Carol chewed her lipstick off while she thought. “I saw Debby and Alice earlier. I might have mentioned it. Yes, I think I did. But neither of them would be behind this.”
Alice scanned the tiny, insufficiently lit interview room, half of which was taken up by a four-foot table. The architect should be shot for expecting people to spend time in such a claustrophobic space. Unless that’s meant to demoralize suspects. Maybe the architect forgot to put it in and repurposed a utility closet at the last minute.
“Even if I had a reason to kill Sarah, which I didn’t,” Alice said, looking over the top of her studious glasses, “I never would have put her body in the float.”
“Why is that, Mrs. Emmons?” Peter asked.
“I’m an architect. I didn’t know Jim McDonald or Jose Mitsch, and I wanted to be sure the float wouldn’t fall down and kill someone. It was built well enough, but it was never meant to carry extra weight.”
“Wouldn’t it have been safer if it had been stronger?” Peter asked.
“Certainly, but a cantilevered structure such as the gun barrel would have required extensive improvements to bear the weight of a full grown adult, and it wasn’t worth it for a single use.”
“Who knew this, Mrs. Emmons?” Brent asked.
“Well, Jerry, it was his trailer and his garage, so he could be held liable. Sarah, she showed me the plans. I don’t remember if I said anything to anyone else.” Alice frowned and felt a line appearing between her eyebrows. She reminded herself to relax. “But anyone familiar with basic physics would know that the gun barrel would act like a lever if there was weight on the end.”
“Is there a chance someone wanted her to fall out in the parade?” Peter asked.
“What a ghastly idea,” Alice said. “I hope not. Those poor children will never be the same. The outcome would be impossible to predict. If it fell wrong, it could have landed on somebody.”
“So you think we’re looking for someone who, say, doesn’t know anything about building or engineering?” Peter asked.
“I would agree with that,” Alice said.
“What about Leroy Eberschlag?” Brent asked. “Is he familiar with proper construction?”
Alice glanced at her hands. “You’d have to ask Debby or Dorothy, but I suspect not. The only labor he’s interested in appears to be lifting beer bottles and picking up women.”
“Not about pushing them down steps or trying to drown them?” Peter asked.
Alice sighed and shook her head. “I knew this would never work.”
“What is that?” Peter asked.
“Hiding Carol’s suspicions about Leroy, that he’s in town and stalking us.”
“Carol’s suspicions? Not yours?” Brent asked. “Didn’t he call you from inside Cincinnati?”
“Well, yes, but I only got to listen to his message once before I accidentally deleted it. I’m sure he called in the middle of the night so he could say what he wanted to say and hang up. He certainly didn’t threaten us. I honestly don’t know what to think.”
“Yet you neglected to mention that Leroy was in town when you spoke with us yesterday,” Brent said.
“That was for Debby’s sake. She couldn’t believe he attacked Carol and Cecilie, much less Sarah. Sarah was like family to him.”
“What do you think?” Peter asked.
“I don’t have enough information to think anything, Detective Dourson. And neither does anyone else.”
Cecilie entered the brick closet with the resignation of the red-handed.
“Water, Mrs. Watkins?” Brent asked as she took her seat.
The small woman gave Brent and Peter an embarrassed half smile. She took a sip of water, staring at the glass as she set it back down. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“What is that?” Peter asked.
“That I should have reported that stupid incident at Twin Towers, and I should have told someone that Leroy might be hanging around.”
“We can’t argue with that,” Brent said. “What stopped you?”
“Leroy is feckless. He doesn’t have the drive to be mean. Even when he used to get into bar fights, it was being drunk and stupid. It wasn’t rage.”
Peter thought back to his prior encounters with Leroy. He couldn’t disagree. Leroy’s belligerence lacked the vicious edge that kicked your adrenaline into survival mode.
“So what do you think is going on here, if it isn’t Leroy?” Peter asked.
