forearms covered in dirt from digging deeper into a hole that someone had already started in my backyard. He’d found the note in a cardboard box. It was only later that I’d realized someone had gone to great lengths to set Gilroy up for a fall.

  “You bet I do,” Underhill said. “I’ll never forget having to read the note right in front of him. It’s happening all over again, isn’t it? The chief must be wondering why he bothers.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. He’s a good cop, Underhill.”

  “He’s a great cop. The best I’ve ever worked with.”

  “He’s honest and decent, and this is the reward he gets. It’s like Julia says. People don’t like straight arrows.”

  “Criminals and other dishonest folks don’t like them,” Underhill said, sweeping up the crime scene photos. “But the rest of us do. The chief has more supporters than he thinks he does.”

  On hearing the door open, I looked back to see Turner ushering Kip Dempster into the station. “Found him on the sidewalk walking this way,” Turner explained.

  “Mr. Dempster,” Underhill said, literally looking down his nose at Kip.

  Kip quivered slightly. “I need to let my boss know where I am.”

  “Why weren’t you at work?” Underhill asked.

  “I was on my break,” he whined.

  Underhill gestured with his head toward the interview room, and Turner escorted Kip down the hall.

  I lowered my voice. “Can you leave the door open? I missed Gilroy’s interview with Kip.”

  Underhill nodded, strode to another door, and removed an evidence bag from a lockbox. “Don’t let him see you,” he instructed.

  I stationed myself against the wall, three feet from the open door to the interview room.

  “Officer Turner, did you Mirandize Mr. Dempster?” I heard Underhill say. Something clunked softly on the table.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why do I need a Miranda warning?” Kip moaned.

  “Procedure,” Underhill said. I almost chuckled.

  “Full name, age, and address?” Underhill asked.

  “Kipton Miles Dempster. I’m thirty-two, and I live at 1420 Bayberry Street, apartment 12. Chief Gilroy didn’t give me a Miranda warning. What’s that bag?”

  “Do you recognize the item in this evidence bag?” Underhill asked.

  “What is it?” Kip said.

  “Do you recognize it?” Underhill repeated.

  “It’s a cross,” Kip said.

  “To be precise, it’s an early medieval bronze cross worth about three hundred dollars.”

  “That’s all?” Kip said.

  “Did you expect it to be worth more?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kip sounded like a six-year-old, his mouth covered in cookie crumbs, claiming he hadn’t touched the cookie jar. Underhill paused, letting his interviewee sweat a moment.

  “It’s been dusted for fingerprints, Stuart Hunter’s prints being eliminated. We’d like to compare what we found to your fingerprints, Mr. Dempster.”

  Kip laughed. “Like I’d be stupid enough to touch it?”

  Underhill, you clever, sneaky cop.

  “Are you saying you were more careful than that?” Underhill asked.

  “It’s not mine,” Kip objected. “You didn’t find it on me, right? I thought you were investigating Lesley Hunter’s murder.”

  “We’ll get to that,”
Underhill replied. “One step at a time. We’re beginning with motive.”

  “What do you mean motive? That thing?”

  “You thought this cross was worth a great deal more, didn’t you?”

  “Hang on a—”

  “Stuart Hunter affirmed that two hours before yesterday’s birthday party, this cross was in a display case in his collections room. Did Lesley Hunter walk in on you as you were taking it?”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “You were in the bedroom where the cross was found, Mr. Dempster.”

  “That’s just it! I was in the bedroom. I wasn’t near Lesley. I was hiding the cross in a drawer when I heard her scream.”

  “Why did you hide it? Why not put it in your pocket?”

  “I did after I took it.” Kips’ voice grew quiet. “Then I heard Stuart say, ‘Who took it?’ or something. I wanted to hide it and take it later. It was only when I heard a scream that I came out of the room. You can ask your chief! He saw me.”

  “What else have you stolen from the Hunters’ house?” Underhill asked.

