Flowers on Her Grave

by Jennifer Chase

  “That’s quite an accomplishment for someone who is your age,” McGaven said.

  “Yes, I guess you’re right. I’ve known my entire life that I wanted to make a difference, environmentally speaking, and teach others to appreciate these studies and to begin to make the world a better place.”

  “Well,” began Katie, thinking that Dr. Wills was high-minded with a slight delusion of grandeur, “we just wanted to ask a few questions and won’t take up much of your time.”

  “Absolutely. Ask away.” Wills clasped his hands on the desk and fidgeted with his right thumb.

  Was he anxious, irritated, or was this just a habit?

  “You were good friends with Cynthia Andrews,” Katie said.

  “Yes, we had been friends since the ninth grade. Both of us had the same ambitions and interests. We were like family. She was like a sister to me.”

  “I see. Were you aware of her camping trip to find the elusive… let me check my notes to get the correct description… King’s Gold?”

  Wills smiled. It was the first time he had shown any personality or emotion. “Yes, I knew about it. She had asked me to go with her, but I was unable because I was also working on a thesis of my own. And, well, I thought she was spending too much time on that elusive little weed. We both had schedules that didn’t allow much free time.”

  “Who else knew about the King’s Gold study?”

  “Well, her advisors knew… I can’t remember their names but I’m sure you could find out from administration. And I think her family knew about it, but most people, fellow students, didn’t know and frankly probably didn’t care.” His voice became deeper.

  “Please forgive me, but why was this study so important?”

  “Well, Cindy was a conservationist. She cared about everything natural all around us. She felt strongly that it was a good sign when plants native to California were coming back. It fit a theory she had about all things being connected: trees, birds, the ocean and so forth,” he said. He had unclasped his hands and picked up a gold pen similar to the one on the podium.

  “Did Ms. Andrews have any problems? At home? Or with another student?”

  “No, you would have to have known Cindy. She was quiet and shy, except when she talked about her work.”

  “Was anything bothering her?”

  “No, not that I was aware of. And we spent a lot of time together.”

  “I see,” said Katie. “Was it usual for her to hike and camp alone?”

  Wills thought a moment. “I actually can’t think of any other time she had camped alone, but like I said, this part of the thesis was extremely important to her.”

  “Did she have a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone that she was interested in?”

  “No.”

  “Forgive me, Dr. Wills, but you seem quite adamant about that,” said Katie.

  “Well, let me spell it out for you. All of us science types are considered geeks, shut-ins, library nerds, whatever you want to call us—so no, she never said anything about any student she was interested in dating. There wasn’t any time for that.” He scoffed and stared at Katie.

  “Just one more question: When you heard about her death and how she was killed—what was the first thing that came to mind?” Katie watched him carefully as he thought about the question and how to answer.

  “I… I was stunned and horrified. I thought it couldn’t be true…” His voice trailed off, but didn’t seem genuine somehow.

  “About how she died?”

  “Quite honestly, I thought things like that only happened in horror movies.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Wills,” Katie said and stood up, touching the top of her forehead and suddenly noticing it was bleeding. “Do you have a Kleenex?”

  “Oh, take one of these.” Wills reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a small plastic sheath with new handkerchiefs tucked neatly inside. He handed one to Katie.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t.”

  “Please I have a million of these. Call it an obsession.” Looking at her head, he said, “You should have that looked at.”

  “It’s already been looked at.” Katie glanced down to the lower drawer and noticed a small glass display case inside. Inside the box were three antique knives. “Nice collection.”

  He looked to see what Katie referred to. “Oh, yes. It’s a gift for one of the professors. They collect early American things.”

  “If we have any further questions, can we contact you here?” she said.

  “Of course.”

  “We’ll find our way back out.”

  Katie and McGaven hurried their way back. Neither said anything to the other until they were seated back inside their car. Katie had more questions than answers, but things were moving forward at long last.

  “Okay, I have one word,” said McGaven. “Cindy? Really?”

  Katie laughed.

  “Not exactly a smoking gun…” he said.

  “I sensed some resentment, or even unresolved feelings between them, didn’t you?”

  McGaven nodded, drove out of the parking area and eased into traffic to leave the campus.

  “We need to talk to someone completely impartial about this King’s Gold. It may be the key to finding the person who murdered her.”

  “I definitely couldn’t see Dr. Wills tying someone to a tree and slicing them up. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  “I need you to check out Dr. Wills and find someone to give the scoop on King’s Gold from twelve years ago. Maybe there’s something about it us non-natural scientist types don’t understand. And run backgrounds on everyone who gave a statement.”

  “And you are…?”

  “I’m going to have a look at the evidence from the crime scene and talk to Detective Teagen about the case.”

  “I don’t know him; he was retired before I began working at the sheriff’s department.”

  “He had some problem with his health and had to retire early.”

  “What about your uncle?” he said.

  “I’ll have plenty of time to chat with him this weekend.”

