Now Mourn the Space Cadet (Conner Beach Crime Series)

by John Chabot

  Harry asked, “Does it give her maiden name?”

  “Uh, Olsen, Tina Olsen.”

  Mickie took out her notebook. “What else do you have?”

  There wasn’t much. No record of birth. Tina, like so many these days, had apparently been born in a different state.

  “What about marriages?” asked Harry.

  Ed’s fingers selected a different code, and a new page appeared. Two entries.

  Harry leaned in closer, chuckling. “That’s what I want to see.”

  Mickie made another entry in her notebook.

  Twenty minutes later, Ed was on his way home, not even thinking about the game. It was the Vampire case. That's what the papers were calling it. There had been a big spread on it in this morning's local section, with sidebars on the growth of demonic cults and the history of the vampire myths. Who knows? he thought. That stuff's been around a long time. There could be something to it.

  He felt light now as he drove back home. Helping detectives on a really sensational murder case wasn't something he did every Sunday. Just wait, he thought, till I tell Nora about this. They had asked him not to discuss it with anyone, but this was too good. And then, it hadn't taken as long as he had feared. He could still catch the second half of the game. This was turning into one good day.

  Actually, it wouldn't be quite as good as he thought. He had completely forgotten the red wine for the roast, and the lettuce for the salad.

  * * *

  Frank was getting restless. The pills Kathryn had given him had knocked him out much of the previous afternoon and evening. He had gotten up feeling rested, and eaten the supper she had fixed for him. He was surprised when, a few hours later, he was tired again, and had slept through the night. He woke early on Sunday morning.

  It was a lazy Sunday, Kathryn insisting he stay idle. “Take it easy,” she had said. “You have a right.”

  He had tried, had spent an hour or so reading the paper, avoiding the news of the murder. But doing nothing was foreign to him, made him jumpy. In the afternoon, he sat out on the deck, watching the sun glinting on the rippled surface of the water, trying to get his thoughts together. How was he supposed to feel, he wondered? How do you feel when your wife has been murdered? He couldn't say. He thought there must be something wrong with him, something missing from his emotions, but the fact was he didn't feel anything. Maybe later the enormity of it would hit him, but for now there was only numbness. He felt no loss.

  Kathryn came out onto the deck. She laid a hand on his shoulder, bent to kiss him on the cheek. "You all right?"

  "Yes, fine."

  "Good. I have to go out for some things. You take it easy, I'll be back soon."

  He stood up, glad to be moving. "No," he said, "I'll go with you. You can drop me off at the house."

  She stiffened. "Why? You can't want to go back there now."

  "I have to. For one thing, my car's there. And I have to check the mail, see if there are any phone messages. You know."

  She stood looking at him, not sure she understood. "Can't those things wait?"

  "I suppose they could, but what's the sense? They have to be done, I might as well do them."

  She shrugged. "What time will you be back?"

  "You mean today?"

  "Of course."

  "Well, maybe that's not such a good idea, Kath. People may be trying to get hold of me. They'll expect me to be there."

  "I certainly wouldn't. You don't mean you're going to spend the night there?"

  "No, I'll find someplace else."

  Her eyes narrowed. "But not here."

  "Look, it's just that ... well, I've been thinking. Somebody killed Tina —"

  "I'm aware of that."

  "—and the way the police think, the only ones who would seem to have a reason are you and me."

  "That's nonsense."

  "I know that, but ... well, you understand. It'd be better this way."

  "Frank, they already know about us. They know you were here last night."

  "I know, but...."

  He stopped, made a feeble gesture. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she stood staring at him in disbelief. "You think I did it."

  He hesitated a fraction too long. "No. No, of course I don't."

  "And what if I thought that about you? You had even more to gain. You get out of the marriage and save a lot of money."

  He said nothing, hurt as much by the scorn in her voice as by what she had said. Their eyes locked, hurt and angry. Finally, Kathryn turned, facing the smooth water beyond the deck, but taking in nothing.

  Frank said, "I never believed that."