  “Nothing. And I didn’t steal that, either. You can’t prove anything. I moved it was all I did.”

  “With the intent to steal it.”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything.”

  “Let me assure you, Mr. Dempster, according to the law, what you did was commit theft. We will charge you and book you, and that arrest will be on your record for the rest of your life. How do you think Wyatt’s will react? You think you’ll make assistant manager? They wouldn’t hire you as a busboy.”

  I wasn’t so sure a jury would convict Kip of theft, but Kip’s silence told me that he was convinced.

  “Well?” Underhill bellowed.

  “What am I supposed to do?” came the anemic response.

  “You can start by being honest about stealing the cross,” Underhill answered.

  “Okay, okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “I took it. I took it! But I didn’t murder Lesley. Why would I do that?”

  “Start writing,” Underhill said. “Every detail. Where you were before you took it, how you took it, what happened after you took it. Every single detail.”

  “Okay. What then?”

  “Then we’re going to talk about the night of the party.”

  “But—”

  “Start writing. If you’re forthcoming, maybe Mr. Hunter will decline to press charges. We’ll see.”

  Turner strode from the room and I followed him to the lobby.

  “I’m off to check on Fort Collins connections,” I said, grinning broadly. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything. Otherwise, I’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning with donuts.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Back in my Subaru, I phoned Royce to find out how he and Julia were doing digging up new information on our suspects and found out they were heading to the police station. I told them Underhill and Turner were occupied with interviews for now, and when Royce’s silver Honda parked a few spaces down from the station’s door, I flagged them down.

  “Underhill just pulled off a masterful interview with Kip,” I said, climbing into the Honda’s back seat. “Got him to admit he stole the cross I found in a spare bedroom.”

  “Underhill?” Julia asked. “Are we talking about the same person?”

  “He’s better than you think, Julia.”

  “I should hope so.”

  In Julia’s eyes, no cop came close to Gilroy’s brilliance. I agreed with her on that.

  “Do I know about this cross?” Royce asked Julia.

  “I’ll fill you in later, Royce.”

  Royce shifted sideways in the driver’s seat, pulled out his green notebook, and flipped back several pages. “All right, Rachel, here we go. We found three connections to the former mayor of Fort Collins and Mrs. Wick.”

  “That’s wonderful.” I sat forward. “Three?”

  “Jova, Maurice, and . . .” Royce glanced at Julia, a pained look in his eyes. “And Officer Travis Turner.”

  His words hung in the air. A few seconds passed before I could manage to ask what the connection was.

  “The former mayor is good buddies with Turner’s father,” Royce said. “Edward Turner, who’s a cop. They go a long way back. Years ago the Turners lived in Fort Collins, but even after they moved to Windsor three years back, Turner’s wife stayed friends with the mayor’s wife. Our source has seen them chatting in Fort Collins, the last time at a Christmas party. The two men must be friends as well. How old would you say Turner is?”

  “About twenty-five. But I’ve never asked. Edward Turner was a Fort Collins cop? I knew he was a cop, but Fort Collins?” I didn’t like coincidences.

  “Yes, Fort Collins. And our Officer Turner must have been a senior in high school when Gilroy arrested the mayor’s wife, but I would bet he heard all about it from his dad, and read all about it in the papers.”

  “He knows about it,” I said. “He said so a little while ago while Underhill and I were talking about it. But I don’t think he has all the facts. He said he thought Gilroy wanted to leave Fort Collins.”

  Julia shook her head sadly. “His dad would have poisoned his young mind against Chief Gilroy.”

  “Oh, I can’t believe it.” I flopped back in my seat and rubbed my eyes. Turner?

  “Gilroy should know about this,” Royce said. “He has to be prepared in case Turner, well, planted the pin or conspired with someone to do it.”

  I shook my head, refusing to believe that Turner would betray Gilroy, especially over something that happened when he was a kid and that couldn’t have affected the course of his life. “What about Jova and Maurice? What connections do they have?”

