Authors: Nadja Bernitt
Sirens whooped in the distance. In minutes the crime scene folks would swarm the scene, and this moment of silence would shatter. But right now the moment belonged to her and Mendiola.
He switched off the engine, handed her a pair of latex gloves. She donned them as she strode toward Becky’s house.
The body of a tall, sturdy female with long, dark hair was sprawled on the walkway, six feet from the front stairs. One hand was outstretched, the other tucked beneath her. Blood spatters covered the shoulders of a traditional tan raincoat. The victim might be face down on the cobblestones, but Meri Ann knew it was Tina Wheatley.
“Won’t be long.” She nodded in the direction of the sirens.
Considering Forensics requirements, she took care where she stepped, observed and did not touch. Dark blood pooled on the ground near the top of the victim’s head. Already it was thickening at the edges.
He sniffed the air. “You smell it?”
“Sure.” The acrid, smoky residue of cordite indicated a gun shot. It didn’t take long to spot the exit wound in the back of Tina’s head. “Looks like a small caliber pistol, maybe a .22. What do you think?”
“Probably,” he said.
Fragments of bone and brain tissue clung to her matted hair. He pushed the tangled mass from her cheek and neck, searching for the carotid artery. The likelihood of a pulse seemed impossible but technically he had to check. The first one on the scene offers first aid.
He shook his head. “She’s dead all right and fresh. No sign of rigor.”
Meri Ann pointed to the butt of a revolver, partially visible from under the twisted arm.
Mendiola nodded. “It’s probably a suicide. Can’t say for sure till we roll her over, check out the weapon or find a note. But with the shit in her manifesto, I’d say she’s our killer. Yeah, from what I read in the diary, your mom’s killer and your stalker all in one. Betcha we find a hole in her alibi.”
Meri Ann folded her arms against her chest and scowled. She wished he hadn’t made that statement. “Are you saying you didn’t thoroughly check it the first time around?”
“Well, the case looked pretty different back then.”
Of course it had. It was an old road, and she didn’t want to go down it. She glimpsed Becky at the front window and thanked God this had happened outside, that Becky had stayed behind a closed door. “Poor Becky.”
Mendiola got to his feet. “Better do a walk around, look for the victim’s car, whatever. Stay here, okay?”
“Just hurry so I can get inside.”
He nodded and took off.
Meri Ann scanned the evergreen belt beside Becky’s property. It had always made her feel protected from the encroaching city, as though the house were still in the country. Today it seemed sinister, replete with memories of the night when the prowler left the note in the basement. That might have been Tina’s handiwork. The Bible quote fit with her religious bent. But the idea of Tina as her mother’s killer seemed ludicrous. Whoever killed her mother wanted Meri Ann in Boise. And Tina would have done anything to keep her away, despite the personal information in her diary.
The sirens grew louder.
She thought back to her first night in Boise and the woman who loitered under the street lamp outside Becky’s. She recalled someone more slender. Tina’s raincoat seemed too short, too new and her frame too heavy.
Several marked vehicles with rollers flashing sped up the street. Their sirens blared, their whoops lashing the air. They stopped beside Mendiola’s truck, and River House pulsed in the strobes like a Hollywood disco.
Mendiola returned from his search, a look of disappointment evident.
“Did you find anything?” she asked, anyway.
“Nada.”
“I’m going inside,” she said.
“Be there in a minute.”
Meri Ann hustled up the front stairs, eager to console Becky and to hear what she had to say.
M
eri Ann found Becky sitting on the gloomy foyer stairs, the light much the same as the afternoon when Meri Ann sat in this very spot, listening to her mother’s voice on the answering machine.
“You’re shaking,” Meri Ann said.
“No shit.” Becky’s shoulders shivered in fits and starts. Her left eye was twitching and her face the color of ash.
Meri Ann took a seat beside her.
“What took you so long to get in here?” Becky asked.
“Someone had to stay with the body. We had to secure the crime scene till the technicians got here.”
“I never expected she’d blow her brains out. I heaved my cookies. It’s Tina Wheatley, isn’t it?”
“Yes. We were at her house with a search warrant when you called. Found some pretty incriminating writings in her diary. Evidently, she’s been in therapy for years. She hated my mother. It’s awful, Becky.”
“You think she’s the killer?”
