Authors: Kathy Ivan
Taglier needed the whole story. Something still didn't add up, but he could tell he was on the right track. Circumstantial evidence and all the basic facts pointed to Trudy Miller. She'd been the last person to see Abigail Spencer before her death.
According to my anonymous caller, that is.
The official coroner's report wasn't in, so unofficially the case was still classified as an accidental death caused by head trauma with contusion after a fall. He expected to hear from his chief coroner any time now with the official cause of death.
Once again, his neck itched like crazy. He bit back the urge to scratch at the irritating sensation. That instinctual warning sign never failed, and he wasn't fool enough to ignore it.
Another piece of the puzzle was still missing. Time to dig deeper.
“Counting cards.” Taglier laughed. “Did you win?”
“We took home a boatload of cash. It was awesome!” Trudy beamed at him, her eyes lit with an inner joy.
“So you and Mrs. Shapiro planned to do it again in New Orleans?”
“Um, yeah?” She wiped at her runny nose once again, sniffling.
“How did Mrs. Spencer figure into this grand scheme of yours?”
“See, that's the thing,” she began. “Abby wasn't a part of it. She heard me and Esther talking. As usual she was sticking her nose where it didn't belong.”
Taglier saw Trudy winding up, the words pouring from her. Here we go, he thought.
“Abby was pissed last year when me and Esther came back with so much cash and she shot her entire wad and came home broke. Griped about it for weeks, wanting to know 'what did we do' and 'how'd we get so much money,' stuff like that. Esther said if we ignored her, she'd go away and leave us alone. She did, too, until the announcement was made for this trip.”
“It's a yearly trip for your group, isn't it?” Taglier broke into her monologue, giving her a chance to catch her breath.
“Yes, sir. After Molly Scott moved into Whispering Pines she stirred things up plenty. Organized all kinds of activities and things. Arranged the original trip to Atlantic City, which was a big hit.” Taglier made another note in his book to question Mrs. Scott about that, though he knew the entire interview was being recorded, as was standard policy in most police departments these days.
“Anyway, Abby started nosing around anytime me and Esther talked. It seemed like every time I turned around there she was. Shoot, you'd think we was joined at the hip she was there so much. Esther finally told her to back off and mind her own business.”
“And did she?” Taglier asked.
“No, she just got sneakier about it. She must've overheard us talking one time when we didn't see her because about a week before we left Boca she sat us down and demanded we let her in on everything, or she'd report us to casino security. Get us banned from all the casinos in New Orleans and Whispering Pines wouldn't let me and Esther go on the trips ever again. We couldn't let that happen.”
Trudy stopped and sipped from her water glass before looking up at Taglier. His gaze never wavered, but he had a gut feeling she was telling the truth. Or at least as much of the truth as she knew. He just needed to push a bit more.
“What did she want, Mrs. Miller?”
Trudy sighed, her hand tightening on the water glass. “Abby demanded to be cut in for one-third of anything we made. I . . . I mean us, me and Esther, we told her we wouldn't do that. It only worked with two people. Abby didn't care, didn't even want to do any of the work; she just wanted the money. So we went to see her one last time, on the night she died. She always acted like an innocent old lady, but trust me, it was an act. That woman had a vicious streak a mile wide.”
A snicker from the end of the table was quickly covered by a cough, and Taglier cut his eyes at the officer sitting in on this interview. She quirked one brow, and motioned the zip her lips signal.
“You and Esther went to see her. I take it she wouldn't back down from her demands?”
“Nope. She upped 'em. Demanded half of everything to keep her mouth shut. Esther was livid. They yelled a lot and . . .” Trudy's voice trailed off and she sniffed into a new tissue.
“Go on, Mrs. Miller. What happened when they started yelling?”
“Abby started walking away from Esther. Said she'd fix us good. Turned around and walked toward the telephone, shouting she was going to call Alyssa and have us sent back to Boca. Esther grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. Abby was off balance.” Trudy paused and took a deep breath.
“Esther shoved her. Abby stumbled backward and fell. She hit the back of her head on the nightstand. It started bleeding and I ran into the bathroom and got a wet washcloth and helped clean up the mess. There was a lot of blood, and she had a big knot coming up. But I swear on a stack of bibles when we left her room she was alive. Mad as a bunch of hornets in a kicked over nest, but she wasn't dead.”
