“No, she was cool.”
“Other than you, who are her closest friends?”
“Molly Kahn was her best friend…when they weren’t arguing, but she had another friend. I don’t know who it is. I think she was dating him. Never mentioned his name though.”
“Why wouldn’t she tell you who she was dating if you two were friends?”
“Ruby kept her dating life private, and I didn’t push to know.”
“Who did you think it was?”
“No clue.”
“Would Molly Kahn know?”
“She might.”
“Was she dating Reece Pearson, her boss at Bensington Construction?”
“Mountain Man? Uh, no. Dude was more into Molly when we were at his house for that party once. Ruby and I thought it was funny that old dude was crushing hard on her.”
“You mentioned that Ruby and Molly argued. How often does that happen?”
“I have no idea. It’s no different from any other girls I hang around, you know. They’re nice one minute. Talk shit about each other the next. How can anybody keep up?”
“I got one more question for you, Harrison. Who paid for Ruby’s education?”
“Sorry, don’t know.”
“Thank you for your time.”
“Did I help? I don’t feel like I did.”
“You did,” I reply. “Have a good day.”
On the way back to the car, Sam says, “Where to now?”
“Exeter Metro Rail.”
“Why?”
“Harrison said that Ruby was at a party at the train station. Exeter Metro Rail has eyes on every bit of their property. Inside of their trains, platforms, offices, gift shops, and ballrooms.”
“You’re thinking the killer could be on film.”
“That’s my hope.”
As I turn off the record function on the IET, I see that I have a new notification. I select the evidence option. The fingerprints analysis results are back. The parchment had none. Prints on the garbage bins in Sable Alley were too degraded. But the nondisclosure agreement had two sets of fingerprints. Ruby Taylor is one, and the second is an unlikely person. I’m in utter shock by who it is.
I have to make a detour.
Chapter Twenty-Two.
“Father Butler.”
He looks over at me from where he stands near a senior woman. He concludes his conversation with her and meets us halfway in the middle of the aisle.
“Good morning, Detective Kipling.”
“Good morning. I was wondering if I could speak to Pastor Murray.”
“What’s this about?”
“If you don’t mind, sir, I need to speak with him.”
Father Butler is uncertain by our unannounced visit, but he leads us to Pastor Murray’s office. He knocks softly on the open door before entering. With his glasses balanced on the edge of his nose, Pastor Murray is reading on a small sofa near the window. He looks over the rim, rises from his seat, and gives a welcoming smile.
“Hello, Detective Kipling. You’ve returned and with a visitor.”
“This is CSO Clarke.”
“Very nice to meet you, sir.” They shake hands.
I’m about to ruin the cordial moment, but I have no choice. I turn on the voice recorder and remark, “Pastor Murray, your name came up during my investigation of Ruby Taylor’s death.”
He swallows hard and glances at Father Butler nervously. “How so?” he says to me.
“Your fingerprints were on a piece of paper found in a garbage bin in Sable Alley, where Ruby Taylor was murdered.”
“Pardon me,” Father Butler interjects. “Are you about to accuse Pastor Murray of a crime?”
“No, but I need for him to answer my question.”
Pastor Murray takes off his glasses and says, “I did not kill the young woman in the alley.”
“Perhaps, you shouldn’t speak to the detectives until you’ve spoken to a lawyer,” Father Butler says.
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
I can’t help but believe him.
“Detective Kipling, I’m going to tell you the truth. Monday morning, I was taking an early walk. I do that sometimes. I went into Sable Alley, like I normally do. The paper you’re talking about, I saw it and read it. I did see the young woman’s name. I didn’t think much of it. So, I threw it away. After that, I walked a little farther in the alley, and that’s when I saw her body.”
“What time were you in the alley?”
“Between six-thirty and seven.”
“Did you notify the police?”
“No,” he sobs. “I know I should have called. God forgive me, but I didn’t.”
“You didn’t write a note and send it to the precinct?”
Pastor Murray is confused by the question, but he shakes his head as an answer. “Why would I write a note?”
“We received a parchment with writing, indicating that Ruby was dead and where she could be found.”
“I wouldn’t have written a note. If I had sense, I would have called.”
“I will need a handwriting sample, Pastor Murray.”
“If he said he didn’t write the note, he didn’t,” Father Butler declares.
“I believe him, but I need proof that he didn’t.”
“Pastor Murray, I don’t recommend giving her a handwriting sample. Detective, be assured, I will be speaking to your supervisor.”
“I’m not trying to frame him, Father Butler. Like I said before, I believe him.”
“Then his word should be good enough.”
“I don’t want to take Pastor Murray to the precinct, but I will if I have to. Give me a writing sample, and I will leave.”
Pastor Murray goes to his desk. Father Butler tells him not to do it. He pulls out a pen and a piece of paper. He takes a deep breath and begins writing. When he finishes, Pastor Murray hands it to me, and I read it.
May God’s blessed guidance lead me to the promise land.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Father Butler replies with anger.
“My faith is in God. When this is over, I will be vindicated as I am in this very moment.”
“Pastor Murray, thank you.” I get out of there in a hurry.
