"I'm on it." Harris headed for his car.
Ray stood and faced the medics. "I can't think of a reason for you to stay. We'll take it from here."
A couple of the guys responded, "Okay," and "Yes, sir," before they loaded up and left, looking relieved and happy to be on their way.
"Sophie, why don't you take Roxy and go home?" Ray offered her a hand.
"What about Scruffy?"
"We'll call animal control. They'll take him to the shelter until we can determine what's best."
The feeling of sadness about Millie's poor Scruffy going to the shelter overwhelmed her, and tears ran in full force. "Can I take him to the lady across the street in 2801? I know she kept him when Millie went north at Christmas. I've watched them together. She likes him."
"He needs to go to animal control. It's protocol unless there is a family member present."
Sophia stood, tears gone. "Your damn protocol is just plain mean. Poor little dog lost his mistress, now you want to lock him up in jail. It sucks." She knew her anger at the whole situation was now focused on Ray's dictum about Scruffy.
Ray smiled. "Go ahead and take him over."
Stretching on her tiptoes, she kissed Ray's cheek. "Thank you."
"Tell the woman we'll be by to talk with her before too long. What's her name?"
"I have no idea. I know her to say hello and talk about the animals." With both little dogs in tow, Sophia nodded to the men and crossed the street, accomplished the sad task, and then went to stand by the crime scene tape with the other neighborhood onlookers.
CHAPTER 2
Ray
Ray watched Sophia cross the street before turning to Deg. "I never met Millie Peers." He pointed into the house. "But I feel like I have because Sophia talks about her a lot."
"Anything useful?" Deg said.
"No, just everyday chatter. Half-listened for the most part, but I got the idea she was a nice person. When her son moved in a few weeks ago, Sophia said she didn't appear thrilled."
"I wonder where the man is now."
"That, my friend, is the question. Another issue is the location of the victim's older model Camry."
"Color?"
"White."
Ray withdrew his smart phone from his shirt pocket. "Let's get to it." Ray slipped on gloves and shoe covers. Together they entered the duplex and turned right into the kitchen. One dirty plate, silverware, a soiled paper towel, and a half-full water glass sat in disarray on the table. A greasy frying pan bridged the gap between the stovetop and the adjacent counter.
"Doesn't look like the remains of a tidy woman's dinner." Ray surveyed the rest of the kitchen, his iPhone buzzing at irregular intervals as he photographed the scene.
"How so? I didn't know dinner mess had a gender."
"Look at the rest of the room. It's spotless." Ray waved his arm around the room, relating to what he saw. "Clean as my mother's. And she wouldn't leave a frying pan half off the stovetop or on the counter without a pad under it. Ripped me a new one more than once for doing just that."
"You've got a point. Maybe the son was home and had dinner."
"Before or after the victim died, I wonder." Ray shifted to the hallway. "The way this place is set up, the two duplex units are separated by the garages and laundry area." He nodded toward a partially open door. "There can't be much sound traveling between apartments."
"Hold on a minute." Deg went into the garage and returned. "Plus there's a concrete fire wall between the two garages and probably between the two living areas as well. Besides, the other unit looks unoccupied."
Ray pushed open the first bedroom door and looked around. "Empty. Just like Sophia said."
Deg stepped into the next bedroom. "This is a holy mess. Must belong to the son."
As Deg made notes, Ray joined him and took pictures, being careful not to disturb anything, but wanting to preserve his memory of the area without black fingerprint dust everywhere. He avoided a pile of dirty laundry, a beer bottle, and several empty glasses, then focused on a student desk centered on the far wall beyond the unmade bed. "Man is a slob. We'll need to look inside that when the techs are done."
After documenting the area, they went into the spotless living room. The furniture looked well used, but clean and in good repair.
"Maybe she brought it from New Jersey," Ray said, waving his hand to indicate the furnishings.
"How do you know she's from New Jersey?"