“Mendiola thinks so.” Meri Ann held her thoughts to herself. “Of course, it’s convenient for him. He can polish his badge, dust off his hands and get ready for his friend’s wedding tomorrow.”
“Judas Priest, the wedding.” Becky ran her fingers through her red curls. “I slept in this morning; haven’t done squat. I don’t see how I’m going to finish the topiaries for the tables.” Becky rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand and moaned. “I promised Meg I’d take care of business.”
“Let me help,” Meri Ann offered. “It’s the least I can do.”
A look of disbelief crossed Becky’s face. “How can you leave the case in the middle of this?”
“We’ll talk about that later. Right now, why don’t you tell me what happened.”
“Wish I could forget it.” Becky curled her upper lip. “I was in the front window, and here was this woman walking toward the house. She stopped at the front stairs, her face was distorted and mean. Then I saw it was Tina Wheatley. She started yelling for you. The radio was on, so I couldn’t hear exactly what else she said. But she definitely called for you.” Becky inhaled deeply, as though she were starved for air. “Kid, I’d put down my glue gun, ready to go outside to tell her you weren’t here.”
“Good thing you didn’t,” Meri Ann said. “Did she make any attempt to come inside?”
“No. Just reached in her pocket and pulled out a gun. She waved it around, like a cowboy. My feet grew roots. Couldn’t move to grab the phone or anything. I just stood and watched. If only I’d called when I first saw her, maybe—”
The typical signs of self-recrimination were starting in Becky: the what-ifs. “Don’t second-guess yourself. I’m glad it happened the way it did for your sake, for everyone’s.”
She pushed a damp lock of Becky’s hair off her forehead. “Did you see her pull the trigger?”
Becky’s lips quivered and she nodded. “She screamed your name and pulled it. The ground gave under me. I will never go to sleep without seeing that sickening red spray spew out the back of her head.”
Meri Ann had seen heart attack victims, gunshot victims and just plain bloody accidents. Only once had she seen someone get shot. There was no denying the trauma. “I wish you hadn’t seen that.”
“Me too. I was already schitzo what with stalkers and skeletons showing up since you came to town. Damned if I know how you can be a cop.” She shuddered, then rubbed her arms. “How can anyone?”
The doorbell rang and Meri Ann glanced at the leaded glass oval. Lt. Dillon’s blond hair flashed on the other side of the window. “Muster your strength, Becky. You’ll be telling and re-telling that story for hours. Death’s a rotten business.”
The door opened and Dillon stepped inside, Mendiola behind her.
Meri Ann made the introductions, pointing to the room opposite to where they stood. “Let’s sit in here.”
Mendiola folded his cap and tucked it into his back pocket. His eyes brightened at the sight of Paw Paw’s gun cabinet. He moved in that direction and leaned against the fireplace, looking at it.
Dillon focused on Becky. “You fell into a mess, now didn’t you?”
Becky settled into her grandpa’s chair. “No kidding.”
“You’ve probably told your friend what happened,” Dillon gestured at Meri Ann. “But you’ll need to tell me, again. Go slowly and try to remember everything?”
Becky grew calmer as she described the sequence of events. She used fewer curse words but her story did not vary. By the time she finished, her cheeks had regained some color.
“Is this the same person you saw hanging around here the last few days?” Dillon asked.
“Absolutely. That woman wore a raincoat and her hair was long.” Becky looked over at Meri Ann. “Don’t you think so, kid?”
“The hair was long hair and the person wore a raincoat or some kind of long coat but I thought the person was taller.” Meri Ann waited for Dillon to acknowledge her doubt, at least to ask more questions, but she didn’t. Frustrated, Meri Ann nodded in the direction of the door. “Anything new from forensics?”
“Yup,” Mendiola said. “A .22 semi automatic Ruger was underneath her. We’re calling it suicide.”
Meri Ann knew he wanted the investigation behind him. Everyone in Paw Paw’s room did. “What about Robin Wheatley?” she asked. “You notify him yet?”
“Just called him,” Mendiola said. “He choked up and couldn’t talk.”
She tried to imagine his loss. His wife might have been neurotic, even psychotic; but he’d stayed in his marriage and, as far as she knew, done his best to help her.
Dillon leaned forward. “We think Tina Wheatley came here to do you, Meri Ann. At the very least her suicide made a statement to her husband. She was jealous of you, your resemblance to your mother. She blamed you and chose a dramatic showdown. You were right. She was one sick woman.”
