The Advice Column Murders
Page 5
Silence fell. Charley observed Mitch as he worked, noting how mature and collected he seemed. Tall and slim, he radiated competence despite his almost comically youthful face.
“Oakwood is lucky to have you,” she said impulsively.
He turned bright red. “I should probably ask you to go, Charley. This is a crime scene.”
“I should stay,” she protested. “Paul will need my statement.”
Even as she spoke, she heard more vehicles arriving, followed by the murmur of voices. At last, Charley thought, more than ready for a reprieve.
But it wasn’t Marc’s partner, Paul Brixton, who next descended the stairs. Assistant County Coroner Sharon Krugh’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Charley? How on earth do you keep ending up at murder scenes? Do you have a scanner?”
Charley said flatly, “I live next door.”
“Seriously?” Charley expected a wisecrack, but instead Sharon became immediately solicitous. “How awful, and right next door to your family. Are you all right? Was she a friend?”
“Not really, no.” Charley was pleasantly surprised. Sharon and Marc had dated briefly, and Charley had never felt at ease with this curvy blonde who always made it clear she’d willingly be Marc’s Door Number Two if Charley ever opted out of the game. Yet Sharon’s warmth and concern seemed genuine. Perhaps because Marc wasn’t here? Charley knew that some women couldn’t help turning on the sex appeal in the presence of an attractive male, attached or not. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for the show of friendship.
Following close on Sharon’s heels was a man in the starched khaki of the Montgomery County Sheriff’s Department. He removed his flat-brimmed hat as he ducked to avoid the low ceiling joist, revealing stringy brown hair plastered into a comb-over. The new arrival was as thin as his hair, with narrow shoulders and skinny arms that seemed disproportionately long for his below-average height. A wide, meticulously trimmed brown mustache tried in vain to compensate for the hooked nose, thin lips, receding chin, and prominent Adam’s apple. Pale green eyes gleamed with intelligence, and Charley got the feeling he was cataloguing every word spoken, every item in the cramped basement apartment. There was also a hint of something else in his eyes, in the lines around his mouth, the aggressive set of his shoulders, that suggested arrogance or hostility, or perhaps both.
“Sergeant George Drummond, Investigator, Homicide Division.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt in a self-caricature that would’ve made Charley smile, if she hadn’t been standing over a corpse. “And you are? For the record.” His smirk gave Charley the distinct impression that he knew exactly who she was.
“Charley Carpenter,” she said, lifting her chin. “Why are you here? Where’s Detective Brixton?”
He stared at her, and the atmosphere of hostility grew thicker. Just as the silence began to feel awkward, he drew himself up, shoulders squared, one hand moving to rest on his sidearm, all of it with the air of a pose rehearsed many times.
“Suspicious deaths in Montgomery County fall within the jurisdiction of the Sheriff’s Department. Local departments may, at their discretion, either retain investigative control or let superior resources handle such investigations properly.”
His tone made his disdain for “local departments” obvious. Sharon snorted but kept her eyes fixed on the temperature gauge she was reading. Drummond glared in her direction before rounding on Mitch. “I’ll take your report. Then you can escort this unauthorized person out of my crime scene, something that should’ve been done immediately. I’ve got two deputies outside who know how to follow basic procedures. They’ll need room to work.”
Mitch’s jaw flexed, but he merely flipped open his notebook and prepared to read.
Charley, however, found herself in no mood to let the insult slide. Who did this Drummond think he was? “Officer Cooper secured the scene perfectly,” she snapped. “I haven’t touched anything except Judith, the woman who had the seizure. I’m here because I’m a witness. Or don’t you question witnesses down at the Sheriff’s Department?”
Drummond’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a witness?” He glanced at the body. “This woman’s been dead for hours. You saw the stabbing? How long have you been hiding down here?”