"The victim told Sophia. If I remember correctly, she arrived last fall. Went over and volunteered at the grade school the first day she was here. That's why it sticks in my mind."
Ray studied the framed photos displayed on the wall unit. Nice looking family, he thought. "This guy here," he indicated the eight-by-ten on the cabinet's top shelf, "is the son, Wayne. He's the only one that looks the right age to be the son of a retiree."
"Some of the pictures could be old."
"True." Ray pointed. "These, for instance. Old style clothing. But female. There is only one man, and it looks current." He pushed the camera button on his iPhone.
They looked into the master. After checking the bath, the detectives moved into the main part of the bedroom. Neither man approached the body, but instead walked in opposite directions around the perimeter of the room.
The room's appearance suggested an altercation. Several drawers gaped open an inch or two, the desk chair lay on its side, and the desk appeared ransacked. A small upended jewelry box spilled several inexpensive costume pieces on the dresser top and surrounding floor.
"Robbery?" Deg said.
"Could be. I know she was in the habit of sitting out front with the dog in the evening. That would make her an easy target for anyone walking the street, especially if she stayed on the porch after the neighbors closed up for the night."
Deg made a note.
Ray approached the body, pushing away the stab of sadness he always felt when he saw an innocent victim. "Did you already diagram her position?"
"I got it while you were talking to Sophia." His pencil scratched on his notepad.
"She has defensive wounds on her arms. Make sure they scrape under the nails. Looks to me like there is something there." Ray pointed, photographed the area, then concentrated on the bruises on the victim's head and neck.
"Maybe our killer is sporting scratches."
"Wouldn't that be convenient?"
Deg stepped into the corridor. "Crime scene and the medical examiner are both outside and headed in."
"Good. It's their turn anyway. Make sure they take all the files in her desk drawer and her laptop. Let them get started, then we can walk the yard. We need to find Wayne Peers today. Either he killed her and took her car, or he didn't come home last night."
"Or he did come home but never realized she was dead in the bedroom," Deg said. "Stranger things have happened."
***
The detectives watched as Dr. Kasper, the ME, performed a preliminary overview.
Kasper pulled back the bedspread covering Millie's lower half. The cotton duster bunched at the victim's waist leaving her naked from the waist down except for the worn slides on her feet.
"Put another star next to the son's name and move him to the top of the suspect list," Ray said, pondering how anyone could be so cruel to a frail old lady. "Seems to me a person close to her would be concerned enough about her nakedness to cover her."
"Odd little scar on her hip." Deg pointed to Millie's right hip, just above her bikini bone.
"Looks like the remnants of a lasered-off tattoo," Kasper said.
"I remember Sophia saying the old girl acted like a grandma with ink." Ray bent close to the body. "Cell phone under the bed, out of her reach." He motioned to Sherri, a seasoned crime scene tech with short gray hair and a ready smile, to retrieve it.
"Give me a minute to dust for prints," the young woman said as she took the unit across the room.
"Maybe she wasn't dead when he left her, felt cold, and managed
to pull the spread off the bed to cover herself," Deg said.
"That's a possibility."
A few minutes later, Sherri handed Ray the phone. "Done. I got a couple of clear latents off the screen. That's it."
"Thanks," Ray said. He scrolled through the contacts on the phone, making notes about several. "I've got a number here for Wayne. A few from New Jersey. One labeled as the school. Sophia's. Nothing marked in case of emergency."
"What is the last one she dialed?" Deg said.
"The school yesterday morning. She called an 877 area code a few minutes earlier." He crossed the room and returned the phone to Sherri. "Take this along, please."
Ray squatted next to the ME. "What do you think?"
"I think it's too early to have an opinion." The man grimaced and pointed to a large bruise on the side of Millie Peers' head.
"But?"
"I think, probably, she was beaten and then left to die in her own time."
Ray frowned, feeling disgusted at the thought. "Cruel."
"Isn't it always?" The ME stood and motioned for the techs.
