Lia looked at the clock. 3:15 a.m. Drowsy now, she closed her eyes to slits and opened herself to suggestion. When it was 3:22 and no visions were visited upon her, she closed the pad and put it away. She and Honey returned to bed. Peter had rolled onto his other side. She curled up against his back and sent the image to the back of her mind. Something was niggling at her. Pursuing it would chase it away. She would let it simmer as long as it needed. When it boiled over, she would know.
17
Thursday, July 14
“I was so angry at Peter last night,” Lia told Bailey as they strolled across the park, trailed by dogs.
“Did you tell him?”
“It was obvious. We both backed away from an argument.”
“Wouldn’t an argument clear the air?” Bailey asked.
“People say that. In my experience, arguments mean people hurt each other more. I’ll talk to Peter. I just need some time to think about the things he said first.”
“What was the problem?” Bailey asked.
“He doesn’t want me involved in Sarah’s murder. He wants me to stay in my studio and pretend life is all butterflies and puppies while he goes out and fixes everything. Do you think I’d stay home and expect someone else to deal with it if you were in trouble?”
“I would hope not,” Bailey said. “What do you plan to do?”
“Well, I’m not letting him decide for me what I will and won’t do. I did that with Rob, and it doesn’t work. I promised myself I would never let it happen again.”
“And after Rob, you got with Luthor and did whatever you wanted while he went and did Goddess knows what. That wasn’t a recipe for paradise, either.”
“Bailey, I know, and I’m doing my best to find a middle ground. Still, it would serve Peter right if I solved Sarah’s murder. Then I could hold it over his head forever.”
“You do realize that’s a childish response?” Bailey said.
Lia arched an eyebrow. “Your point is, Ms. Breaking-and-Entering?”
Bailey looked at her. “And look what happened. I’m lucky Peter will still let you play with us.”
“See, that’s exactly what I mean!”
“Okay, bad choice of words. Terry and I are lucky not to be in jail. We should have stopped at stealing Citrine’s curbside garbage. That was legal. You don’t need to compound our mistakes.”
“Does that mean you’re going to ditch the hacker?”
“Trees is a revolutionary who breaks the law in the service of the higher good and occasionally helps people in need,” Bailey proclaimed, her nose at a lofty tilt. “That’s different.”
“Uh huh. I know better, but I can’t help it. Being told not to investigate Sarah’s death makes me want to go right out and do it, when I was perfectly happy to leave it alone after that catastrophe with Citrine.”
“Everything we’ve done so far has bombed out. What makes today different?”
“I had an epiphany when I woke up.”
“You aren’t going to share your epiphany with Peter?”
“Not yet. I want to see what I can do with it first. I need everyone’s help.”
“More housebreaking?”
“Just brainstorming. Promise. Help me round everyone up.”
“I need to pow-wow with everyone,” she told the group at the table under the hackberry tree. I had a breakthrough with Sarah’s murder. I’ve narrowed down the pool of suspects—“
“How did you do that?” Steve asked.
“I don't want to say just yet. But we need to focus our attention on Fiber and Snark. I know it’s one of the four remaining members. I just don’t know how they pulled it off.”
“Oh!” Bailey said.
Lia turned to look at her.
“Trees was right! He always said Leroy didn’t do it. We should have listened to him.”
Lia rolled her eyes, looking for patience.
“And I was right, too, but I didn’t know it.”
“What are you talking about, Bailey?” Lia asked.
“That tarot card I drew, asking what to do next. The group of three women. We were always supposed to look at a group of women.”
“Okay, well, we’re doing it now. To get to our problem, none of them were strong enough to carry Sarah up the steps and shove her limp body into the gun barrel. So how was it done?”
“What about the hydraulic lift in the garage?” Terry asked. “Put the body on the lift, lift it up as high as it will go, drag the rolling steps over, drag the body onto the steps and roll it back to the float.”
“That wouldn’t get the body high enough,” Lia said.