“I wasn’t sure there was anything until Sarah fell out of the sky and face planted on the pavement in front of me. I knew Leroy was missing, but after the call to Alice, I thought he was whooping it up in Belize.”
“Even after you knew the call was placed in Cincinnati?” Peter asked.
“Lia and her friends never found him, did they?”
“Aren’t you concerned that someone tried to drown you?” Brent asked.
“But they didn’t, not really. There were too many people around. It was a nasty trick, but nothing more than that. I was more upset about spending half the day at the hospital for nothing. I honestly thought Edward was behind it.”
“Who’s Edward?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know why you insisted I come here,” Debby said, giving Peter a murderous glare. She yanked a chair out from the table that took up most of the room and sat, arms crossed. Her hair bushed more than usual, giving her a wild look. “The Northside Branch is in a shambles, and my best friend is hanging on by a thread. You should be out looking for the person who did that to her.”
“And if that person is your nephew?” Brent asked.
“I don’t care what anyone thinks. It’s not him,” she said.
“Then who is it, Mrs. Carrico?” Peter asked.
“Talk to that Citrine girl. She followed us down the hill. I bet she knew what was going to happen and wanted to watch.”
Peter and Brent watched Debby stomp out of District Five.
“That’s one angry woman,” Brent said.
“Not angry. Scared. Her nephew is the obvious suspect in an assault on her best friend, and she has no clue where he is,” Peter said. “She can’t do a thing to help either one of them, and she feels powerless.”
“All that from someone who practically spat in your face?”
“Anger is a secondary emotion. If you look for what’s under it, you can learn a lot.”
“And what did you learn from Mrs. Carrico?” Brent asked. “Do you think she’s right about Citrine?”
“Nah. Citrine is harmless. As for Debby Carrico, I vote to move her down the list. But she isn’t the one who gave us the most helpful information today.”
“Indeed?”
“I think Alice’s tidbit about the float is our win for today. We’re looking for someone who would benefit from changes in the business, who knew everyone’s routines, is strong enough to carry Sarah, and who knew the float was headed for Mount Rumpke, but was not in on conversations about the float’s construction.”
“Not the inner circle, but one step away?” Brent asked.
Peter nodded. “Husbands.”
Lia sighed at the huge mural overlooking Good Sam’s main lobby. Intersecting geometric swoops and stained glass colors combined to remind visitors they were in a religious institution. She wondered how Sarah, with her pagan leanings, would take waking up surrounded by the corporate version of inspirational art. She’d probably point out that the artist represented Him as a sun god, His face a radiant disk in the sky, far above his worshippers.
Lia took the elevator to the seventh floor, where she was assured she would find the ICU Family Lounge. The lounge was packed with huddles of worried, resolute, desperate, exhausted, and resigned loved ones. The air smelled of microwave popcorn and burnt coffee.
Fiber and Snark took over a corner in the back. Jerry sat next to Debby, their knees touching, holding hands. Alice had her glasses off and eyes closed, the fingertips of one hand pressed against her forehead. Carol and Cecilie conv
ersed in low tones. There was an empty seat between Alice and Debby, probably reserved for Duane.
Lia crossed the room, winding her way through preoccupied visitors.
“Hello, Lia,” Jerry said. “What’s that you have, there?”
Lia looked down at the small package in her hand. It was wrapped in plain white tissue and tied with blue ribbon and suddenly seemed insufficient. She quirked an apprehensive half smile. “I thought they might have restrictions about having flowers in the ICU, so I brought Sarah a painting of one that she could keep beside her bed. How is she?”
Alice removed her hand from her forehead and replaced her studious glasses. “Hard to say. She had emergency surgery to relieve pressure on her cranium from internal bleeding. The surgery was successful, but there’s no way to tell if she has brain damage until she wakes up. Duane is a mess. He’s with her now.”
“I’m so sorry.” It was the only thing she knew to say, but it was never enough.
Debby looked up, narrowing her eyes. “Did you have to tell your boyfriend about Leroy? We thought you understood what was at stake. We could be ruined.”
