Now Mourn the Space Cadet (Conner Beach Crime Series)

by John Chabot

  "What about the principal players? Anyone likely?"

  Harry glanced over at Mickie. "Wilder was in on all the interviews. What do you think, Mickie?"

  Mickie smiled as sweetly as she could. Thanks a lot, Harry. You field all the factual stuff and throw me the speculation. Aloud she said, “We have a lot of people who could have done it. A few of them had a reason to."

  "How about the husband?" asked Morris. "It's usually the husband."

  "For once we agree. It looks like there was trouble between them."

  "Hell," put in Morris, "they were married. What'ya expect?"

  "And he has a girlfriend."

  "That figures."

  "And he lied to us."

  Even Harry turned to look at her then. "About what?"

  "He told us he was in South Carolina on business. Said he came back Saturday morning. I called the motel where he stayed. They said he checked out on Friday morning, not Saturday."

  Harry smiled, pleased. "We haven't had a real talk with Mr. Siegert yet. Now we'll have something else to talk about."

  Mickie said, "I asked Beverly to let us know when he came in to be printed. The only thing is, why did he lie? It doesn't give him an alibi. He admits he was in town when his wife was killed."

  "He still seems a good bet," said Ross. "Who else?"

  "The girlfriend, Kathryn Meadows. With Tina gone, it sort of clears the field."

  Morris said, "For Siegert, too. Maybe old Tina was trying to stick him for everything she could get. It's cheaper this way."

  "Kurt Brodbeck has to be on the list," said Mickie. "She made him look like an ass, not that it would take much doing."

  Ross shot her an odd look, asked, "Is that a personal comment?"

  Mickie shrugged. "I don't like him, but frankly I can't see him doing this one."

  "But he's still on the list,” said Ross. “And speaking of that, will someone tell me what that business on the beach was all about? Why would she want to steal his clothes?"

  Mickie shrugged.

  Morris said, "There must have been something going on between them."

  Ross turned to Harry. "What's your guess, Harry?"

  Harry frowned, studying his hands. "Evil."

  The others glanced at each other, then back to him. He said, "She was looking for something. Power, I guess. Occult power. Magic. She believed in it. She'd tried a lot of different approaches. Her latest was evil. She wanted to be bad. She cheated on her husband, threatened people, and stole Brodbeck's clothes."

  There was a small silence that Morris broke by clearing his throat. "Sounds a little tacky," he said, "but evil?"

  "Yeah," said Mickie, "you have to keep in mind who we're talking about. This woman was a space cadet. From what we've heard, she was always a little loose, and had recently been getting more so. Getting inside her head could be a very confusing experience."

  "All right," said Ross, "anyone else?" He was asking Mickie.

  "There's an ex-husband, Bryan Clarke, but I can't see a motive for him."

  Morris laughed. "Who started the divorce?"

  "She did." Before Morris could say anything, she continued, "But he's not the vengeful stalker type. Too passive."

  "I think I've heard that before," said Morris. "He was such a quiet man. Doesn’t work for the Post Office, does he?"

  "We won’t forget him. To wrap it up, there's Dana Converse, a modern day witch. Tina may have threatened to spread stories about her, but that seems a little thin to me. And a best friend, maybe her only friend, Cheryl Doles."

  Ross asked, "Any motive there?"

  "Well, I was thinking about that. For one thing, she has some pretty strong feelings for Bryan Clarke, the ex."

  "And?"

  "Now it's easier for him to remarry."

  Ross looked confused. "I don't get it. He’s divorced, isn’t he?"

  "He's Catholic."

  Ross frowned, trying to make the connection. Then, "Ah, I see. The Catholic Church doesn't recognize divorce, so while Tina Siegert was alive —"

  "He was still married. At least, according to his religion."

  "That's bullshit," said Morris. "I know Catholics who've been divorced and remarried. Happens all the time."

  "Are they still active in the church?"

  "Is he?"

  Mickie shrugged. Good question. Before she could answer, Beverly cracked the door and looked in. Seeing Mickie, she said, "Frank Siegert just came in."