I feel horrible about asking for a handwriting sample. It’s like I rolled in the mud and every part of my body is filthy. The guilt is even worse.
“Are you okay?” Sam asks as we get in the car.
“That was the absolute worse.”
“You had to ask. What other choice did you have?”
“I don’t know. I’m new at this, remember?”
“Can you imagine if you would have arrested the priest? It would be bad. I mean, you'd get the attention of the ranks above DS Green.”
“I wasn’t going to arrest him. No way, but what I am worried about is if the handwriting matches. I don’t think I can go back in there again. Arresting a priest? I can’t do it.”
My IET has a new notification. The baseball bat comes back negative for blood and bodily fluids, and it’s made of hickory. The wood chips found on Ruby was ash. The baseball bat is not the murder weapon. That’s good for Finley and Erin. I cancel the all-points bulletin.
“What are you reading?”
“The baseball bat from Ruby’s apartment. It’s not the murder weapon.”
“Finley Price and Erin Mitchell are in the clear again.”
“But that means Pastor Murray is my only suspect.”
“Do you think he’s guilty?”
“I only have fingerprints on a piece of paper. It doesn’t mean he killed her. It’s perceivable he could have been at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Where are we going now?”
“To police headquarters. I have to get the parchment out of the evidence vault so the handwriting expert can check it against Pastor Murray’s note, and while we’re in Exeter City Centre, we’re going to the metro rail and ERU.”
Chapter Twenty-Three.
>
The handwriting results come back within thirty minutes. Pastor Murray’s writing does not match. I’m not surprised, and I’m glad he’s not a suspect. I can’t imagine arresting a priest.
With that done and over, Sam and I are on the way to Exeter Metro Rail. It’s not a long ride from police headquarters. Three miles, if that, and we quickly find parking.
“Hey,” he says, as we wait on the elevator. “I know who committed the murder.”
“You sound confident.”
“Because it makes sense.”
“Okay, who do you think it is?”
“Harrison Shaw.”
“Why him?” I ask curiously.
“He knows her. He was probably jealous because she was dating someone else instead of him.”
“I didn’t get the impression he was jealous.”
“You asked him yourself, since they were friends, why she wouldn’t tell him who she was dating. It’s because she knew Harrison Shaw wouldn’t like it.” We step into the elevator as he continues, “And he was at the party Sunday night. He could have followed her and killed her in the alley. He’s your suspect.”
There isn’t any evidence to prove or disprove Sam’s theory, but it’s viable.
“I’m right,” he says. “I know I am.”
“Guess we’ll see.”
We enter the lobby, where a front desk receptionist is waiting for anyone to greet her. We ask to speak to the head of security. We’re escorted to the security hub on the first floor. The large room is blue with connected workstations on multi-levels. Every chair has a person. Each one has their eyes on the monitors. The head of security, Lauren Saunders, is in her office above the viewing floor. She has a full view of everyone.
Confident and classy, she’s a statuesque woman in a red suit and high heels. I get the sense she has a god-like complex. With her office above the operating floor, I guess she would.
“Ms. Saunders, thank you for seeing me on short notice.” We shake hands.
“Of course. How can I help you, Detective?”
“I need to see the footage from the ballroom here at Exeter Metro Rail on February 18th from seven at night until three in the morning.”
“The college party,” she says. “I’ll have the feed sent to a pod down the hall, where you can view it privately.”
“I appreciate that, but before you do, I have a question.”
“Alright.”
“On Sunday night, did your employees report seeing a problem at the party or anyone acting suspiciously, like they weren’t supposed to be there?”
“No.”
“But you did have eyes on the event?”
“The entire time.”
“Who paid?”
“I would have to check our records. It’s all perfectly legal, Detective.”
“I’m not questioning the legality. A woman was murdered, and she was at that party Sunday.”
“She wasn’t murdered on any of our properties. If my personnel saw someone hurt or killed, we would have reported it right away.”
“I’m not accusing your employees of anything, Ms. Saunders.”
“I just want to make it clear that we would not hide a crime from the police.”
“I believe you.”
Ms. Saunders is satisfied with my answer, and she goes to the desk. She punches on the keyboard and makes a call. After having a short conversation, she goes to the door and opens it.
“You’ll be escorted by Dexter to a private room to view the footage. If you need assistance, he’ll be available to you.”
“Can you send a copy of the footage to my email as well, and who paid for the rental of the ballroom, please?”
“What is your email?”
I give her the information. She tells me I should get it within a few minutes.
We’re escorted to a small office with a computer screen on a desk. Exeter Metro Rail’s blue and gold logo is center, flashing every few seconds against a gray background. The screen goes black, and then the feed fades in.
The video shows a clear picture of an empty ballroom. The room isn’t decorated, but there are tables, chairs, a bar, and a dance floor. Heavy drapes are on the windows. Marble recessed walls have ornate trim. Soon three people enter. Two women are in costumes, and a man is in a suit. They’re talking, but since there’s no audio, I can’t hear what they’re saying. After an hour, more people arrive. Eventually, masks become the norm, and the party goes into full swing. The crowd continually grows.