  Kathryn stood with her back to him, her fingers picking at the hem of her sweater.

  He said, "Maybe I should get a cab."

  "Yes, if you like."

  "I'll call you."

  "Fine."

  He took a step toward her, his hands open as if to hold her, then stopped. He started to say something else, shrugged and left. Kathryn walked to the wooden rail surrounding the deck, her eyes beginning to overflow. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then made a fist and slammed it onto the rail, not feeling the hurt.

  "Damn!" she cried. "Oh damn, damn, damn!"

  CHAPTER 11

  BRYAN

  Bryan sat on the sofa, watching the tall men in short pants. He found himself wondering what the score was, and realized he didn't even know, or care, who was winning. These weren't teams he normally cared much about. When a timeout was called, he used the remote to wander through the other channels, settling on a sci-fi movie. After a few minutes he realized he had seen it before, and it hadn't been all that good the first time. Still, he kept watching.

  He knew that when he was in procrastination mode he would watch anything that moved. Reruns of old cop shows, bad sci-fi movies, like this one, whatever. When commercials came on, he would flip along the other channels and settle on something else. He had sometimes watched for hours without seeing the beginning or end of anything. He wished he weren't so prone to wasting time like this. But then, he also wished he were taller, or more clever, or that the Publishers Clearing House would show up with his ten million dollars.

  The problem, he thought, was in living alone. He hadn't been that way before Tina left. Perhaps he had been more ambitious then, or perhaps things had seemed more important with her. Somewhere in his head, a familiar voice nudged him toward the truth—that she wouldn't let him get away with it. Listening to the voice wasn't Bryan's favorite thing to do.

  He shifted positions, stretching his stocking feet out in front, slouching back into the cushions. Part of his mind watched the screen, but another part was aware of the old, too familiar itch of his conscience. It was a vague restlessness, an unease, a slight disgust, a voice that kept reminding him of the truth. Now it focused on the book he should be studying, a History text lying on the table beside him, silent, closed. The TV squatted before him, flaunting its color and motion, demanding, coaxing, sucking up his time and giving him nothing in return. He vowed he’d turn the damned thing off at the next commercial, but didn't.

  Instead, he decided to make himself a cup of instant coffee, then just watch until the end of the movie. He went into the kitchen, ran water until it was hot, ran some into the kettle, and put it on to heat. He spooned the brown coffee powder into a mug and, when the steam started spitting from the mouth of the kettle, made his coffee.

  He almost spilled the coffee as the doorbell caught him halfway back from the kitchen. Oh God, he thought, it's probably Cheryl. He went quickly into the living room and turned off the TV. His books were there on the table. He could tell her he had been studying.

  He was surprised when he opened the door to two people he didn't know, then realized who they must be. The stumpy man with the eyebrows certainly looked like a cop. The woman too, in a way. Something about the eyes.

  "Mr. Clarke?"

  "Yes." How long had it been since anyone had called him that?


  They came in, looking around, and he wished he had picked up a little.

  "We'd like to talk to you about Mrs. Siegert."

  "All right. Would you like some coffee? It's just instant."

  The woman said, "No, thanks" and glanced at her partner. He was picking up the textbooks, reading the titles.

  Harry asked, "You're a student, Mr. Clarke?"

  "Part time, at UNCW."

  "History and Business Math. An odd combination."

  "I'm after a degree, something in business. I was going to go on after high school, but then getting married and all ... you know."

  He motioned them toward the sofa, and dropped into a chair across from them, wondering what they wanted to know. What did they already know?

  The woman said, "First of all, could you tell us where you were on Saturday?"

  "At the shop."

  "The shop?"

  "The Ambrose Print Shop. That's my father’s name, Ambrose. He started it when I was a kid. I've always worked there. He wants to retire pretty soon, so I'll be taking over. That's why I want to get the degree while I can."

  "You must already know the business pretty well."

  "Sure I do. But that's now. We can't just stay a print shop forever. We're already doing mostly computer graphics. Before long everything will be done by computer."