  Ross said, "Okay, people, back to work." To Harry he said, "A word before you go."

  Mickie and Morris left together, Morris insisting on holding the door for her. Harry remained sitting. Ross was quiet for a moment after the door had closed. Then he said, "Wilder seems to have jumped into this with both feet."

  "Yeah, she's eager."

  "You didn't have much to say."

  Harry shrugged. "The other two covered it pretty well."

  Ross opened his desk drawer, deposited his chain of paper clips, and closed the drawer slowly. "This is one we have to get, Harry. I'm already starting to feel the pressure."

  If you want to define territorial, thought Harry, think junkyard dogs and Police Chiefs. Ross had requested help from the SBI forensics team because he knew it was necessary, Conner Beach being too small to have its own. But he hadn't really liked it. To allow a full SBI investigative team to come in and take over the case would be too much. It would be saying that his own guys couldn't handle it. And if that proved to be right, if they failed to catch this one, Ross would take the heat for not having asked for more help.

  "We'll get him," said Harry.

  "Soon, I hope. And Harry, don't delegate too much authority."

  * * *

  Leaving Ross's office, Morris said, "You really think it could have been Tina’s friend?

  She did it to get in with this Bryan guy?"

  "It’s just an idea. Something to keep in mind, okay?"

  Down the hall, just ahead of them, a door opened.

  "So what you're saying is, this broad kills her best friend because she's got hot pants for the ex."

  Cheryl Doles stepped into the hall, a clear plastic raincoat held in one hand, her big black purse slung over the other shoulder. At first she looked shocked, then her lips closed in a tight line. She stood glaring at them, her eyes hard, flicking back and forth between the two of them.

  Oh God, thought Mickie, she heard that.

  Cheryl turned quickly, heading toward the front doors. Mickie glanced sideways at Morris, her eyes narrowed. "Good shot, Mo."

  "That's her, huh?" He watched as she went out through the heavy glass doors, holding herself stiff and erect. "Not much wiggle to her walk, is there?"

  * * *

  Mickie sat on the edge of her desk in the office she shared with Harry. She had pulled her chair out for Frank Siegert to use. Harry sat behind his own desk, leaning back, watching. Morris stood by the window, wondering.

  Mickie said, "We haven't had a chance to talk, Mr. Siegert. We have a few things we'd like to be clear on."

  Siegert sat erect, alert. Sitting in the middle of the office, he felt like a swimmer surrounded by fins. "Of course, however I can help." His glance kept shifting from one of them to another.

  "Perhaps you could tell us why you were in Charleston. Specifically."

  The question surprised him, but also put him back on familiar ground. "It was a business trip, I think I told you that. I'm thinking of opening a branch down there. I wanted to check out the competition, prospective clients, that kind of thing."

  "And you came back on Saturday?"

  His face went blank as he saw what was coming. Then he shrugged. "I don't know why I told you that. Well, yes I do, but under the circumstances it seems ... sort of stupid."

  Mickie said nothing, just waited for him to continue.

  "I came back Friday evening. I stayed with a friend." He was looking at his hands, rubbing his fingertips together. "I had this story ready for Tina about
staying over until Saturday. When you asked me where I'd been, I just...." He stopped, then looked up. "Look, it's not something I'm really proud of."

  Harry asked, "How long had you been married?"

  "Almost three years."

  "You and your wife were having problems?"

  "Who told you that?"

  Mickie jumped in. "She came to your office last week. I was told there was a row."

  He looked directly at Mickie as if measuring an enemy, then shrugged again. "Tina liked to spend money, but she wasn't too careful about it. One of her credit cards was maxed out—again. I'd paid it off and canceled it. That's all."

  "The rest of what you told us about Saturday was right? You haven't forgotten anything?"

  "I don't think so."

  “When you went to your office on Saturday morning, was anyone else there?”

  “No. Well, Ms. Meadows came in for a while.”

  “Was she there when you left?”

  “No.”

