"Of course not!" Cindy grinned too, then turned serious. "But you need to get it together for a while longer. You need to go back to your house and clean up the mess and act like you're grieving. We can still see each other in the mornings, and maybe sneak in a few nights together."
Jennifer groaned. "I don't know if I can do it."
"You
have
to," Cindy told her. "You can do it, it's just for a few more weeks – then we're home free."
Ken thought about what Grumpy George had said. "Guess I shouldn't call him that," he said to the empty car as he drove along. "The Greenes thought he was grumpy, but I can understand his complaints. Loud parties, smart-ass kid, Lesbian lovers at poolside out in front of God and everybody. I wouldn't want a neighbor like that!"
But it gave him something to think about. Mrs. Greene had bought her new dress first thing Tuesday morning and said she and her 'friend' had shopped until Ms. Stone had to get ready for work. What if they'd spent the morning together doing something else? They'd have had to go to Ms. Stone's house, or the thief would've interrupted them, and he didn't think that happened.
So Ken drove to Cindy's house. It was in a poor but decently kept neighborhood, she probably rented. He knocked on the door but got no response. He looked at his watch; it was nearly 3:00. He knew she worked swing shift so she was probably at work. He talked to a few of her neighbors, but they knew little about her.
Lucinda Johnson lived across the street from Ms. Stone. Mrs. Johnson was a harried-looking young woman with two small children who were playing noisily in the front room. She invited him in and shooed the kids outside. Probably glad to have another adult to talk to. He asked if she knew Ms. Stone.
"I don't know Cindy all that well," she told him. "We wave when we see each other, chat in the front yard once in awhile. Is she in some kind of trouble?"
"I'm really more interested in her friend, Mrs. Greene," he said.
"Would that be the pretty lady that drives the Mercedes?" she asked.
"Yeah, that's the one. Jennifer Greene. Obviously you've seen her at Ms. Stone's house occasionally."
"It's more than occasionally, Lieutenant. She's there two or three times a week. Oh, she often picks Cindy up and they go somewhere, but sometimes she just stays there all morning. She always leaves when Cindy has to go to work."
"Do you remember if Mrs. Greene was there on Tuesday?" Ken asked.
One of the kids ran in crying that the other had hit him. Mrs. Johnson listened patiently to the story, gave him a hug, and sent him back outside.
"When did I take Billy to the doctor? Wasn't it Wednesday?" she said, thinking out loud. She looked at Ken and asked with some embarrassment, "What is today?"
"It's Thursday, Ma'am," he replied.
"Sorry, I lose track of time. The days just seem to run together anymore. Well, it wasn't yesterday so it must've been Tuesday. So, yes, this Mrs. Greene was there then. I remember seeing her get out of her car as we were leaving for the doctor's office," she said.
"Do you know what time she left?" he asked.
"Let me think. We stopped for lunch after the doctor – I always buy them ice cream as a treat after a doctor's visit. I let them play in the park for a little while." She seemed to be estimating times in her head.
"We must've gotten home around 2:00. I'm sorry, I can't remember whether her car was still there when we got here. I put the boys down for a nap and I think I fell asleep, too. Does it matter?" she asked.
"It would be nice to know, but don't worry about it," Ken told her. "Did you see any other cars at her house that day?"
"Don't think so," she said.
"Does Ms. Stone have any friends in the neighborhood?" was his next question.
"I think she keeps pretty much to herself," she replied. "She works odd hours, she's not home in the evenings."
"Do you ever see other people visit her?" Ken asked. "Friends, co-workers, relatives?"
"Didn't know she had any," she told him.
The other child – at least Ken
thought
it was the other child – came running in blubbering about something. He thanked Mrs. Johnson and left.
* * * *
Ken sat in his car outside Mrs. Johnson's house and pondered what to do next. Ms. Stone didn't seem to have any friends besides Mrs. Greene, who'd visited regularly. Mrs. Johnson's memory hadn't been too clear, but she did place Mrs. Greene at Ms. Stone's house Tuesday morning. If necessary he could check up on the kid's check-up time to firm things up a bit more. He was more interested in what time Mrs. Greene had
left
. She was still a prime candidate for the burglary, in his mind.
Where was Mrs. Greene now? After learning about her girlfriend he had fully expected to find her there. Had she run out on Ms. Stone, too? Ken called the Greene residence, and was surprised when Mrs. Greene answered. She didn't even sound upset when he told her he was on his way to see her.
"So you see, Officer, I was just so, like,
upset
about everything that I needed to get away. I was, you know, worried the burglar might come back and shoot me too." Jennifer was doing her best to look like a frightened little girl so he'd feel sorry for her.
"I can understand that, Ma'am," he said. "So you stayed with your friend for the last two days, is that right?" He hadn't told her that he knew about her relationship with Cindy.
Jennifer turned up the wattage on her smile. "Yeah, I just got back here a little while ago. I mean, I haven't even had time to get started cleaning up the place. Just look at the mess that kid made in the den!"
