“Just five minutes.”
“It’s not a good time,” she repeated.
“All right, when would be a good time?”
“I don’t know.”
“This afternoon? This evening?”
“Tomorrow,” she said. “In the morning. I could meet you somewhere in town. Maybe the coffee shop on Main Street.”
Iain didn’t really want to have to meet her face to face. That would only make everything more awkward. But Elke had told him to go ahead and dig into things. He wasn’t going to back to her with his tail between his legs and say that he couldn’t handle interviewing one woman. “All right,” he said. “Tomorrow, then.”
* * *
Frankie didn’t even know where to begin looking into Tempest Mukherjee. She thought the theory that Elke had painted for her was beyond ridiculous, but she wasn’t going to discount it out of hand. She’d look into it enough to prove that it was bunk and then she could move onto something else. Heck, she had folders and folders of possible candidates. Next time she presented a case, she’d do a better job making the accused seem appealing.
She looked through the file, trying to see if anyone close to Tempest had been interviewed. Maybe they’d spoken to a friend or a sister, someone who might have a better idea if Tempest had been unhappy in her marriage.
She didn’t find anything like that, but she did find a list of persons of interest with phone numbers. The list was fairly short, and it included Rory Gutierrez and Zachary Wheeler and Joseph Chapman, the white supremacists. There was someone else on the list, though, noted as Tempest’s boyfriend? The name was Joshua Oliver.
Frankie glared at the name, confused.
Okay, she had never been a police officer, but even she knew that in a murder case, the boyfriend was always a suspect.
If Tempest had been having an affair, and she’d been with another man, he had a motive. Why wasn’t this guy at the top of the list for the investigation? If Frankie hadn’t thought so before, now she was sure that the people conducting this investigation had screwed up royally.
She called the number for Joshua Oliver.
Belatedly, as the phone was ringing, she realized the number was probably too old to be of any use to her. She wasn’t likely to reach this man this way.
Someone answered the phone. “Dr. Oliver’s office.”
“Dr. Oliver?” she said. There was no indication of that on the paper. This was his office? What kind of doctor was he?
“Um, yes,” said the voice on the other end, who now sounded a little bit confused and hesitant. “Head of the English department?”
“Oh,” said Frankie. “He’s a professor.”
“Yeah,” said the person on the phone. “Can I ask who’s calling?”
“I’m Frankie Hart. I’m with the District Attorney’s Conviction Review Unit in Haven Hills. I need to speak to Dr. Oliver.”
“Well, he’s booked for the rest of the afternoon. Straight classes. What is this regarding?”
“It’s about a case we’re reviewing,” said Frankie. “It’s important.”
“Oh.” A pause. “Well, I can put you on his schedule for tomorrow if that would work?”
“Sure,” said Frankie. “Tomorrow.” So, Tempest was having an affair with one of her own husband’s colleagues. But was this guy capable of murder? Or could it be that he and Tempest had planned the crime together?
Things were getting interesting.
* * *
“Well,” said Lulu Peters, resting against the counter in Elke’s kitchen, “it’s a great house. It’s a great neighborhood.”
Elke waited, sensing a negative coming soon.
“But I’m afraid that values in this area have come down since you purchased the house, so it’s unlikely you’ll get back what you bought it for.”
“Oh,” said Elke, chewing on her lip. She’d been worried about that. Felix had acted as if he were magnanimously granting her the house. But it wasn’t a big deal for him. He had lots of drug money stashed somewhere, undoubtedly, so he wasn’t worried about finding the money to pay his legal fees. There had been enough money in that shed to pay off the house, but Felix had kept the mortgage to make sure that things didn’t look suspicious. And it wasn’t exactly great for her, being given this house. The monthly payments were high, and she would struggle to pay them on her own. Selling it seemed like the best option.
Besides, she didn’t like being in this place anymore. It only made her sad.
“These days, people are looking for uniqueness if they’re going to pay those kinds of prices,” Lulu continued. “They like to see different architecture, unique set-ups in rooms, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, are you saying I should do some remodeling?” said Elke, looking around, trying to think of what could be changed about the house. Personally, she liked her decor understated and classy. She’d never been one for showy, trendy things.
“No,” said Lulu. “I’m not saying that. I doubt it would be worth it. You might be able to raise the asking price a bit, maybe even to the price you paid, but you’d be out the money used for the remodeling.”
“Right,” said Elke. She crossed to the sink. She stood next to Lulu, but didn’t look at her. Instead, she gazed out the window at the back yard where her children would never play.
“You could always rent it out.”
Elke pulled back from the window to look at Lulu. “Rent the house? Be a landlord? Isn’t that a lot of work?”
“Doesn’t have to be,” said Lulu. “For a fee, my agency is willing to be a go-between for you, handle everything. All you have to do is sit back and cash the rent checks.”
“Which will just go to pay my mortgage,” she said.
Lulu shrugged. “You’d be surprised what people would pay to rent a house like this.”
“What kind of people?” said Elke. “I’m not renting this place out to college students. I don’t want people throwing parties and trashing the place.”