Lia took a step back. “Don’t you want to know who attacked Sarah? You can’t expect the police to work in the dark.”
“Leroy didn’t attack Sarah. They had no reason to know anything about him.” She looked as if she would say more, but Jerry put a hand on her arm. Debby looked at him and started to cry.
Cecilie stood up and took Lia by the arm. “Let’s take a walk.” She led Lia out into the hall, past the chapel with its stained glass portrayal of Mary holding the baby Jesus.
“Things are a mess right now,” Cecilie said. “It might be better if you weren’t here.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
Cecilie raised a hand. “I know, I know. We put you in an impossible position. Some people haven’t come around to see that you couldn’t do anything else. It will take time. Come on, I’ll take you back down.” She punched the button on the elevator.
“Cecilie.” The hoarse call was full of grief. Lia looked up to see Duane exiting the ICU on the beefy arm of a male nurse. “She’s gone. She just went. What am I going to do?”
Cecilie went to Duane and wrapped her arms around the big man. He broke into wailing sobs that brought Sarah’s friends running.
Lia’s eye’s blurred as she watched the nurse help Duane onto a bench, as Sarah’s friends closed around him. She felt like a voyeur, intruding as an unwelcome guest on their grief. Lia looked down, her eyes landing on a gift that no longer had a recipient.
The elevator dinged.
13
Wednesday, July 6
Peter pulled his third Pepsi of the day from the soft drink machine outside the District Five locker room when he felt a hand like a slab of moose liver land on his shoulder. Oh, yeah, shift change.
"Hey, man," Brainard said.
Peter turned, noting the sheepish look on the beefy patrol cop's face. He waited for Brainard to continue.
“I meant to say this a long time ago. Never got the chance.”
Peter cocked an eyebrow, saying nothing.
“I just want to apologize for stepping on your turf before."
Peter must have had a confused look on his face, because Brainard rushed to explain. “With Lia, I mean. I didn't know you had a thing going. I just heard she liked badges and thought I'd throw my hat in the ring, her being such a righteous babe and all."
"Liked badges? What, exactly, do you mean by that?” Peter asked. He became conscious of his hand gripping the chilled soda can tightly enough to leave dents. Icy drops of condensation wormed between his fingers.
Brainard flushed. "Aw, you know...." He shrugged, helpless. "I didn't mean any disrespect. I wouldn't poach on a brother.”
"I don't know what you heard," Peter said, though he thought he did. “That's my future fiancé you're talking about.”
"Aw, man..."
"Anyone who knows anything about Lia, knows I'm the only 'badge' she's ever liked. I wonder why someone would tell you different." Peter wanted to hate the guy, but felt sorry for him instead as he saw the man's brows furrow with his dawning comprehension.
“Damn,” Brainard muttered. “Damn!” The big man bit his lip, working his mouth as if considering something weighty. "Look, I have a question for you."
Peter raised his eyebrows.
"I heard this ... rumor awhile back. That some guy was slicing up hookers and dumping them, and the department was keeping it hushed up because they had no clue who was doing it."
"News to me," Peter said.
Brainard deflated. "I was afraid of that. You know when I made an ass out of myself, drawing down on that guy who was just driving to work? That's why. I thought he had a girl in the trunk."
"Rumor, huh?"
"Yeah." Brainard's mouth thinned as his face hardened.
Peter flicked his eyes down to see the man's hands flexing by his side as if he wanted to plow his fists into the wall.
"Gotta watch them rumors,” Peter said.
"Oh, I'll be watching them,” Brainard narrowed his eyes. “And the birds that spread them. We okay, man?"
"I think we understand each other."
"Yeah, I think we do." Brainard nodded slowly, determinedly, anger glinting behind the slits of his eyes. "We sure do. Uh huh."
As he walked away, Peter wondered what he had just turned loose. Well, they have it coming.