“Okay, put the body on the lift, drive a van or SUV over next to the lift, drag the body on top of the SUV, drive the SUV onto the lift, then drag the steps over next to the SUV. Raise the lift so the body is level with the top of the steps and drag the body off the top of the SUV. That should get the body up high enough.”
“And re-dress her afterwards? There would have been grime all over her clothes.”
“Hmmm,” Terry said.
“Something always bothered me about that,” Jim said. “If I was shoving a body down a tube, I wouldn’t do it feet first.”
“Why not?” Bailey asked.
“The knees would buckle and the legs would jam up the tube. If I were doing it, I’d put her in head first, then all the joints flatten out. Her arms were over her head. That added an extra two feet to the space she took up inside the barrel, so she had to be shoved further down the barrel. That makes it twice as hard.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Jose said.
“Maybe her killer was incompetent,” Terry said.
“I think this is important,” Lia said. “What do you think, Jim?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Okay, anyone else?” Lia asked.
“When I saw her arms hanging out in the parade, I thought it was part of the act,” Jose said.
“So did I,” Lia said.
“Remember how I told you it would be cool to shoot someone out of the gun?” Jose asked.
“Sure, and I told you to figure out how to do it,” Lia said.
“I thought about it, and anyone getting into that gun would climb in feet first. Don’t know what that means, though.”
“Mon Dieu!” Terry cried, thrusting his index finger in the air. “They did not have to lift her because she climbed in herself!”
“Oh, so the killer says, please oblige me and climb into that float so I can strangle you?” Steve said.
“Of course not,” Terry huffed. “There had to be a pretext.”
“What pretext can you possibly have for getting someone to climb into a gun barrel?” Steve asked.
“Oh!” Bailey exclaimed.
Everyone turned to look at her.
“Jose wanted to shoot someone out of the gun,” Bailey said. “What if Sarah wanted to ride in the barrel during the parade? She could wave at everyone and throw candy.”
“So she was trying it out?” Lia said. “But she knew it wasn’t designed to hold weight.”
“So she does it for fun,” Jose said. “Night before the parade, the ladder is there, and she just wants to see what it feels like. She might think it could stand the extra weight for a few minutes.”
“But that creates another problem,” Lia said. “One of Sarah’s bruises suggests the killer stepped on her throat. That had to happen before she got into the gun. If someone stepped on my throat, I wouldn’t get up and say, ‘Okay, that didn’t work. Why don’t I climb into that gun barrel and let you finish me off?’”
The group, stumped, sat at the table surrounded by dogs and said nothing.
“The other problem is, why weren’t there signs of a struggle?” Lia asked.
Jim cleared his throat. “Someone is with her when she decides to get into the gun barrel. Maybe it was her idea, maybe the killer gave her the idea. She’s drunk, maybe unconscious when they killed her. That’s why there’s no sign she
fought back. What do you think?”
“But where did that footprint come from?” Lia asked.
“Are you sure it’s a footprint?” Jim asked.
“About 65%.”
“The shoe print is a red herring,” Terry said. “They did it after they choked her to throw everyone off.”
“You’re talking about librarians and crime writers,” Steve said. “They’re researchers at heart. They should know basic forensics. Can you bruise someone if their blood isn’t pumping?”
“But she didn’t die, not then,” Bailey said.
“That was an accident,” Steve said. “They thought she was dead when they left her.”
“So the funny footprint had to be part of the attack,” Jose said.
“Exactly,” Steve said.
“Let’s stop here. I have enough to think about. If anyone has a brilliant idea, call me.”
“What are you going to do now?” Bailey asked.
“She’s going to return to the scene of the crime, of course,” Terry said. “It’s what all detectives do when they’re stymied.”
“Sure, hang out all you want,” Jerry said, getting out from behind his desk. “We’re used to having visitors after the cops popped in and out all last week. I finally got my trailer back.”
