Evidence of Murder (16 page)

“Goody.” Shelly opened a Day-Timer, made a note. “I love those free samples—one of the perks of the job.”

Theresa tried to think of her own job perks. Only the prodigious supply of latex gloves and an appreciation of anything that smelled nice came to mind. “Were Jillian and Evan having any problems?”

“That would make her suicidal? I doubt it. At least I don’t think so…”

Theresa waited.

“Not with Evan, I mean. But Jillian said once that she was the only family Cara had. I think she felt bad that her parents wouldn’t even come to see her.”

Theresa, not for the first time, gave silent thanks for having a mother who would have supported her if she had borne Adolf Hitler’s baby. “What’s up with them, anyway?”

“You ask me, it’s a control thing. Daddy controls the universe and his wife has to do what she’s told. Then baby girl has the nerve to not only
not
marry the football hero Daddy had picked out for her, but she leaves the house, works at a job he doesn’t want to explain to his friends, and gets knocked up by some mystery man she won’t even name.”

“Who
is
Cara’s father?”

“No idea.” Shelly shook her head. “I asked once or twice, encouraged her to get child support, and she said, ‘That knight’s armor has tarnished.’ That’s all, subject closed. When I said Jillian was sweet, I didn’t mean she made herself an open book. She hardly talked about herself at all. I liked her, but I can’t say I really
knew
her. I’d like to ask you, though, what about that woman found in the Cultural Gardens? Channel Fifteen says there may be a connection between her and Jillian and that teenager.”

“Channel Fifteen is wrong.”

“But this black woman was murdered?”

“Definitely.”

“And you’re investigating Jillian?” Who probably wasn’t, Shelly’s expression said. Because a white girl always got more action than a black chick, even if they were in a similar line of work.

“We’re investigating both of them, of course, but I don’t believe they’re connected. Sarah’s crime scene was quite different from Jillian’s.”

“Sarah?”

“Sarah Taylor. I’m sorry, but I can’t say more than that about an open investigation.” Shelly’s shoulders relaxed a bit, apparently reassured that Theresa at least knew the dead prostitute’s name. Theresa moved on. “Are you acquainted with her friend Drew Fleming?”

Shelly wrinkled a pert nose. “The comic-book guy? Yeah, I’ve met him.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I guess he’s okay. Seems like a nice guy.” Shelly pressed her lips together, cutting off any further comment.

So Theresa pressed. “Seems?”

Now Shelly nibbled on the bottom lip. “Weird. Way too obsessed with Jillian. He came to the wedding, standing in this room full of people, and he never stopped staring at her. I tried to talk to him, he answered in monosyllables, never looked me in the eye. She made a beautiful bride, but come
on
. It seemed creepy to me.”

“Did Evan resent this?”

“Another man worshipping his woman from afar? Why would he?”

That fit, in more genteel language, with what Evan had let the boys at the tech show assume. “Because Drew didn’t stay afar. He kept seeing Jillian, even after the wedding.”

“Look at Drew and look at Evan. No contest. Nothing to worry about there.” The idea made her smile, but then the grin faded, changed to something worried. “You don’t think Drew could have done something to her, do you? Picked her up, had an argument, dropped her off at the beach and told her to walk, and she couldn’t make it?”

It didn’t sound as if Shelly knew where Drew lived, and Theresa didn’t see the need to enlighten her—yet she had to stop feeling protective of Drew just because he reminded her of a few geeky cousins and uncles of her own. His proximity to the scene, his moodiness, hung in her mind, a faint but persistent fog of doubt. “Even from the beach it’s a short walk to the street. She could have gotten to a warm store or a gas station, used the phone.”

Another young man, this one wearing a dress shirt and too much facial hair, stopped in the doorway. “Shelly, we need—”

“I’ll be there in a sec.”

“I’m sorry,” Theresa said. “You’re busy.”

“That’s all right. Anything I can do…I really want to know what happened. Jillian was my friend.”

Theresa pulled out the picture of the letterhead on Evan’s nightstand. “Just one more thing—do you recognize this logo?”

“Yes. It’s one of the company’s investors—Evan and Jerry’s, I mean, not Delta. Why?”