Before she could retort, Mitch interrupted, his voice carefully neutral. “Ms. Carpenter lives next door. Approximately ninety minutes ago, she heard screams and entered the house to find a resident, Mrs. Judith Sharpe, trying to revive the victim. I asked Ms. Carpenter to remain so she could reconstruct her eyewitness observations, pursuant to the disturbance of the body, in the presence of both the coroner and the chief investigator. Would you like to begin with her statement, or shall I summarize my first responder report? I’ve also photographed and videoed the scene and portions of the residence to preserve evidence.”
Charley smothered a smile as Drummond gazed at Mitch in consternation. Sharon winked at her from her position beside the body.
“Female Caucasian in her early thirties,” she began. “She’s been dead at least sixteen hours, perhaps longer. Tentative window is yesterday evening, say nine p.m. to two a.m. It’s unusually hot down here for some reason. That would’ve accelerated rigor but not affected stomach contents, so I’ll be able to narrow it down.”
“Space heater.” Charley pointed. “Officer Bronsen switched it off when she arrived. I doubt the heater has any sinister significance, but Judith can tell you whether Sarah would’ve typically left it running.” She added her own earlier observations of Sarah’s tendency to run cold.
“COD is a stab wound to the heart,” Sharon continued. “Your weapon is maybe one half to three quarter inches wide, but thicker than a normal knife blade, perhaps several millimeters. I can’t be more precise without an examination.”
“Are there any surgical tools like that?” Charley asked.
Sharon raised her eyebrows. “I’m sure there are many. Of course, the tools of my trade are quite specialized. Why?”
“The victim’s stepfather is a thoracic surgeon.”
Sharon’s brows rose even higher. “I’ll keep that in mind. Lividity is fixed, so she probably died right here.” She sat back on her heels. “You say the body was disturbed? Can you describe what you saw?”
Drummond scowled, but he didn’t protest. Interesting. Charley wondered where he and the coroner fit into the all-important law enforcement chain of command. She’d love to see Sharon order this jackass around, maybe send him out for coffee. Turning her back on him, she described all she’d seen and done clearly and concisely.
“Less than two minutes elapsed from the time I heard the first screams until I arrived. I doubt that would be enough time for Judith to drag Sarah any distance. In fact, she wasn’t lifting or trying to move her, just grasping the victim’s shoulders and shaking her in what I assume was an attempt to revive her. My guess is that Sarah fell just about where she is right now.”
“I agree.” Sharon pulled up the edge of Sarah’s nightgown and tugged down the waistband of her sweatpants, baring one hip. She used a small LED flashlight to illuminate a purplish discoloration. “If the body had lain on a mattress for twelve hours, you’d expect a different lividity pattern. She’s also got a bump on the back of her head. There’s minimal swelling, meaning it occurred shortly before death.”
“That suggests the victim was on her feet when she was stabbed, and struck her head when she hit the floor,” Mitch concluded. “Given the orientation of the body, I’d say she was standing near the foot of the stairs, possibly facing her attacker. The killer would have been standing on one of the bottom two—” He started to move forward but found himself face-to-face with Drummond. The sergeant’s expression was thunderous.
“Is it standard procedure in this town to disclose confidential details of a murder inquiry in front of a suspect?” he demanded. “Get this…person out of here, and send my deputies down
before this scene is compromised beyond salvage.”
“ ‘Suspect’?” Charley gaped at Drummond, but he ignored her as he continued to berate Mitch.
“I want your final report, as well as all photographs and video, sent to my attention within the hour. You are dismissed, Officer. And you—” He pointed at Charley. “Don’t leave town without notifying the authorities.”
“Oh, I’ll be notifying the proper authorities, believe me.” Charley was seething. “When Detective Trenault gets back, he’s going to—”
“Trenault’s not going to do anything.” Drummond’s expression was oddly triumphant. “Not if he wants to keep his precious job. Dwight Zehring finally got one right. This is my case. Get moving,” he snarled at Mitch before turning his back on him and Charley.
With a last glance at Sarah Weller and a sympathetic nod from Sharon, Charley stomped up the narrow steps, with Mitch following closely behind her.