Jerry opened the door that led from the chill of the front office into the bays of the commercial garage. The rolling doors gaped open, vainly hoping to capture a breeze. Sweat pearled on Lia’s nose and dripped onto her tee shirt. Heat intensified the smell of grease and motor oil.
Jerry’s trailer sat like an empty stage in the car barn. A pair of mechanics had their heads under the hood of a semi parked in the rear of the shop. Lia heard the door close behind her.
Okay Anderson, time for the rubber to hit the road.
Lia sat in one of the ancient folding chairs. She leaned back against the wall, allowing the remnants of the night’s chill remaining in the concrete blocks to leech into her shoulders and head.
As she sat, she visualized the giant gun and the way the rolling ladder fit just under the bore. It would be night.
She imagined Sarah, drinking a celebratory glass of wine with someone she trusted. Wine spiked with something secret that would cloud Sarah’s judgment and impair her responses faster than the wine would alone.
Jokes are cracked, the next day’s triumphal procession imagined, the stress of the last few weeks drops away. Sarah’s killer says it’s a shame they didn’t plan to have someone riding on top of the gun. Sarah says it would be more fun to ride inside the barrel. Her killer eggs her on. “How would you get inside?” Sarah answers, “It would be easy.”
Sarah climbs the rolling ladder to prove her point. The bottom of the bore is about 30” above the platform at the top of the ladder. Sarah sits on the platform, then swings her legs up and through the protective rails, into the bore. She then has to twist around so that she is facing the floor and pushing up with her arms, working her thighs, then her hips and torso in, a move she can only do because she is tall and long limbed.
No, wait. Too much work.
Sarah carries a folding chair up the ladder and places it in front of the gun bore. She sits in the chair, folding her legs so her knees are under her chin, then extends her feet forward, sliding them into the gun barrel. Then it’s easy-peasy to push up with her hands on the seat and slide her hips in. Then she turns over.
Her faceless killer, laughing and cheering, climbs the steps up to the platform. She brings the wine and the glasses with her, and her purse. Strange, bringing her purse, but there is something in it she needs. She sits on the chair and they talk, refilling Sarah’s glass when it empties.
Sarah becomes drowsy while her killer watches for the perfect moment. Does she feel tension as she approaches the moment for action? Does she consider backing out? What drives her? Is it greed or hatred? Is it elation? Does she drop her mask in those last moments and let the rage show, the rage that must be under everything for her to murder her friend? Or is she smug?
The killer opens her purse and removes the rope with the loop in the end. She has drugged Sarah and she has this odd garrote. She knows she is not strong enough to strangle Sarah with her hands, but she saw the rope and the idea grew that she could use it to do this thing.
Now she is here and she has the noose in her hands and she widens it, and Sarah does not realize anything is happening until her killer lifts the noose to slip it over her head. Sarah slaps at the rope, flailing her arms, but too drunk to fully grasp the danger.
The noose is silly, an annoyance. Sarah does not want to play her friend’s peculiar game. Perhaps she is laughing. She flaps her arms too weakly to scratch or bruise. Eventually she tires, and the noose falls neatly over her head.
Sarah’s killer pulls the noose as tight as she can, but it is not enough. Sarah begins to cough and twist her head about. With Sarah facing down, her killer positions herself under Sarah, applying force upwards. It takes a long time to strangle someone. Her arms tire and fail. Sarah is not dead.
The killer falls back on the platform, exhausted. She needs leverage. How will she get enough leverage? There is no backing out, no way that Sarah will mistake the bruises forming around her neck as anything but what they are.
Her killer climbs down and searches the garage. Perhaps she could find some tool to hit Sarah with? But the tools are locked up and she does not want blood to reveal Sarah’s presence inside the float.
Sarah’s killer thinks about lying on the metal platform, her arms exhausted and unable to complete the task. She thinks about the failure of her plans, of orange jumpsuits and ugly, brutal women.
And then Lia understands.
What am I doing?