“No, of course not,” said Lulu. “We’d show this place to young professionals or families with small children.”
“Families?” She looked out at the back yard again, picturing children running around there and laughing. Of course, it was cold outside now. Kids wouldn’t be out there. But there might be snow over the weekend. It would be a good yard to build a snow man.
“Yes, definitely,” said Lulu. “You know, a lot of people forgo the idea of a starter home these days in favor of renting. So many people with young children still have college loans or even debt from their wedding, and they can’t afford to add anymore debt to that picture. So, they’re renting. I’m sure we could find a very nice family who’d love this place and take care of it like it was their own.”
Elke turned back from the window. “Okay. Rent it out, then. Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Hi there.” Dr. Joshua Oliver offered Frankie his hand. His office was a small room with dark wood paneling on the walls. Behind his desk were all of his diplomas hanging in frames.
Frankie took his hand. “Hi.” They shook over his desk.
“Go on and close the door.” Dr. Oliver was all smiles.
Frankie shut the door.
He sat down. “I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance? If I have, I don’t remember. Sorry.”
“No, this is the first time we’ve met.”
He gestured for her to sit down. “Well, what can I do for you?”
She sat. “I’m actually here to ask you some questions about the past. Twenty-five years ago, in fact.”
He furrowed his brow and his smile faltered a bit. “I’m sorry. Who are you exactly?”
“I should apologize,” said Frankie. “I should have led with that. I work for the DA’s Conviction Review Unit. We review old cases to make sure that the proper people were put in jail for the crimes committed.”
“You do,” he said, and he was no longer smiling. “So, this is about Tempest and
Abeer.”
“It is,” she said. “I understand you had a relationship with Tempest.”
Dr. Oliver let out a huge sigh and sat back in his chair. “Tempest Mukherjee. I met her at a faculty function at the dean’s house one Christmas. Stunning woman. What happened to her, it was just…” He shuddered. “Awful.”
“Yes, it was,” said Frankie. “How long were you and Tempest involved?”
“Involved? No, no, it wasn’t like that,” said Dr. Oliver. “Nowadays, you might call it an emotional affair. There was no physical contact between us, and there wasn’t even any real acknowledgment that anything was going on. I mean, nothing was. We’d meet for coffee and talk, that’s all. I suppose we were both flirting with each other, but nothing came of it. She wouldn’t have done that to Abeer. She loved him.”
“So, she was happy in her marriage.”
“Well, I didn’t say that,” said Dr. Oliver. “I mean, you don’t start calling another man and asking him out for coffee if you’re happy in your marriage.”
“She wanted to leave him, then?”
“Maybe,” he said. “If she did, she didn’t tell me that in so many words. She was lonely. She had begun a promising career in business, but then she took time off when Saanvi was born, and she never did go back. Meanwhile, Abeer was working longer and longer hours. He had two jobs. He worked for the college during the day, and then he took evening shifts as well at an urgent care clinic in town. He was never home. She thought they had enough money, and she didn’t think he needed to work so hard. She even suggested going back to work herself. But Abeer didn’t like the idea of his wife working. It was a point of pride for him, something leftover from his Indian heritage. A woman’s place was in the home. But without her daughter to take care of anymore—Saanvi was already in college herself—Tempest was going crazy with boredom. She had nothing to do and no one to talk to.”
“That sounds like a situation that might have made her desperate.”
“Yes, I think so,” said Dr. Oliver.
“Desperate enough to try get away from her husband by any means necessary?”
“What are you saying?”
“Well, there’s some evidence that indicates maybe Tempest arranged for a professional to kill her husband and that something went wrong and they were both killed.”
“What? That’s crazy,” he said.
“It’s perhaps a bit… convoluted,” she said. “But that’s why I’m here trying to check it out. You wouldn’t be inclined to believe that?”
“Absolutely not. It’s ludicrous. Tempest didn’t need to kill Abeer to get away from him. She could have simply walked out the door. She wasn’t frightened of the man. She didn’t need him. In fact, the weekend before she died, she went to her parents’ house alone, and I couldn’t reach her. At the time, I thought it might be possible that she was going to ask them if they would allow her and Saanvi to live there if she left.”
“So, you did think she wanted to leave him?”
“What?”
“Well, earlier you said you weren’t sure she wanted to leave Abeer.”
“I wasn’t. I still am not. This is all just conjecture on my part.”
“Did anyone speak to you twenty-five years ago when the case was first being investigated?”
“Of course.”
“And you admitted the affair then?”
“It wasn’t an affair.”
“But you told them that you and Tempest were close.”
“They found phone records, and she’d called me a lot, and so they came and talked to me.”
“And did they ask you about your whereabouts that night?”
“Jesus.” Dr. Oliver sat up straight. “What is this? This case is solved. It was the daughter and her boyfriend. I always thought that girl was a selfish brat, and I wasn’t the least bit surprised she did what she did.”
Hmm. So, he was pretty defensive. “Where were you that night, Dr. Oliver?”
“I was in Tarronton.”
“All night?”