  “So you were the last to leave?”

  “Obviously.”

  “And when was that?”

  As he thought about it, his eyes began sliding around the room again. “I’m not sure. One-thirty or two.”

  “You didn’t look at your watch?”

  “If I did, I don’t remember.”

  "Was your wife insured?"

  "What kind of question is that? I didn't.… No, she wasn't."

  Harry asked, "How well do you know her first husband?"

  "I don't. I think I met him once, at an office party before they divorced, but I hardly remember him."

  Mickie said, "All right. Thank you, Mr. Siegert. We'll be in touch."

  When the door closed, Morris pushed away from the wall, glanced back and forth between Harry and Mickie. To Mickie he said, "Okay, Boss, what's next?"

  Mickie asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

  Morris grinned at Harry, wanting in on the joke. Harry said nothing.

  Mickie said, "We need Siegert's story checked out. He said he went to his office on Saturday morning. Are they open then? Who saw him? When did he get there, when did he leave? When I first talked to him, he mentioned having fast food for lunch, some place near the office. See if you can find out when he was there."

  Morris had lost his grin. He looked to Harry, got nothing, then back to Mickie. "Well, I'll be damned."

  * * *

  In the lobby, Mickie asked Beverly if everyone on the list had been printed. Beverly glanced at a clipboard on her desk. "Bryan Clarke just left. The only ones left are a Mrs. Converse —"

  "She won't be in until after noon."

  "—and the hunk."

  "Who?"

  "You know, the stud who lost his pants. Kurt Brodbeck."

  CHAPTER 14

  SKIPPED

  Morris decided to kill a couple of birds at once by eating lunch at the same restaurant Frank Siegert had used on Saturday. It was nearly noon anyway, and he liked to eat lunch early. There were three registers in operation, but a line of five or six people had formed before each of them. He picked the line with the fewest small children, knowing that standing behind women with small children could be a test of patience. The kids never knew what they wanted, looking around in bewilderment when asked, as if waiting for someone to read them the menu. Hell, he thought, no one ever asks them at home. How are they supposed to know?

  As he waited, he scanned the board behind the counter, trying to decide on hamburger or cheeseburger. Or maybe he should go with the grilled chicken. It had less fat, and he knew he should be watching that. No, he'd go with the beef, but leave off the cheese. But he would have fries. With ketchup.

  As he looked over to the right of the board where the drinks were listed, he saw something he had never noticed before. A surveillance camera was pointed at the counter. The line moved then, and he was able to see, on a shelf behind the counter, a monitor that showed what the camera saw. There were the registers, all three of them, with their lines of customers. He saw himself, in shades of gray, just moving into view. There was some kind of printing at the bottom of the picture and, as he stepped up to give his order, he saw that it was the date and time. As he watched, the 11:48 changed to 11:49. Bingo.

  "Give me the grilled chicken sandwich and a coffee." With any luck, he'd be sitting the rest of the afternoon. Better to go easy on the fat. "Is the manager here?"

  * * *

  The rain had stopped, but the clouds were low and dark, moving in quickly from the southwest. Water still dripped from the eaves of Kurt's place. In the rear, narrow wooden steps descended from a screen door. They were worn to the bare wood in the center, gray paint flaking from the rails. Only a few feet from the bottom was a tall hedge of untrimmed oleanders. A well-worn path led from the steps to a gap between two of the bushes.

  Harry ducked through, trying not to brush against the bushes, failing, getting wet as the mini shower caught him. He saw the back end of a combination gas station and grocery store. The paved parking area extended nearly to the row of oleanders. Just to his left, he noticed a darker spot of oil, some of it fresh, but no car.

  Turning back to the house, he went up the steps, stopping at the top to listen. Somewhere inside he could hear the distant ring of the front doorbell, then nothing. He waited a few seconds until the bell sounded again. Still no answer.

  Harry scratched his chin, wondering. So where had Kurt gone? He didn't answer the phone. His car was gone. He was supposed to be at work, but he wasn’t there, either.