Lia looked over the group assembled in the living room at SCOOP. Peter and Brent were there, along with Leroy and Linda and the ladies of Fiber and Snark. Bailey refused to be left out, saying her role was to provide moral support. Lia looked at Bailey, who winked back.
Debby sat closest to the foyer. Alice and Cecilie shared the sofa by the kitchen with Leroy and Linda. Carol sat with her sprained foot propped on an ottoman next to the den, where the kitties were penned out of consideration for those who were not feline fanatics. More than thirty cats of all ages and sizes milled behind the pet gate, mewing for the rolling bin of kibble sitting at Carol’s feet. Peter, Brent and Bailey shared the sofa on Lia’s right.
A huge tom batted at the pet gate, making it wobble.
“Can someone shove the kibble bin out of sight?” Debby asked. “The noise is going to make me crazy.”
Bailey jumped up and moved the bin past Carol’s chair.
“Just tuck it beside me,” Carol said. “That will be far enough.”
When the cats settled, Lia cleared her throat. “I guess you’re wondering why I asked everyone to meet me here.” She paused. “There have been further developments.”
She took a moment to observe faces. The ladies looked baffled. Leroy narrowed his eyes. Linda leaned forward with avid interest. Peter frowned.
“Well?” Cecilie asked.
“Cecilie, do you mind if I get into the donations closet? There’s something I need to show everyone.”
Cecilie waved a hand. “Be my guest.”
Lia donned a pair of neoprene gloves before she disappeared into the closet. She reappeared with an armload of leashes and lay them in the middle of the floor.
Lia handed Peter a pair of gloves and pointed to a colorful length of braided rope peeking out from the bottom of the pile.
“The blue and green one. Take a look at it.”
Peter withdrew the leash. It ended, not with the usual clip, but in a loop created by feeding the leash through a brass ring that had been joined to the end with a folded piece of leather.
“That’s a slip lead. It’s generally used with show dogs. Renee has one for Dakini, but that one is rolled leather. I saw this in the closet 2 weeks ago.”
“If you want the damn leash,
just take it,” Debby groused. “I don’t know why you needed the peanut gallery to raid the donation closet.”
“I don’t want it, but I think Peter might. Would that work, Peter?”
“Something like this might.” Lia expected him to examine the leash. Instead he searched the faces surrounding them.
“We don’t want to hear about your kinky sex lives. Seriously, Lia—”
“I do believe this is about murder, not sex, Mrs. Carrico,” Brent said softly. “I believe we are looking at the weapon used to strangle Sarah Schellenger. Do you have any other surprises for us, Lia?”
Lia looked at Peter. “I might. May I proceed?”
Peter waved his hand in the universal “please do” gesture.
“Okay.” Lia took a deep breath. “I know we all want to know the truth about Sarah. Well, everybody but one person, anyway.
“By chance I saw ultra-violet photographs the coroner’s office took of Sarah’s neck. They revealed the shape and texture of the object used to strangle Sarah. Then I remembered seeing a leash here that might have created most of the bruises.”
“There must be hundreds of slip leads in Cincinnati,” Alice said. I think there are a couple more in that pile. Why do you think it’s this one?”
“Peter?” Lia asked.
“Fibers. We collected fibers from Sarah’s clothes that are likely to match this leash.”
“Wouldn’t the fibers be on Sarah’s neck if that was used to strangle her?” Alice asked.
“There probably were fibers embedded in her neck, but any trace evidence was lost when Sarah was prepped for surgery.”
“You honestly think one of us did it? We loved Sarah,” Cecilie said.
“Whoever did this had intimate knowledge of everyone here,” Lia said. “They knew Alice kept her cell phone in her purse and never answered it at night. They knew Carol was going to Clifton to pick up baba ganooj, and that she liked to take the alley shortcut to the parking lot.”
“That was Leroy,” Carol insisted.
Leroy leaned forward to respond, but held back when Linda placed a hand on his arm.
Muddy Mouth: A Dog Park Mystery Page 18