  "You seem pretty busy. Do you often work on Saturdays?"

  "Sometimes. This was a special job. A last minute order. They needed it by Monday."

  "When did you leave the shop?" It was the woman asking the questions.

  "About eleven." Oh Jesus, now they knew he didn't have an alibi.

  "And then what?"

  "I came home, had some lunch and studied. We have a History exam Tuesday night."

  You liar, you ate leftover pizza and watched a western.

  "Was anyone with you?"

  "A friend came over later. We studied together."

  "When was that—when your friend arrived?"

  "I don't know. About two-thirty, I guess."

  She wrote something in her notebook. Without meaning to, Bryan said, "She's just a friend."

  "Sir?"

  Oh God, why did he say that?

  "Cheryl Doles. She's just a friend. I've known her since high school."

  "And she's still in class with you?"

  "When I mentioned I was going back to school, she said she had always wanted to." He shrugged and added, “Sometimes we study together."

  "I see."

  The woman sat looking at her notes, considering, and somehow he knew she was going to change directions.

  "Did you see your ex-wife often?"

  "No. Hardly ever."

  "When was the last time, do you remember?"

  Damn! Why did she have to ask that?

  "Last week. Thursday, I think."

  "Oh?" He didn't answer so she asked, "What was the occasion?"

  "Nothing special."

  "I thought you seldom saw her."

  He could feel the blood rushing to his head, and knew it showed.

  She asked, "Where did you see her?"

  "Here. She came by."

  "What did she want?"

  "Nothing." He had answered too quickly. Slow down, slow down. "Nothing. She just came by. We talked. It was nothing."

  He looked toward the man, wanting him to ask the questions. Didn't he ever say anything? Instead, the woman asked, "Did she seem nervous or frightened?"

  "No. Not that I could see."

  "Maybe she wanted to confide in you."

  "No, I don't think so."

  "Had she called to say she was coming over?"

  "Tina? Not her. The doorbell rang, and there she was."

  "And she gave no reason for coming by?"

  "No."

  Damn, would she ever get off that?

  Harry leaned forward and said, "This friend of yours, Cheryl. You say you knew her in high school?"

  "Yes. I was going with Tina, and she was Tina's friend. Sometimes we double dated. She was always around."

  "You were all in the same school, then?"

  "Oh, no. I went to parochial school, St. John's. I met Tina on the beach one summer. I'd never known anyone like her. You never knew what she was going to do. It was exciting."

  It felt good remembering. He went on, saying, "She seemed to think I was something special. I was nothing much, just a kid, and here was this beautiful, sexy, unpredictable thing holding my arm, staying close to me, saying, Keep off—he's mine. Do you know how that feels when you're seventeen?"

  He saw the older man almost smile, saying, "I'm almost young enough to remember."

  The woman asked, "Was the divorce a bitter one?"

  Bryan looked up at her for a moment without answering. He hadn't thought about it in a long time. Why dwell on unpleasant things? Finally he said, "No, not bitter."

  "It was a mutual agreement?"

  "No, hardly that. Have you ever been divorced?"

  "No, sir."

  "Well, I don't recommend it. I didn't even see it coming. I should have known someday she'd go, but I didn't see it. She just said she wanted out, and she left. I wasn't bitter—I was stunned."

  "What reason did she give?"

  He frowned as he thought about it, then said, "I don't think she ever said why. I suppose it was to marry Frank Siegert."

  "You didn't ask?"

  "All I could think of was her leaving. 'Why' didn't seem very important."

  "She was working at Siegert's then?"

  "Yes. She was his secretary. She and Cheryl both worked there. Cheryl still does."

  "You say you didn't see her often. Did you ever go to the house?"

  "Siegert's place? Of course not."

  "Never?"

  "No. Why should I?"

  "But you know where it is?"

  "Yes, I know where it is!" He stopped, breathing deeply. Damn, don't let them get to you. More calmly he said, "I drove by after they were married. I wanted to see where she was, I guess. But I was never inside."