“Really starting to hate that guy,” she hissed. She paused on the landing, trying to get her temper under control. “Can he really do this? Just…take over?”
“He can if Chief Zehring says he can.” Mitch shrugged, his expression carefully neutral. “Technically, I’m supposed to send copies of any reports I file to our detective section, too.”
“Good to know.” Charley reached for the door, but Mitch stayed her hand, instead pushing it open with gloved fingers. “The boys are at my house. Could you make sure Deputy Showboat down there contacts Dr. Sharpe?” She stepped outside, filling her lungs with sweet, pure air. Then she halted in shocked surprise.
In the driveway stood a white van with montgomery county coroner lettered across the side. Two techs chatted quietly beside a gurney, presumably waiting for Sharon’s order to transport the body. Two sheriff’s deputies stood, arms folded, blocking access to the side door. While Charley had expected these four, she was dismayed to find both Hawthorn Boulevard and Delaine Avenue positively jammed with Oakwood patrol cars and Sheriff’s Department vehicles. Flashing red and blue pulsed through the early-spring twilight, illuminating the faces of her neighbors, some avid, some frightened, as they huddled on lawns and porches. Radios crackled and squawked as at least a dozen media types jostled for position on the sidewalk, waving cameras and tossing out questions at a phalanx of Oakwood safety officers and sheriff’s deputies who struggled to hold them at bay.
Charley skirted the gurney and hopped over the boxwoods, squinting against the pulsing strobe of emergency lights. The moment she stepped onto her own property, a platoon of reporters rushed her, blinding her with more lights, shoving microphones in her face and shouting questions. They hemmed her in on all sides, pushing and tugging at her as she tried to cross to her front porch. She felt trapped, frightened, and then suddenly angry as unseen hands grabbed at her. She threw an elbow and heard a man grunt in pain. Then she yanked a microphone from a woman with an improbable helmet of bleached hair and flung it as far as she could. A heavy camera struck Charley on the side of her head, and she saw stars. As if from a distance, she heard Lawrence bellowing as she began to fall.
At that moment a strong arm slipped around her waist from behind, and she felt herself being lifted off the ground. Mitch appeared in front of her, blocking her body with his own, forcing a path through the mob as someone carried her toward the porch steps. Lawrence held the front door open, and a moment later she was inside. The door slammed, shutting out the blaze of lights and cacophony of shouted questions. Bobby yanked the curtains closed with a curse. The moment Charley regained her footing, she turned to discover the identity of her rescuer.
“What are you doing here?” she asked stupidly.
“Great to see you, too, babe.” Marcus Trenault smiled ruefully. “I wanted to surprise you, but it looks like the joke is on me.”
Chapter 4
It was suddenly all too much. The lack of sleep, the sabotage at Old Hat, the shock of discovering Sarah’s body, the terrible smell, her anger at Drummond, the barrage of reporters, the blow to her head. Charley swayed and her knees began to buckle. Instantly Marc scooped her into his arms.
“Brandy,” he barked. “And a towel with ice.” Lawrence and Bobby scrambled to obey as he eased down onto the sofa, keeping Charley on his lap. When she tried to wriggle free, he tightened his hold. “Relax, sweetheart, and let me take care of you.” He kissed her forehead. “Just this once.”
Charley relented, feeling the adrenaline crash dragging at every bone in her body. She curled into Marc’s chest as Lawrence reappeared with an ice pack. She winced as Marc touched it gingerly to the bump on her head.
“You haven’t been sleeping.” It was a statement, not a question.
Charley didn’t answer. She accepted a glass of amber liquid from Bobby and obediently took a healthy swallow. As the brandy sent a welcome warmth through her tired limbs, she sighed with contentment. “I’m glad you came back early.”
“Me, too.” Marc smiled, gently repositioning the ice bag. “I blew off the final afternoon session on protecting our coastlines from terrorism. If ISIS decides to send divers up the Great Miami River from Cincinnati, I guess we’re screwed.” His smile faded. “I’d just crossed into Ohio when Paul called me about the murder. After that, I damned near broke the sound barrier getting here.”