The crime scene techs bagged the victim's hands and repositioned the body. Rolling her over revealed no additional marks but highlighted how frail the old woman was.
"That's it." Dr. Kasper stepped away. "Bag and tag. Let's get her out of here."
"Detectives, we found her purse." Sherri used the top of the dresser as a work surface. "I've already dusted the outside. I'll look inside now."
Then, while another tech took video, Sherri opened the bag, found a wallet, and extracted a driver's license for Millie Peers. "Name's Millie, not Mildred." She looked thoughtful. "She's eighty, so that picture you told me to grab could be the son. The license was issued last fall. At that time, she weighed ninety-three pounds and stood five-one."
Ray took a close-up of the license and car registration. "Thanks."
"Yeah, I know. Take it to the department."
"You're a mind reader, as always." Ray smiled. Sherri was an efficient tech and was always easy to deal with. "We'll be walking the yard. Oh, are you done with the son's cave?"
"Yup. Help yourself."
Deg was looking in the closet when Ray entered the middle bedroom.
"This guy is messy." Deg toed a pile of clothing on the floor of the closet. "Looks like he's a house painter."
"Is there a company name on any of the items?"
Deg pointed to a shirt. "Anderson Painting. Their trucks are around town a lot. Good place to start looking for the son."
Ray pulled out the desk chair, sat, and tugged on the top-drawer handle. "Not much here. A few lottery tickets." He looked into another drawer. "A checkbook." He used a gloved finger to flip it open. "Guy's broke, or he doesn't keep up his entries. Name on the checks is Wayne Peers." Clicking his iPhone, he captured the information.
"First on our list. Find Mr. Peers and ask him if he offed his mother."
"My thoughts exactly." Ray headed for the door.
Once outside, Ray stepped off the porch and started his grid pattern by walking parallel to the street while taking numerous pictures documenting the lawn and landscape.
Deg did the same, but made notes rather than taking photos. When finished, they traded areas, then met in front of the house.
"Anything?" Deg said. "I came up empty."
"Me, too, except those footprints there." He pointed. "Behind the house, there are no signs of anyone fleeing on foot, the hedges are intact. Zip."
"You got it all on disc?" Deg asked as he scribbled.
"I did."
"Ray," Sophia said. She stood behind the yellow tape, holding Roxy in her arms.
Looking up, he frowned, then used the sidewalk to get to her. "I thought you went home." Her face was pale and her dark hair was a mess—as if she'd pulled at it. He touched her arm. "You need to go."
"I did. I am. I just came to tell you Geraldine Sutton—over there," she pointed to the house, "is okay keeping the dog. And, those prints you just pointed at . . ."
"What about them?"
"I saw Harris make them right after he arrived on scene."
"Thanks for the information." He gave her a quick kiss. "I'll stop by later if I can. Go home and do something normal. That will help."
Sophia walked away with a slight limp.
As Ray joined Deg on the front porch, he worried, as he often did, about the after effects of her injuries.
After the crime scene techs left, Ray and Deg spent another hour inside the apartment, hoping for, but not finding, a clear sign pointing to the killer.
***
Ray slid into the passenger's side of the department Taurus and buckled up. He looked at his notebook, then punched a number into his telephone. It rang without answer. The voice mail clicked in, announcing it was full. "Wayne Peers doesn't answer. First stop, Anderson Painting. Let's find him."
"Where are we going?" Deg started the car and swung into the street.
"It's north of here in the warehouse district." Ray said. "There are a bunch of older units catering to the trades. Follow One-Eighteenth to Sample, then cross over."
"You're well informed."
"Checked it for the captain a couple of months ago when he was looking for garage space. Got a chance to talk to the rental agent and look at who was already there."
Deg braked for the stop sign at Sample Road, timed the traffic, and turned left. He made a sharp right into the industrial area. "Now where?"
"Take the next right."
After pulling into the complex and pausing to check the weathered marquee, Deg parked in front of the open bay door under the Anderson Painting, Inc. sign, and Ray got out. A short, older man in spattered painter's clothing made his way outside, stepping past stacks of supplies and cans of paint.