  "Would you mind coming to Police Headquarters tomorrow morning. We'd like to get fingerprints of everyone who knew her, so we can sort out the ones found at the scene."

  "You won't find mine there."

  “Well, this way we can be sure."

  "Fine. I'll be there in the morning. I have to deliver some stuff to a client. Is 10:30 all right?"

  "Whenever you can make it."

  * * *

  "So what do you think?" asked Harry.

  Mickie rolled down the driver's side window to let in the breeze, saying, “He lied."

  "What about?"

  "About seeing Tina. Or rather, about why she came by."

  "Why do you think that was?"

  "I don't know, but he lied about it. Hell, I think everyone's lying about something."

  "Everyone?"

  "It's just a feeling."

  Harry said nothing for a few moments, just watched the oncoming traffic. Then he said, "Well, well, it's starting."

  "What?"

  "What we talked about once before. Detective Wilder is getting hard around the edges."

  "Bullshit."

  "Right. So, where to now?"

  "Cheryl Doles. If she's Tina's friend, maybe she can show us the other side of her. And maybe Tina confided something to her. Or maybe she's the reason Tina came to see Bryan. And just for the record, Harry, you're not my mother, so stop worrying about my edges."

  "Duly noted. Tell you what. Drop me off at the station. I'll get my car and come back to Bryan's place. Miss Doles will probably talk more without me around, anyway."

  Mickie shot him a sideways look. "I suppose I forgot to ask him something."

  "It's not that. I think he wanted to tell us about Tina's visit."

  "But not with me there?"

  "Something like that. While you and Ms. Doles are having your girl talk, Bryan and I can have a little man to man."

  CHAPTER 12

  S
ENSE AND SEDUCTION

  Cheryl Doles had a second-floor apartment on a quiet, dead end street not far from Bryan's. It was neat and orderly, simple to the point of being spartan. A large, framed picture of Christ driving the moneychangers from the temple hung above the headboard of her narrow bed. Swinging a small bunch of cords that didn't seem particularly lethal, he was nonetheless in an obvious rage, a New Testament version of a stern and wrathful God.

  In the living room was a smaller portrait of her parents. They looked a bit dazed, as if they weren't sure whether to smile or not.

  Looking out through the blinds, she decided to take a sweater. It was still bright and cloudless, but it might get chilly later in the day. At this time of year it was hard to tell. She took a brown cardigan from the closet, picked up her large, black shoulder bag, and headed for the door. The buzzer sounded just as she reached it.

  "Yes?"

  "Ms. Doles? I'm Detective Wilder. I wonder if I could ask you a few questions?"

  A detective? No, it was all right. Tina was a friend. They'd be talking to all her friends. "I'll be right down. I was just going out."

  * * *

  Mickie's first thought when she saw Cheryl was, ‘What in the world is she trying to do?’ She had been mentally prepared for 'a friend of Tina's', some kind of ditzy airhead flitting around in left field. The words popping into her head now were 'earnest', 'plain', 'no-nonsense', 'sensible'. But more than that. Taking in the clothes, the absolutely wrong hairstyle, the complete lack of makeup, Mickie had the impression of a decently attractive woman disguised as a drab.

  In contrast, her voice was low and throaty and very much alive. "I'm on my way to church. If you don't mind walking, we could talk on the way. It's only a few blocks."

  "I could use the exercise. Your services are in the afternoon?"

  "No, they were this morning. I help out on Sunday afternoons. There's always something that needs doing. The Lord's work, like woman's, is never done."

  Mickie wasn't one to stroll. Walking she regarded as a means of getting from one place to another, so she was pleased to find that Cheryl set off at a good, no-nonsense pace.

  Mickie asked, "When was the last time you saw Mrs. Siegert?"

  Cheryl didn't answer at once, but frowned, her lips pursed, considering how she should answer. "Actually, it was some time last week, Monday or Tuesday, I think. She came into the office to see her husband. I wanted to talk to her before she left."