“Paul called you? Why not Chief Zehring?” she asked. “Not that it matters anymore. Now that you’re back, you can take charge of the case and kick that puffed-up idiot to the curb. Would you believe he had the nerve to call me a suspect?” Bobby growled, but she waved it away. “Don’t worry. Mitch and Sharon set him straight. Hopefully, he hasn’t done too much damage yet, so you can…” As she saw the look on Marc’s face, Charley’s heart sank. “They’re not giving you the case, are they.”
“Zehring has officially ceded jurisdiction to the Sheriff’s Department. And according to Paul, he made it clear I am to stay away. If I so much as run a plate number without a direct request from the lead investigator, I’m suspended without pay.”
“But you’re amazing,” she protested.
“Thank you.” He kissed her nose. “I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised. The crime scene is next door to your home, and it’s known you and I are involved.”
“That shouldn’t matter,” Charley insisted. “In a town the size of Oakwood, practically every crime you investigate touches someone you know. Honestly, every time something big goes down, Zehring looks for an excuse to cut you out. The idea that Sergeant Drummond can just waltz in here and—”
Marc’s eyes widened. “Drummond? George Drummond?”
“Short, chip on his shoulder, eighties porn star mustache?” She searched his face. “You know him?”
“We’ve got some history.” He pulled her against his chest and buried his face in her hair. “This day just gets better and better.”
Something in his voice put Charley on alert. “Did something happen in Chicago? Is your father all right?”
Marc sighed. “Warren is the same as he’s ever been. Meaning he’s conceited, self-centered, power-hungry, and dissatisfied with his only son’s career as a lowly cop.”
“I’m sorry.” She’d never spoken to Warren Trenault directly, only glimpsed him the day they’d buried Marc’s mother, Evelyn. He was a silver-haired version of his son, handsome and aloof. Marc’s words had sounded resigned with an undertone of bitterness, and she was glad again for the close relationship he’d forged with her own father. Everyone needed a dad now and then.
“I told him about you.” He’d spoken so softly, she almost didn’t hear him.
“You did? What did he say?”
When Marc didn’t answer, Lawrence cleared his throat and sent a meaningful glance at Bobby. “Let’s give these two a little privacy.” He retrieved the ice pack and wheeled Bobby out to the kitchen.
Marc murmured, “How bad was it? Do you know th
e victim?”
“Bad enough, and no, not really.” She felt his heart beat against her cheek, strong and steady, its comforting rhythm soothing away the horrors of the past two hours. God, she’d missed him.
“Tell me,” he said simply.
In a few words, Charley outlined the Sharpe household and the events of the afternoon, including the fact that the twins were sitting in her kitchen at this moment, and that she’d stood guard over the corpse until the authorities had arrived. “I only met her once.” Charley stirred, forcing herself to give voice to the guilt that had surfaced earlier. “I think she was in some sort of trouble, Marc. She started to ask me for help, but I never…It makes me wonder if I’d reached out, made some effort to get to know her, whether she might still be alive.”
He’d listened without comment. At this last, he only tightened his hold on her. She rested in his arms, just breathing him in, grateful for his silent sympathy. Honestly, he must be the only man on earth who didn’t instantly react to every problem with platitudes or a knee-jerk solution.
After a moment she asked, “Do you want me to tell you what I saw?”
Marc groaned. “What, did you find a note from the killer?”
Despite the circumstances she smiled, understanding that he was trying to lighten the mood for her sake. Marc understood better than anyone that she dealt with stressful situations best when she could talk them through. She imagined that being sidelined on a major case in his own city must be equally stressful for him.
“You know you’re dying to know what’s going on over there. And whatever Zehring’s malfunction with you is, you can’t get in trouble for listening, can you?”
He hesitated. “I suppose not.”
In greater detail this time, Charley walked through everything she’d seen and conjectured about the case so far. She described all she’d observed, starting with her strange encounter with Sarah earlier that week, and concluding with Sharon’s preliminary findings.