“What’s their name, this investment group?”

Shelly’s parents had obviously taught her to tell the truth, but right now Theresa wondered if the girl wished they hadn’t. “Griffin Investments.”

Theresa looked again at her own photo with genuine surprise. “And they don’t use a griffin as their logo?”

This non sequitur must have reassured Shelly, who laughed and added, “They’re out of Detroit, I think. Why?”

“Just curious, really.” Theresa stood. “I’d like to talk to Jerry too. Do you think he’d mind?”

Shelly put out a hand to shake. “I’m sure he wouldn’t. He’d like an answer as much as me, or Evan.”

I wonder, Theresa thought as she waited by the expired meter for a chance to dart onto East Fourteenth and enter her car. Shelly would like to know the truth about Jillian’s demise, but Theresa wondered if Evan would be more than content to write off his wife as a suicide. Assuming Jerry Graham had nothing to do with Jillian or her death, whose wishes would he side with? His girlfriend’s or his partner’s?

Only one way to find out.

Problem was, she didn’t know where to find Jerry Graham, and knew only one place to look. Theresa pulled out of the parking spot and headed for the freeway instead of the lab. Leo might wonder what had happened to her, but she would think of something to tell him. Quitting time grew nigh anyway.

She crossed over the Cuyahoga River. A Coast Guard tug, black and white with touches of red, thrust itself through the frozen water below. It chopped up the ice to give the ore ships access to the river and begin the year’s shipping season. The wind moaned across her windshield and she wondered how long it would take nature to undo the ship’s work.

The cold had been insidious for the past month. If Evan—or Drew—had taken Jillian, either alive, unconscious, or dead, to the edge of the water, he must have used a car. Carrying a 110-pound weight for a three-mile walk might have been possible, but would have been enormously risky and physically excruciating in such cold weather. Thus a car, one with no outstanding warrants—and he would have been careful to avoid breaking even the most minor traffic rule during the three-mile drive. He should have had Jillian in the trunk, though, just in case he did slide through a stop sign or commit some other faux pas. If a patrol car noticed him, if he got to Edgewater and there were people around, he could always go home or circle around until the coast, literally, cleared.

The risk could be minimized on the trip to and from, then. The real risk came with getting Jillian out of the car and into Edgewater Park.

If Drew had taken Jillian, he would have had to do all this in broad daylight, on Monday morning, after Evan left the apartment. It seemed more likely to have been Evan, who could have brought his wife to Edgewater in the wee hours, then simply lied about the last time he’d seen her. For this exercise, then, Theresa would picture Evan as the killer.

Could Jillian still move under her own power at that point?
Oh, good evening, Officer, my wife is a little intoxicated and I thought we’d walk it off
…sure, it was the middle of a frigid night, but it probably wouldn’t have been the strangest thing the average patrol officer had ever seen. But if Jillian were already dead or unconscious?

Rush hour had begun to gather on Route 2, and she hit the pedal as brake lights lit up in a chain reaction ahead of her. The car gave a sickening lurch as the tires slid against the icy pavement, but then the truckloads of salt that Ohio routinely dumps on its roadways did their job and she came to a stop with two feet to spare.

Dead, she decided. Jillian would have been dead. Evan would never have left her there unconscious and simply hoped she would freeze to death. That would have been too big a risk.

Theresa pulled into the Edgewater parking lot, completely deserted on the cold afternoon. The wind shoved her hard enough to make her stumble.

A paved walkway extended into the lawn and it crunched under her feet. Old shoe prints in the snow had frozen solid, but a fresh coating of flakes covered them, giving the pavement a lumpy appearance. Would Evan have stayed on the path? She wondered if the park plowed or at least salted the walkways. Even if not, snow on concrete melted faster than snow on grass, so it would have been an easier way to go than striking out over the lawn.

However, by parking in the far corner and cutting over to the small forest, he would have shortened his path considerably. She returned to the parking lot and walked over to the rear of the forested area, chin sunk into her upturned collar, double-gloved hands stuck deep in her pockets.