"What can I do for you?" the man said, his thick French-Canadian accent making his words indistinct.
Ray produced his badge and flipped open the case. "Detective Stone. Coral Bay PD. We're looking for Chad Anderson."
"That would be me."
Deg joined the conversation. "Detective Lewis. Can you tell us where to find Wayne Peers?"
"Well, now, Detectives, here's the thing." He rubbed his hands on the rag he carried. "Wayne got himself on a two-dayer a month or so ago. I had to let him go."
"Drugs or booze?" Deg asked.
"Booze. The man likes his drink. I don't care unless it affects the job, you understand. This time it did. And, it wasn't the first time either."
"Do you know how to reach him?" Deg raised an expectant eyebrow.
Anderson touched the screen of his cell phone several times. "Here is the last number I have." He read it off.
"Got that one. Anything else that might be helpful?" Ray said.
"He lives with his mother. I'll get the address from the office."
"No need. We have it." Ray paused. "Do you know where he's working now?"
"He's doing day work with a painter across town. Smithson. Wayne is capable of getting his own jobs when he's sober. Man's a hell of a good painter. When he's sober."
"Sounds like he has a problem." Deg bit his lip, looking thoughtful. "Where does he go to drink?"
Anderson scratched his head and sent his stringy dishwater-colored hair flying. "That I can help you with. I saw him at Bob's Bar on the corner of Wiles and Riverside last night."
"Did you speak with him?" Deg said.
"Sure. We have no hard feelings." Anderson grinned and shrugged.
"What did you talk about?" Ray asked.
"Say, what is this about anyway?" Anderson held up his hand to stop the questions.
"We need to talk to him about his mother, so we need to find him," Deg said.
"She sick?"
Ray exhaled. "No, sir, she's dead."
"Poor old lady. What happened?" A wave of sadness crossed Anderson's face.
"I can't say at the moment," Ray said. "Now, what did you and Peers talk about?"
"Nothing really. He
was pissing that his van crapped out, and he had to drive his ma's car. I got the idea she wasn't happy about that. We talked about baseball like we always do. Then he said he was going home for dinner."
"What time was that?" Ray said.
"Around nine." Anderson looked thoughtful. "Closer to nine-thirty."
Ray handed Anderson a business card. "If you think of anything or hear from Peers, give me a call."
"Sure thing, detective." Anderson pocketed the card.
After Ray and Deg settled themselves into the Taurus, Deg pulled out of the lot and stopped on the side of the street. "Do you want to go to Smithson's? Maybe Peers is on the job."
"Give me a minute?" Ray googled the name on his phone and read off an address. "We can get there before four. Meanwhile, let's call in a BOLO. I'd like to find Peers today. And I'd like to find him before he goes to the duplex."
"If he goes there." While Ray used the radio to call in the BOLO, Deg headed north to Wiles Road, passing huge warehouses fronted by parking lots. Turning east, several strip malls edged the south side of Wiles and cookie-cutter housing developments sat back from the road on the other side.
"Slow up and detour through the parking lot by the bar on Riverside and see if the Camry is there."
Deg turned into the shopping center, then took a couple minutes to drive through the rows near the bar. "There's no car fitting the description."
"Head to the paint shop. We can come back if we don't find him."
A few minutes later, Deg stopped in front of Smithson's shop, which was in an industrial park off State Road Seven and Fifteenth Street in the next town.
The painter's bay was a duplicate of Anderson's, but Smithson was younger, bigger, and less friendly.
He volunteered that he had fired Peers—calling him a drunken son of a bitch—Wednesday morning. "He showed up at the customer's house filthy and loaded. Asshole almost lost the contract for me."
As they walked away from the shop, Ray said, "Peers seems to have a consistent drinking problem. Maybe he beat up his mother in a drunken rage."
Imperfect Defense Page 2