Taglier thrummed his fingers against the table. Mrs. Shapiro had pushed Mrs. Spencer, causing the blow to the head. Hmmm. More puzzle pieces were adding up, the picture becoming clearer, but he still didn’t have the answer as to why somebody called in an anonymous tip stating Trudy Miller returned to Abigail Spencer's room.
His cell phone text message alert beeped, and though he wanted to ignore it, he was waiting for a message on the final autopsy findings, and this might be it. Tapping the screen, the message from the medical examiner's office stated the results were in, to call ASAP.
“Mrs. Miller, we're going to take a little break. If you'd like, the officer can take you for a restroom break. At her nod, the officer led her from the room, and he had a few minutes of privacy. He quickly hit speed dial.
“Hey, Saul, whatcha got for me?”
“Yeah, nice to talk to you, too, Mr. Big Shot Detective who gets to travel all the way to The Big Easy.” Saul's sarcastic tone came through loud and clear.
“Sorry, long day. Your text said more results are in.”
“Uh-huh. There are two definitive areas of blunt force trauma to the skull. One temporal lobe and one cerebellum.”
Taglier listened intently, turning over the facts in his head. “That tracks with the witness statements. The temporal blow occurred during the motor vehicle accident earlier in the afternoon. According to eyewitnesses she impacted her forehead on the back of the seat directly in front of her. She received treatment at the emergency clinic and was discharged. Second blow came from the back of her skull connecting with the night stand in her hotel room.”
“Makes sense.”
There was silence on the line except for the shuffling sound of papers before Saul's voice came back on. “But here's a little fact you might not know.”
Taglier perked up. Something new?
“Once I opened up Mrs. Spencer and examined her brain, there's evidence of a hematoma in the left temporal lobe. Continual slow bleeding, probably occurred over several hours. I don't understand why it wasn't caught when they did the CAT scan.”
“There wasn't one.” Taglier replied.
“Why the hell not? Head trauma in an elderly patient, first thing they should've done at the emergency clinic was transfer her to the hospital for an emergent CT scan of her head.”
Taglier flipped through his notes. He remembered thinking the same thing. “Ms. Scott, the liaison with the senior group, stated Mrs. Spencer adamantly refused the scan when the physician recommended one. Told the doctor and the clinic staff she felt fine and it was a waste of time and money and she'd be damned if she'd spend thousands of dollars for what she called, and I quote, 'a little bump on the noggin.' Evidently, she signed a release against medical advice form at the emergency clinic because she felt fine and refused further treatment.”
Saul's muttered curse came through loud and clear. Taglier understood his sentiments, though he also got the deceased's perspective, too. In the same situation, he'd probably have refused a scan.
“Would it have been treatable if they'd suspected a bleed?”
“That's debatable. If it had been caught, she'd have needed surgery—a craniotomy with drilling bur holes into the skull to find and cauterize the bleeder or bleeders. In an elderly patient, again, it would have depended on her overall health and condition. Lots of factors to consider. I couldn’t give you a definitive answer without seeing all her previous medical history. However, untreated, the slow bleed would have killed her anyway.”
Taglier rubbed his forehead, wishing away the headache pounding behind his eyes. Crap. All this time and effort investigating a murder that turned out to not be a murder at all. Damn, this whole case sucked.
“What about the second blow to the head? Did that exacerbate the condition, in any way contribute to her death?”
“I'd have to say no. The blow to the head wouldn't have sped up the process. Without medical attention for the hematoma, my best guess is she'd have been dead within twenty-four hours anyway.”
Taglier flipped shut his notebook and slammed it down on the table. What a waste.
“I've sent off the blood work and stuff to the state forensic lab, but unless you're looking for poison or something else, this will be ruled as death by natural causes due to hematoma of the temporal lobe causing hemorrhage. The report will be finalized once all the lab tests come back.” Saul's voice faded a bit as he whispered a conversation with somebody else. “That all you need, boss man?”
“Yeah, thanks Saul. I'll get this wrapped up and be back in a day or so.”