  “Why not talk to the family now?”

  “I want to wait and have a better grasp on their backgrounds, what they did right after Cynthia’s death, and what they’re doing now.”

  McGaven hit the accelerator and took the ramp to the freeway. “Fair enough.”

  Katie’s cell phone alerted to a text message from John:

  Results in on the evidence you found.

  “What’s that? Any news?” he asked.

  “No, just personal stuff.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Thursday 1405 hours

  Katie dashed into the office to run down a phone number and address for Detective Kenneth Teagen. She grabbed her notes and jacket and was just about to leave when McGaven stopped her.

  “Wait,” he called out.

  Katie turned and saw the look on his face. He was easy to read with his expressive eyes and wrinkled brow. It was straightforward to see that he was concerned about her.

  “I know that you’re capable of doing a lot. You can run down leads for any type of investigation and you can lead an army team into action, but…”

  “Let me save you the well-intended lecture,” she said and raised her hand to halt him. “I know what you’re going to say, but I can’t just sit idly by and wait for something to happen. No matter what… I have to do this,” she said.

  “That’s all well and good—”

  “But—” she said.

  “Don’t interrupt me. Please… This isn’t run-of-the-mill kind of stuff. You’ve been through a traumatic family loss… you’re in the middle of grieving, in case you don’t know it. And there’s been an attempt on your life. You. Have. To. Slow. Down.”

  Katie stared at her desk as McGaven put his two cents into the ring. She appreciated having a great partner and good friend, but she was more than capable of taking care of
herself. “I’m aware of what’s at stake. The sooner we narrow down the suspect pool the better—for everyone.”

  “I have news for you, Katie. You’re not working your aunt’s case,” he said, on the verge of raising his voice. “Don’t think I’m stupid. I know you’ve devised some way to work her case too. Picking a cold case that has similarities, which gives you access to be somewhere you’re not supposed to be. You’re not as clever as you think.”

  Katie sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I know everything you’re saying is true. But I have to do what I need to do. And I’m not…” She caught herself before she revealed too much. She had to protect her friends from getting too involved.

  McGaven got up from his desk, his huge frame towering over her making her feel small and helpless—it wasn’t supposed to come down to this.

  “Let me do what I need to do,” she said.

  “You’re taking too many risks. You can’t do this alone,” he stressed.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m armed. And if I go anywhere after dark or secluded, I’ll take Cisco.”

  “That’s not good enough. With your uncle out of the picture, there are people here that aren’t on your side.”

  “Well… that’s too…” She caught herself from saying something that she’d regret.

  “Let me help,” he said.

  Katie turned to leave. “We have our assignments.”

  He gently took her arm. “Let me help.”

  “We’ll meet back at the end of the shift and work it out. Okay?”

  He relaxed somewhat and let out a sigh. “Okay.”

  She finally left.

  * * *

  Katie felt the burden of everything weighing her down—her heart, her mind, and her investigative load. McGaven was right. Things were becoming too much for her to bear. She stood in front of the forensic examination room contemplating if she should go inside. It would be just as easy to move on and go to her meeting with retired detective Teagen.

  “Waiting for me?” said John behind her.

  She turned to see him standing close wearing his lab coat. It was unusual to see him dressed officially for the job, but it suited him. His eyes studied her as if he could hear her thoughts.

  “Hi, I got your text,” she said, lamely.

  John moved past her and entered the room, expecting her to follow. “I have some preliminary findings for you.” His voice was flat, without his usual personality.

  “Great.” She tried to sound light, even though she was dying to know what he had found. She moved closer to John and waited patiently to hear what he had to say. He sat in front of one of the computers and brought up a chemical report. He glanced at the doorway before he began. “The blue fiber is a type of polyester, or Dacron.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Ordinary and could be from a million different things?”

  “Quite the contrary. This is lightweight material with high tensile strength, superior abrasion resistance, and flexibility. However, it has a low modulus, allowing some stretch. It’s susceptible to UV and chemical degradation, and its properties can change due to moisture absorption.”

  “What is it used for? Athletic wear? Luggage?” she guessed.

  “You’re on the right track. But this type of Dacron is used for camping gear, like tents, backpacks, and even used for some types of sails for boats. It’s difficult to individuate whether it’s for one type of use or another. And it’s impossible to find out what piece of fabric it originated from without the original to compare it to.”

  “What about the threads?”

  “It’s consistent with the fabric piece. Again, I cannot give an exact expert opinion that these came from the same piece of fabric, but it’s consistent.”

  “John, thank you for your discretion and your time,” she said, feeling guilty about keeping McGaven out of the loop.

  “I can’t say I’m happy about this situation, but… I completely understand why it had to happen like this. If roles were reversed, I would do the same thing.” He kept Katie’s gaze for a bit longer than necessary. “I have one more piece of evidence for you.”

  Katie waited, praying it would be the missing link she so desperately needed.