“Uberuaga’s doing the postmortem,” Dillon went on, “as soon as they secure body transport to the Meridian lab. I’ve got Neles rechecking Mrs. Wheatley’s original alibi for possible cracks and any possible link to the Twin Falls victim… .”
Dillon talked non-stop while Meri Ann sat mute, amazed at the lieutenant’s hyper-excited buzz.
“When your mom disappeared,” Dillon said, “Tina Wheatley seemed an unlikely suspect. We went after the folks with the strongest motives, her husband for one.”
Meri Ann folded her hands and looked Dillon square in the face. “If you’d expanded the search beyond my dad and Wheatley—”
“You know how it works, Fehr. The closest ties get first consideration. We investigated two serious cowboys. The law in Florida wouldn’t do any different. Get over it or get out of my hair.”
Meri Ann felt the blood rise to her cheeks, then to the top of her head. Her pulse throbbed in her temples as if her veins might burst. “Are you saying Tina murdered the woman on Camel’s Back and my mother?
Dillon stared hard at Meri Ann, her discerning blue eyes unblinking. “I plan to proceed with that assumption. Up to this point, her husband made the best suspect, but we’ve never been able to prove a case against him.”
Meri Ann nodded. Dillon had that part right.
“I agree with you about Wheatley,” she went on. “He’s too smart to have set up a crime scene so close to his home. That bothered me too. But as
you
said, Fehr, his wife might. She knew he ran to the park in the mornings; that he’d find the bones. Retribution is a mighty strong motive and he’d done her wrong.” Dillon sat back against the sofa cushion, folded her arms. Her stare burned through Meri Ann. “You don’t agree?”
Meri Ann shook her head. “It was a consideration. But, no. Harold Graber is still missing and still has my vote.”
Dillon had just opened her mouth to say something, when a technician from forensics flung open the door. He held a plastic baggy in his hand with a white folded piece of paper inside. “We found what looks like a confessional note in the inside pocket of the raincoat,” he said.
The news stunned her and she wondered if she had got it all wrong. “A hand-written note?” Meri Ann asked.
“No, it’s typed on some old-style manual typewriter,” the tech said. “She confessed to the killings and says she can’t go on living.”
While Dillon and Mendiola were busy examining it, she recalled seeing an old, portable Smith Carona on Graber’s desk. “Graber has an old manual in his cabin,” she said but, caught in the momentary frenzy from the find, they let her comment slide.
“This is fantastic,” Dillon said, holding the precious note in front of her. Her expression was one of excitement and relief. “We’ll have to check it out but it looks like we’re home.”
“That’s great,” Meri Ann said. “I guess I’m no longer needed.”
Mendiola gawked at Meri Ann. “You’re not leaving right now.”
“Pretty soon, I do have to get back and try and salvage my job.” Meri Ann turned to Dillon. “Thanks for everything. You took a chance, letting me work the case and it meant a lot to me.”
Dillon offered Meri Ann her hand. “On the contrary, thank you. I know you were uncertain about Tina Wheatley, but the note clinches her guilt for you, doesn’t it?”
“It looks like a done deal,” she said, thinking it appeared solved.
“I’ll keep you posted on the results of the tests,” Dillon said, “then you’ll feel better. It’s got to be an emotional letdown for you after all you’ve been through.”
Meri Ann shook Dillon’s hand briefly, annoyed that the woman mistook her agitation for an emotional letdown. “If it’s not against procedure, I’d like to take a final look at Tina Wheatley.”
Dillon’s discerning eyes were a cooler shade than before. She studied Meri Ann for a few seconds. “Not a problem for me.”
“I’ll be back in a minute, Becky.”
Mendiola moved with Meri Ann toward the door. “Wait up. I’ll go with you.”
The sun hovered on the horizon, reflecting off the official cars strung along both sides of Schuster Lane. Meri Ann approached the group, noting the few familiar faces from Camel’s Back Park. She and Mendiola joined the circle around the body. His presence comforted her and she would miss not having a reason to see him the next day and the next.
“I realize it goes with the job description,” she said, “but I’ve seen enough crime scenes to last me a while.”
“Yup,” he said. “I’d imagine so and this one’s in your front yard—well, Becky’s. We’ve cordoned off the area. And a deputy’s been posted until forensics gives the okay, probably tomorrow morning. I’ll feel better knowing he’s here.”