Saul laughed. “Ain't no rush. Nothing big happening here. Spend the day sightseeing, look around the Big Easy. Shoot, smile at a pretty girl. Live a little. Everything won't fall apart if you take a personal day or two.”
“Sure, sure. Talk with you later. Thanks.”
He slumped into the chair, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. Since he was here, anyway, and Mrs. Shapiro would be here any minute, he might as well finish the interviews before he went back home.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sunday
A
lyssa struggled against the duct tape, shifted in the chair and squirmed against her bonds, though they never gave even an inch in any direction. All it did was pull at her skin, and it hurt like a—well,
it hurt. Gotta get out of here. Bethany's bat-shit crazy. Why is she doing this?
She tried to swallow, but the little bit of saliva she made wasn't enough to moisten her throat. Her mouth was as dry as the Sahara.
Breathe slowly,
she reminded herself.
Inhale and exhale. Hyperventilate and I'll pass out.
Bethany had gone outside, taking her cell phone with her. The door stood open and the cold air from outside filled the nearly empty room quickly. It was wintertime and she was bloody frozen to the core. Goose bumps coated Alyssa's skin.
Damn, wish I had something on, anything would be better than sitting here stark naked. I'm gonna freeze to death before the bitch has a chance to kill me.
Maniacal laughter preceded Bethany sauntering back through the door like she owned the place. Maybe she did, Alyssa mused. She knew next to nothing about Bethany.
“Mhwm.” The muffled sound was the best Alyssa could manage behind the mass of sticky tape across her mouth. She gestured with her head, motioned to get Bethany's attention, for all the good it did her. Bethany ignored her completely, humming while she strolled past her to the lopsided table against the wall, which put her behind Alyssa. Not a good place—she couldn't see her, couldn't tell what she was doing.
The tripod still sat in front of her, although Bethany had taken the cell phone, so at least she wasn't being recorded. That was a plus, right?
“Got some good news for you, hon,” Bethany's voice whispered in her ear. “Your ex is on his way to rescue you. Isn't that sweet?” Her laughter stirred the hair around the side of Alyssa's face and a shudder of revulsion spread through her. A leaden weight settled in her stomach with the realization Bethany was getting her jollies planning to hurt Connor.
“You bitch!” Though she knew Bethany wouldn't understand her muffled words screamed behind the duct tape, she felt better saying them. This was a trap—intended solely for Connor.
Quicker than she could blink, Bethany's hand reached around her face, peeled back the corner of the duct tape and yanked. Hard. Pain—white-hot excruciating pain—screamed across the lower half of Alyssa's face, her eyes tearing up as she gasped, sucking in great gasps of air.
“Bet you're just loaded with questions, aren't you, Mrs. Scott?”
“Why?” Alyssa's voice cracked, her mouth and throat parched. She tried again. “Why Connor, Bethany? What did he do to you to cause such hatred?”
Bethany stooped in front of Alyssa's chair, stared her directly in the eyes, and Alyssa couldn't look away. She was looking into the eyes of madness. There was nobody home behind their blue depths. Vacant and utterly empty.
“Connor took something precious away from me. So I'm paying him back in kind. You might say . . . a life for a life.”
“Connor's never killed anybody!” Alyssa's vehement denial sprang from her lips without conscious thought.
“Liar! He took the most important person in the world away from me, the only person who cared about me—loved me.”
“Who did Connor take from you, Bethany? What happened?”
Stall,
Alyssa thought.
Connor's coming; Bethany said so. Keep her talking, maybe you can find out why she's targeted him
.
Bethany stared past Alyssa, her gaze unfocused as she looked behind her toward the back of the room. She stood and walked around Alyssa's chair, placing her hands on Alyssa's bare shoulders. Leaned in and whispered in her ear once again.
“Is this the part where the bad guy—that's me, right?—tells the poor defenseless heroine all her nefarious plans, justifies all her actions, while the hero rides to the rescue? You're an idiot. Things like that don't happen in real life. That's only on TV and in the movies. In the real world the bad guy wins all the time. The good ones always die and evil reigns supreme. If you believe anything else, you really are a fool.”