What was that about?" Brent asked as Peter returned to their corner of the bullpen. "Captain America looked to be rubbing his two lone brain cells together so fast I expected to see smoke coming out of his ears."
"I expect the rookie figured out that Heckle and Jeckle set him up to get into it with me by telling him Lia was hot for cops." He could imagine it, too, Brainard telling his new buddies about the fine looking woman he'd met on the job and his new buddies stirring the pot by telling him she was one of those women who found a uniform irresistible.
"What will you do about that?" Brent's arch inflection made Peter snort. “Or are you going to continue doing nothing?”
“The doe, Grasshopper, has stepped into the clearing. And if I read Brainard right, he's going to shoot it for me."
"I do admire your ability to delegate," Brent said.
14
Saturday, July 9
Lia eyed the gravel path leading up the slope of Spring Grove Cemetery’s Woodland Walk and sighed.
“I would have to wear heels.”
“You should be like me,” Bailey said, lifting the hem of her floor-length, black sheath. “Birkenstocks for all occasions. Then you’re never caught off guard by the need to go off-road.”
“They really make your Morticia dress.”
“It’s the only thing I have in black. I decided to go conventional, though I don’t think it was necessary. Look who’s officiating.”
“Rainbow robes and all,” Lia said, spotting the drummer, massage therapist, and non-denominational religious officiant. “Paul gets around. I didn’t know Sarah knew him.”
“Let’s go find Sarah’s rock.”
Woodland Walk was a more or less natural cremation garden where all the urns were biodegradable and all remains would become one with the land. More or less natural, because the area had been groomed with selective plantings of native wildflowers.
The slope was peppered with boulders. Unlike other gravesites, each plot had its own boulder when it was laid out, which would hold a small bronze plaque. Orange tape and stakes marked future plots for expansion. Going green was trendy.
Lia spotted a piece of red granite with a neat 12 by 12 inch opening in front of it, half way up the hill. She and Bailey strolled up the path to see it.
Bailey knelt in the gravel. “When I go, I want to do it this way, becoming one with the land. I used to think I’d like to be left on a hill for the wolves, but after our experience with the coyotes, I lost my taste for it.”
“I’m relieved I won’t
have to drag your body through Red River Gorge to honor your wishes,” Lia said. “I don’t know what I want. I never thought about it much until we started attending so many funerals. At one time I thought I would like to be cremated, then have my ashes used in ceramic glaze, so I could become art.”
A canopy had been erected at the side of the road, green canvas with a floor of astro-turf. It held a dozen rows of folding chairs. Paul Ravenscraft stood at the head of the tent, talking with Sarah’s husband Duane. On a table behind Paul was a modest floral arrangement next to a photo of Sarah with her cats. A notice requested that donations in Sarah’s name be made to SCOOP.
“Oh, my,” Bailey said, digging an elbow into Lia’s side.
“What?”
“Check out the urn. It’s a replica of a canopic jar with the head of a cat. Must be made from pressed sand.”
Lia suppressed a chuckle. “It’s certainly in keeping with all the obelisks in the older sections. Someday they’re going to call this Little Egypt.”
The tent was packed with library patrons and employees. More people spilled out around it. Lia and Bailey pressed through the crowd. Carol, Debby, Cecilie, and Alice sat in the front row with their husbands. Citrine, her caution-light hipster hair ablaze in a sea of sober colors, was relegated to the third row. She wore a sling on one arm and sat alone, shooting sulky looks at the oblivious crowd.
“Girlfriend looks like she feels out of place,” Bailey said.
“Truth.”
“We can’t see anything from here,” Bailey said.
“Let’s work our way around to the other side of the tent, up front by Paul, so we can see all the players without being obvious.”
The women made a wide circle around the tent and were settling into position when a hand snaked out from the crowd and settled on Lia’s shoulder.
She jumped, spinning around to slam her nose into Peter’s chest. He ducked his head and whispered in her ear. “Truce, Anderson. Unless you’re doing my job?”
Muddy Mouth: A Dog Park Mystery Page 14