“Look for red hair, Sam.”
“Already on it.”
Dancing is all across the room, not just on the dance floor, but in between tables as well. A woman twirls through the crowd, wearing pink tulle fairy wings and a pink dress. She’s blowing kisses from the palm of her hand, making glitter fly towards her intended recipients. Now I know how my victim got it on her face, hair, and dress. Not long after that, we see Ruby.
Sam points at the screen. “There she is.”
We rewind the footage to find out when Ruby arrived. It was around nine-thirty, according to the digital reader on the feed. She spends a lot of time dancing and drinking. If she has any conversations, they don’t last long.
When she’s about to leave, Ruby kisses friends on the way to the door. She loses her mask in the crowd. She stops at a table and grabs a basket. It appears to be empty, but I can’t be sure.
Before she reaches the double doors, a woman stops her. They’re talking. Ruby glances around the room, ignoring the woman or looking for someone else.
The exchange between the two is tense. The woman is angry. Eventually, they stand close to each other, and it’s not friendly. It’s like they’re trying to see who’s going to swing first. Eventually, Ruby blows her a kiss and runs out of the ballroom. Their exchange was weird and interesting.
I turn to Dexter, the gentleman who brought us to the viewing room and ask, “Do you have footage for the hallway and the main lobby at the time the girl in the red dress left the party?”
Dexter takes out a phone and searches for the feed, while Sam and I forwarded the footage. The girl that had a few words with Ruby remains at the ball. She stays at the bar drinking for what appears to be over an hour.
After a few minutes, Dexter replies, “Hallway and lobby are loading.”
The footage is ready for viewing in thirty seconds. It shows Ruby running into the hallway and through the main lobby. She goes down an escalator. The marquee reads Red Line.
“The escalator,” I reply, “all the way to the Red Line Train.”
Dexter sends the footage. The screen splits in two as Ruby makes her way down to the platform. She enters the train and sits near the entrance. Two other people are in the cabin. They have zero contact with her. The train starts, and after a few stops, Ruby is off.
I turn to Dexter and ask, “Which platform is that?”
“I’ll have to get a recorded trip log.”
“Can you get it now please?”
“Of course.” Dexter turns to his handy phone again, and within seconds, we have the information. The train stopped at Hyde-Chapman Station, District Three. The closest stop to Sable Alley and Sunny Brow, where Ruby lives.
“Can you upload the camera feed for the Hyde-Chapman Station, an hour before the train arrives?”
Dexter brings it up on screen. The film shows a homeless woman is tucked in the corner next to the steps. She’s wrapped in a blanket. Bags surround her like a fort. Two trains come and go within twenty minutes. No one gets off, and no one gets on. Thirty-three minutes hit, and a man comes down the steps. He checks his watch and begins to pace the platform. He’s wearing an Inverness - a coat with a half cape, and there’s a burn hole in the flap. A Fedora shadows his face, but the brim seems to be wider than a standard Fedora. When the train stops, he faces the door as it opens. Ruby comes out and bumps right into him.
They start talking. I was expecting the guy to get on the train after she got off, not start a conver
sation with Ruby. Their discussion seems to be unfriendly, but it doesn’t last long. Ruby goes up the steps, but the man stands there for a moment. His hands slowly begin to squeeze into fists. He looks in the general direction of the homeless woman and rushes over to her. Suddenly, he takes an object, a baseball bat. She tries to take it back from him, but he slaps her and runs up the steps. The woman cries. The train is long gone.
Sam and I look at each other. Both of us are thinking we just saw the murderer. Unfortunately, because of the Fedora, we could not see his face, and his back was to the camera the entire time.
“He’s too big to be Harrison Shaw,” Sam points out. “My theory just went up in flames.”
“I think we need to speak to the homeless woman on the platform.”
“She’s no longer there,” Dexter interjects.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“We don’t allow the homeless to loiter or live at the train station. If you continue to watch the footage, you’ll see the authorities moving her out.”
“Where would they take her?”
“They’d leave her on the streets,” Sam answers. “I’ve been called to remove the homeless from train stations when I had to work nights. It happens all the time.”
“And they’re just left outside?” I ask with disbelief. “Even when it’s cold?”
“Yep,” Sam answers.
So much for asking the homeless woman for a description of the guy who stole her baseball bat, but then again she probably wouldn’t remember.
“Dexter,” I reply with annoyance, “I need you to send me this log and all this feed to my email. Are there any other cameras on the steps and the platform?”
“That’s the only camera for that station.”
“Okay, thank you for your assistance.” I give him my email, and we’re out of there.
As we’re getting off the elevator to the parking garage, my IET buzzes, indicating I have a message. Ruby’s cell phone logs have come in.
The last location of her phone was in Sable Alley on the day she died. No other activity or movement exists from that point on. I searched Ruby’s belongings, the garbage cans, and the surrounding area with no success. The killer must have it. I read through the numbers and corresponding names next. Ruby spoke to Erin Mitchell all the time. Several calls were made to Molly Kahn and Harrison Shaw. They don’t last very long, but then one unexpected name is just as prevalent, more than any other.
Sable Alley Page 12