  Royce flipped a page in his notebook. “Jova used to work in Fort Collins, in the county clerk’s office. A female friend of hers, Peggie, told us she was office manager and was invited to parties at the mayor’s house. Christmas parties, dinner parties. We don’t know if the two had a close relationship, but Jova knew him well enough.”

  “How did you get Peggie to tell you that?” I asked.

  Royce smiled. “I’m charming.”

  “And he looks so harmless,” Julia said.

  “People in their sixties tend to,” he said. “You’d be surprised what people will tell us without hesitation.” He winked at Julia.

  “Okay, what about Maurice?” I said.

  “Maurice made himself quite a nuisance when he lived in Fort Collins,” Royce said. “This was before he owned the Loveland bookstore and moved to Juniper Grove. He was a fixture at city council meetings, complaining about everything from snow plows to cell towers to new residential developments. According to a friend—”

  “Another friend?” I asked.

  “An ex-friend this time. From what little I’ve picked up, Maurice has a lot of them.”

  “I believe that,” I said.

  The station’s door heaved open and out walked Turner. I sucked in my breath.

  “I’ll throttle that man,” Julia said. “I’ll box his ears.”

  Turner made a sharp left and marched with purpose down the sidewalk. I wondered if Gilroy had any idea that his officer’s father was close friends with the man who had tried to ruin him. Did Underhill know? Probably not, since Turner lived in Windsor, five miles southeast of Fort Collins. I wouldn’t have guessed he had a Fort Collins connection.

  “He must be bringing in another suspect for questioning,” I said.

  A few seconds later, Kip, looking drained and frightened, exited the station and walked off in the direction of his restaurant.

  “Stuart suspected all his guests of taking that cross,” I said. “He called them all thieves.”

  “What strange kind of party was this?” Julia said. “Why were these people at Stuart’s house?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question,” I answered. “Royce, you were saying about Maurice?”

  “This ex-friend of his said the
mayor used to call on him at council meetings, saying things like, ‘My buddy Maurice has graced us with his presence and wisdom again.’ Sappy things like that. They weren’t buddies, naturally. The mayor couldn’t stand him, the city council couldn’t stand him, and Maurice couldn’t stand any of them. I gathered Maurice thought he should be mayor, or at least a councilman.”

  “Maurice has a superiority complex,” I said.

  “So what do you think, Rachel?” Julia asked.

  I pondered her question. “What reason would Maurice have for helping the mayor get back at Gilroy?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll tell you something interesting,” Royce said. “A year before Maurice moved to Juniper Grove and bought his bookstore, he discontinued his appearances at city council meetings. His ex-friend says he stopped all his complaining, too—the letters to the newspaper, phone calls to city hall. Stopped it all. Why would he do that?”

  “Did his ex-friend have any idea?”

  “No, they drifted apart and he never asked. But he said it wasn’t in keeping with Maurice’s complaining personality. He guessed that Maurice was pressured into staying away from council meetings.”

  “That is interesting,” I said. “I wonder if they came to some sort of agreement. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Or maybe Mayor Wick threatened Maurice.”

  “There’s Holly,” Julia said, rolling down her window. “Holly! Over here.”

  Holly zeroed in on Julia’s voice and double-timed it to the car. “You’re all here!”

  I popped open the car door. “We have more news.”

  When I finished my recap—Underhill and Kip, Jova and Maurice, Turner and his father—Holly looked like she would spit nails. And she focused her wrath on Turner. “He’s never said a word to Gilroy, I’m sure of it. That snake in the grass. I talk to him almost every morning at the bakery. All smiles. Did he plant that lapel pin for his father?”

  Royce, ever prudent and wise, reminded her that we didn’t know for certain who had planted the pin.

  “Who else had access?” Holly said. “Turner could have taken the pin at any time. And wasn’t he the one who found it, Rachel?”