The expanse of snow-covered earth between the lot and the trees appeared pristine. She took a few steps, marring the surface. Her legs disappeared to more than midcalf. Evan wouldn’t have come this way carrying the 110-pound Jillian. Too easy to fall, and the indentations left by his feet would have lasted too long. The snow might have covered them by now, but he could not count on her body lying undiscovered for five days. It might have been found the next morning, with the tracks still visible. Tracks on the sidewalk would be easier to explain, and might be obliterated by other walkers. She passed two such hearty souls after returning to the sidewalk, young boys bundled to the eyeteeth, their noses red.

She continued toward the water, wondering how dark the wee hours could get there. One light stood where the path from the parking lot intersected with the path along the water. More lights circled the parking lot. She found none near the trees. The white snow would have reflected every photon, but there had been no moon—she’d already checked.

Evan would have been plainly visible to anyone present to see him. This clearly represented the riskiest part of his plan. How could he move Jillian’s body without detection? Was he strong enough to grasp her around the shoulders and carry her along beside him, hoping that no one would get close enough to notice that her feet were dragging on the ground? Or did he have a partner? Had Jerry been on the other side, helping to support Jillian between them?

But her shoes had been awfully clean. Unlike Theresa’s, where lumps of snow picked up from her foray onto the lawn had slid down and melted into her socks.

Had Jillian’s socks had wet spots, where they had frozen to the shoe? How would she be able to tell after they thawed out at the M.E.’s office, and surely snow could have gotten into them while moving the body. Still…
why didn’t I pay more attention to this stuff at the time?

Because I didn’t know it would be important.

Surely he didn’t heft her over his shoulder. That would have looked more than suspicious, though it would also have allowed him to move as quickly as possible.

No one appeared to stir on Drew’s houseboat, though she had to squint to see that far. He probably hadn’t come home from work yet. Drew could have killed her on his houseboat, carried her here. Even in daylight there wouldn’t be many visitors to the frozen park, and the trees would hide most of his route from the road. Then he’d have to drive Cara home, for Jillian wouldn’t have left the apartment without her daughter. But Drew seemed barely capable of carting around his own weight, much less a full-grown, unconscious woman.

She reached the spot where Jillian had been and faced, as before, the lake instead of the trees. The breeze slapped her with the smell of dead but frozen fish, and her nostrils stuck together when she breathed in. Damn, she loved the water.

When her cheeks began to tingle from the icy onslaught, she turned into the woods. An obvious dumping ground for Drew, but how would Evan decide on this spot? Had he been here often? Even with all the trooping in and out she had done with Frank and the M.E. staff, no path seemed apparent in the close-knit brush. The blackberry bush caught her ankles once more. Snow covered the ground only sparsely in here, filtered by the thick evergreens above her.

What could tie Evan to this spot? Nothing would be significant regarding Drew, since he lived nearby and had already admitted to having visited the spot several times. But Evan…the fiber from the bush’s thorny branch? Evergreen needles…no, there were evergreens on the carbon company grounds…hell, there were evergreens all over Cleveland. On the other hand, plants had their own DNA, which could be individualized just as in humans or animals. She had no idea how to do it, but surely they could find someone in the United States who could. Pulling out a packet of manila coin envelopes she had thought to stuff into her pocket before leaving the car, she broke tips off the boughs around the crime scene, labeling the envelopes as best she could.

She collected a few dead oak leaves from the base of the tree where Jillian’s body had sat as well. Why not? If she were grasping at straws, might as well grasp at all of them.

Okay, what else? Dirt. Dirt could be individualized to a particular place, depending on its composition. Theresa had once attended a seminar given by a cute Canadian Mountie about soil analysis. Unfortunately for her, the old, simple ways to analyze soil, such as gradient density, had been largely discredited, and the lab lacked a scanning electron microscope or an energy dispersive X-ray to use for more sophisticated tests. She still liked to collect soil, however, to check to see if there were anything in it that could be useful—fibers, paint flakes, etc. If that didn’t pan out, and if she got desperate enough, at least she would have an excuse to call the cute Canadian Mountie.

The frozen earth did not want to give up its surface. She had to kick at it for a while to dislodge a relatively snow-free clump of dirt. She doubled-wrapped that, since surely the moisture within it would start to seep through the envelope once it thawed.