  “I nearly missed it, but there’s a small spot of grease on the swatch you gave me. When I tested, it came back…”

  “What?” she asked expecting, or rather hoping, it would be a breakthrough.

  “Grease.”

  “Just… grease?” she said.

  “Well, let me put it to you this way. There are three essential components to grease: base oil, thickener, and additives. And this tested as grease. There were no foreign things in it, so that means it was poured right out of a container.” He watched Katie’s reaction.

  “So what you’re saying is this grease wasn’t the result of something dripping, like from a car.”

  “Yes, it’s in the original mixture form, uncontaminated.”

  “From a car?”

  “Possibly.”

  “A motorcycle, boat, or some type of machinery?” she asked.

  “It’s possible, but at this point I can’t say where or what this grease was used for.”

  “I have another question.”

  He looked at her and waited.

  “Did they find out if my uncle had been given anything in his drink?”

  John was hesitant. “You’ll find out anyway. Yes, they took a blood sample from him and there was a small trace of Diphenhydramine. The glasses had already been cleaned so they were of no use.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s just an over-the-counter sleep aid. He claimed that he didn’t take anything to sleep, but this can cause some discomfort, like upset stomach and jitters.”

  “Where did it come from?”

  “That is unknown.”

  “It could have come from anywhere, the caterers, guests at the party, and even Patton could have slipped something into his drink,” she said. “But they didn’t know him well, he didn’t drink much.”

  Katie digested everything John had told her and knew it was a clue but it wasn’t as dynamic as she had hoped. She knew that someone had come to the property, entered the house, and killed her aunt. And now, they had contact with some type of lightweight polyester used for camping type of items with grease on it. Even though she was disappointed, she knew it would help down the road. That’s what she had to believe.

  “Thank you, John,” she said and turned to leave.

  “It wasn’t what you had hoped?” he said.

  “No, not yet.”

  * * *

  As she drove to Detective Kenneth Teagen’s house she tried to keep her mind on the Cynthia Andrews homicide and what they knew so far. She had phoned him and he was polite, receptive and wanted to help her with the cold case in any way he could. She thought he sounded a bit lonely, and a visit from someone from the department might be just what he needed.

  From what Katie could confirm, Teagen had retired from the sheriff’s office eight years ago with health issues. His cases had an average closure rate of about seventy percent and he worked with other detectives on some of the homicide cases. He lived in an unincorporated part of the county and it appeared that he divorced from his wife about a year before retirement.

  Driving through farmland and areas thick with trees, Katie finally found a road called Apricot Lane. She turned the sedan down the gravel drive and ended at the retired detective’s house. It was a small, box-like house with two small barns in the back. All the buildings were rundown and in desperate need of maintenance; paint chipped on the front and porch, slats in the fence line were missing, and the weeds were beginning to take over. There were several paint cans, buckets, and a ladder leaning against the house.

  Katie parked and got out. She thought she could smell honeysuckle, although she didn’t see it. She stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She knocked again and waited.

  Katie walked ove
r to one of the barns used for storing tools, boxes, furniture, and what looked like an old car.

  “Hello?” she said. “Detective Teagen?”

  There was a sound toward the back of the barn, so she followed it to a small workshop area with specialized carving tools and various pieces of wood scattered about. Every tool had a specific place—neat and orderly. It was the only thing systematized in the barn. An old hunting knife lay on one of the tables, bloodied. One of the wood cabinets rattled next to Katie. She watched it for a moment, not wanting to move. “Hello?” she said again.

  A blur burst through the opening of the large cabinet and landed in front of her, primed, growling and inching closer to her. “Easy, big guy,” she said to the large husky mix snarling at her feet. “Easy…” she said and began to slowly back out of the barn.

  “Rambo, down,” said a voice behind her. The dog immediately obeyed the command, and Katie turned to see a handsome man in his late thirties to early forties with dark hair, and a tanned face from being outdoors. He was dressed in jeans and a short sleeved T-shirt. “I’m sorry if he scared you. He’s trained to guard and bark, not attack. He’s got the guard part down but growls instead of barks,” he said and took a rope and lassoed the dog for a temporary leash.

  Katie composed herself and said, “Hi, I’m Detective Katie Scott.”

  “Oh, of course, Dad said you were going to stop by today.”

  “I knocked on the front door but no one answered.”

  “Oh, damn. He probably took his hearing aid out and didn’t hear you. Please, I’ll take you to him. I’m Cody, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said.

  “Dad was excited that someone from the department was going to come out. He gets lonely out here and has been pretty depressed,” he said. “C’mon, Rambo.” The dog relaxed and padded along with them.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Well, police work was always his life—his only life, I’m afraid to say. You should know how cops can be.”

  “Do you live here?” Katie asked.

  “No, I have an apartment in town, but I spend most of my time out here just helping out because there’s no one else. Sometimes it’s not so convenient. I’m all Dad has now and I want to spend time with him—as much as I can.”