“Well, there was a debate that night there. Back then, I was head of the debate team for the college. So, the debate started at 8:00, and it went to 10:00. Some of the students and I went out afterward for a drink at a pub. I used to drink with students back then. I was young and idiotic. Wouldn’t do it today. But anyway, that’s where I was. I drove home around midnight. I was probably over the legal limit, but I didn’t get pulled over. It’s not an alibi I’m proud of, but I assure you, I did not kill Tempest. I would never have hurt her.”
* * *
“Um,” said Mariah Williamson to the man behind the counter at the coffee shop, “I’ll have a small latte. But with almond milk. And sugar free syrup. Um, the vanilla? And no whip cream. And not too much foam.”
The guy at the counter nodded and then turned to Iain.
“Just a coffee,” said Iain.
The guy tossed him an empty cup and nodded at the carafes that were lined up along the counter behind Iain.
Williamson hugged herself, waiting for her drink.
Iain went over and filled up his cup. He found some sugar packets and creamers and put one of each in his cup. He stirred. He took a sip.
Hot.
He grimaced, blowing on the liquid. This was going great so far. He was probably going to have a blister on his upper lip.
Williamson was still hugging herself, staring at the floor.
Behind the counter, the guy was working on her drink.
Iain couldn’t stand holding the cup anymore. It was too hot. He set it down. Then he spied one of those cardboard sleeves. Perfect. He slid that on the bottom of the cup. Hot liquid sloshed over the lip, burning his hand.
Damn it.
He set the cup down again and found some napkins. He cleaned himself up, cleaned up the counter.
When he looked up, Williamson had her drink.
Together, they found a table in the corner of the shop and sat down.
“So, this is about Rory?” said Williamson in a quiet voice. “I thought that was all over with. Didn’t that girl confess to killing her parents?”
“Well, she was convicted, but she never admitted it,” said Iain. “We think it’s possible that she’s innocent and someone else committed the crime.”
“Rory. You think it was Rory?”
“We’re looking into a lot of different options,” said Iain. “But I guess you know that it wasn’t Rory, because you’re her alibi.”
Williamson took a drink of her coffee. She set the cup down and began to fiddle with the lid. “You’re really just covering your bases then?”
“Can you tell me what you and Rory did that night?”
“We watched TV.”
“Do you remember what show?”
“Oh, it was a long time ago. A really long time ago. We were kids, you know?” She bit down on her lip.
“In your statement to the police, you said it was Timetracks.”
“Right.” She nodded. “Yeah, Rory hated that show, and she made fun of it the whole time were watching it.”
“Except that show used to come on Thursdays,” said Iain. “I remember, because I used to watch it. It was one of my favorite shows when I was a kid.”
“Okay, so?” said Williamson.
“Well, the crime was committed on a Friday. That show wasn’t on that day. I can only assume the police interviewing you didn’t catch that because they weren’t familiar with the show.”
Williamson tried to pick up her drink again. Her hands were shaking and coffee spilled out onto the table. She fumbled for some napkins. “Well, it was a long time ago. I don’t know why I said that. I guess we watched something else, then. I know she was there, though.”
“You’re lying,” said Iain. He was sure of it. He wasn’t a great student of human emotion, but she was so nervous, it seemed likely she wasn’t telling the truth.
“H-how do you know that?”
“She was accused of murder and
you lied for her. You said she was with you when she wasn’t.”
“She made me do it!” Her voice was shrill.
Iain flinched. He didn’t like how upset she was getting. “Calm down,” he said.
“Rory was awful sometimes,” said Williamson, and now tears were streaming down her face. “She said that I had to say she was there. If I didn’t, she was going to tell my boyfriend I cheated on him.”
“I see.”
“It wasn’t fair. It was only once, and I was drunk, and it didn’t mean anything. I still loved Tim. I loved him so much that we got married. We’re still married, and he still doesn’t know.” She let out a thin wail. “Oh, God, I can’t believe I just told you all this. If Rory finds out, if she tells Tim, my entire life is ruined. It would kill him to know. Just kill him dead.”
Iain shrank from her. She was really, really upset now. What was he supposed to do? How did he get her to stop crying? He handed her a napkin. “Calm down, please.”
She took the napkin and sobbed into it.
Iain cringed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I’m just calling to get an estimate on how long it will take to test the samples in the Mukherjee case,” said Elke into the phone. It was morning in the office, and no one was there except her and Amos. She wasn’t sure where everyone else was, but she was going to hope they were doing work off site, not sleeping in.
“What are you talking about?” said the person on the other side of the phone.
“We sent in a request to test some samples from an old case,” said Elke.
“And you are?”
“Elke Lawrence. I head up the CRU.”
“Huh. Yeah, we don’t have any requests from the CRU.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope. Sorry. Somebody’s gotten their wires crossed somewhere. You sure you submitted the right forms?”
“Pretty sure,” she said. Her heart was picking up speed.
“It’s form 3-B and 4-F on the network drive.”
“Yes, that’s what we filled out.”
“Well, they never got here. Maybe the holdup is in evidence storage. They’ve got to release the samples to us before we test them.”
Grain of Truth (Innocence Unit Book 1) Page 8