  He tried the door, found it unlocked, pushed it open a few inches. His mouth close to the door, he called, "Mr. Brodbeck?" The only response was another ring of the front bell. Pushing the door wide, he stepped into a small, dimly lit kitchen. He was met by an aroma of raw onion and dishes left too long in the sink. He thought of his wife, Karen, who considered the kitchen her workshop, her place of business. He imagined her disapproving look had she been there.

  "Mr. Brodbeck, are you here? It's Detective Chervenic."

  This time there was no answer at all, just the dead quiet of an empty house. He eased through a swinging door and found himself looking down a short hallway. Straight ahead he could see the living room and the front door. There was a door on each side of the hall.

  On the right was a bedroom. It was neater than the kitchen, the bed made, no clothes lying around, the closet door closed. He eased it open, looked over the meager contents, then pushed the door shut with his elbow. The bedside lamp was on. Checking it, Harry saw that it had a three-way switch. Experimenting, he found it was on the dimmest setting.

  The room across the hall was a miniature gym. The gear—bench press, racks of barbells and dumbbells, a multiple exercise machine—was well used and had obviously been set up by someone seriously into body building.

  He crossed the living room to the front door, noticing on the way that the overhead light was also on.

  * * *

  On the front porch, Mickie had stopped ringing when she heard Harry calling Brodbeck's name. Harry was apparently inside. It occurred to her that they had no search warrant. Nothing he found in there could be used as evidence.

  She waited a few minutes for something to happen. When nothing did, she went to one of the front windows and tried to peer in. It was screened and the glass behind the screen was grimy. A light was on, but she could see only shadows. Then she saw Harry's shadow moving to the door and went to meet him. Without speaking, he let himself out, closing the door behind him.

  She said, "You know we don't have a warrant."

  He smiled sweetly and said, "Then I think we'd better get one. It looks like he might have skipped. Either that or...."

  Mickie remembered what she had said to Paul about Kurt Brodbeck. She had half wanted him to be the bad guy, but couldn't really take him seriously. She glanced at Harry, saw him watching her. "Are you sure?"

  "Not about anything. That's why I'm such a damned good detective. He's gone and his car is gone
. On the other hand, his clothes are still here."

  "Maybe he was in a hurry. Maybe we put the fear of God in him when we talked to him at Nutrix."

  Harry shook his head. “If he skipped, he came back here first—someone left the lights on. And if he did that, why didn’t he take his clothes with him?”

  “Maybe it was last night, Sunday night, that he left. If so, why? What happened on Sunday to spook him? Who got to him?”

  “Or maybe he just went some place—thought he’d be coming back. What do you think?”

  Mickie frowned, an uneasy feeling creeping in. "I think I'd like to talk to some people before they hear about this."

  "Okay. I'll turn the hounds loose, but he could be a long way by now. Anything else?"

  From his tone, she knew it was a test. "We need to look through the house."

  Harry smiled. "A court order," he said. "Yes, Lord, we wouldn't want to go into the house without a court order."

  * * *

  Mickie found Frank Siegert in a cavernous corrugated iron building that stood behind the front office complex. Rows of steel frames holding plastic bins ran nearly to the back wall. Somewhere in the rear, she heard the echoing rumble of a forklift scuttling back and forth. In a corner near the front was an old wooden desk and chair, a row of filing cabinets. On the desk was a computer terminal, surrounded by stacks of the paper it was meant to replace. Crowning it was a mug, half full of cold coffee.

  Siegert was talking to an older man who sat behind the desk. The other man saw Mickie enter, nodded toward her. Siegert turned, frowned when he saw her. He said something else to the man at the desk, then came to meet her.

  "A detective was here earlier asking questions." He made it sound like an accusation.

  "Yes, Detective Morris."

  He glanced back toward the man at the desk, impatient to get back to business. "Is there anything else you need?"

  "Lots of things. Right now, I'd just like to know how well you know Kurt Brodbeck?"

  He managed to look confused. "Who? I don't think I know anyone by that name."