"Actually, that's good. That you haven't cleaned up yet, I mean. I'd like to have another look around, if you don't mind," he explained.
"Sure, whatever. I'll be upstairs in the bedroom if you need me," she replied happily.
He'd intended to go have a look in Justin's room first, but elected to wait jut in case that remark of hers had been intended as a come-on. He went to Greene's home office instead. As best he could remember it looked exactly the same. If Justin had been staying here he apparently hadn't poked around. Ken spent several minutes gathering the papers and stacking them up neatly. He figured he'd take them to the ex's later so she could go through them. There seemed to be a lot of financial stuff here; it might take the department bean-counter to figure out if it was significant.
As he walked up the stairs he called out, "I'm just going to look in your step-son's room." He got no response.
Justin's room was a mess. From what he'd read in Officer Barclay's report it
did
look like the young man had put things back somewhat. At least the clothes on the floor looked like they'd only been dropped there in the last couple days, and the desk drawers were all shut. The room was littered with soda cans, and there was a pizza box shoved part-way under the bed. The room smelled quite strongly of marijuana.
Ken spotted the A/C vent that Gracie had mentioned as the kid's hiding place of choice. He knelt down to take a closer look and saw she'd been right. He could clearly see a baggie full of joints behind the louvers. He stood up and walked across the room to check the view from the doorway. Yep, quite obvious if you knew what to look for. He thought about taking it just because he could, but decided not to. It would be more paperwork than it was worth.
Gracie had been right about several points. Not only had Justin not bothered to find a new hidey-hole, but any thief worth his salt would've seen that baggie and taken it. Especially one who'd already taken prescription meds, he'd know where to fence it all – or just keep it for himself.
Ken started back downstairs and continued to mull it over. That baggie was pretty full, maybe it'd been empty on Tuesday. That would certainly explain things. He stopped and walked back upstairs, pausing in the doorway of the master bedroom.
"Mrs. Greene?" he called.
She peered around the bathroom doorway and said, "Yeah?"
"Didn't you tell me that Justin had come home from school on Tuesday after you'd discovered the theft and then left again?" he asked.
"Um, yeah, that's right. That little brat Zack was with him. They both disappeared a couple minutes after they got here," she said.
"I thought so, thanks. I'm going to take a look in the den and then I'll take your husband's papers to Ms. Stewart to look over. Okay with you?"
"Sure. Just lemme know, like, when you leave," she said in a bored voice.
Heading back down the stairs again Ken thought he'd accounted for at least one puzzle in this case. The kid had been out of dope and had gone out to buy more. It did seem odd, though, that the widow hadn't asked anything about the investigation. Did that mean she wasn't concerned about what he'd found out about her? Didn't she care who'd killed her husband? Probably not. If she hadn't done it – or hired it done – she probably thought the killer had done her a favor.
The boys had clearly spent time in the den, fast-food wrappers and more soda cans attested to that fact. Ken idly pushed at some of the trash with a finger; on a foil burger envelope he was a blob of ketchup with several fries, and the stub of a joint. Justin had been living it up while he had the house to himself.
Ken walked around the room looking at things, trying to find something that was, somehow, out of place. As Ms. Stewart had said, the liquor was still there, though he recalled that a bottle of Scotch had been broken. He continued moving around the room, looking at it from different perspectives. What could have possibly been in here to be stolen?
He made his way to the bookshelves that lined one whole wall. What was it the ex-wife had said? That they were all for show. That seemed typical of a man like Greene. He'd probably bought 'em by the yard just to fill the shelves and impress guests. Maybe George Thompson could get them all cheap and use them to stage houses.
Ken ran his finger along the spines, looking at the titles. At least Greene had had the class to buy a lot of classics, pun intended. Suddenly he stopped, his finger pointing to a leather-bound volume declaring itself to be "The Complete Works of Shakespeare". There was a ragged hole in the spine.
Ken stared at the book for a minute before doing anything. Very deliberately he took a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and pulled them on. Only then did he take the book from the shelf and open it; the hole went completely through the book. Well, that made sense; a book – even a heavy volume – wouldn't stop a bullet. He took a small flashlight from his pocket and used it to illuminate the shelf.
Sure enough, there was a bullet stuck in the board behind the books. He could just see the end, it must've smashed into the brick behind the bookcase. He took out his pocketknife and pried the slug out of the wall. Looked like a .38, but it was pretty distorted. He didn't know if Joe could get much out of it.
Ken walked to the kitchen and looked through the drawers for a minute. Finding what he'd been looking for, he helped himself to a baggie. He popped the bullet into it and sealed it up.
He went back to the den and stood in front of the missing book to see where the assailant might have been standing when he'd fired the gun. Without any fancy lasers to point the way it would be vague, but would give him a general idea. He decided the man could've been pretty much anywhere around the conversation area of couches and chairs. Maybe in the process of tearing up the room when he was caught red-handed?
What his experiment couldn't possibly tell him was who had been shot at. He'd bet money it was Greene. This was where it all started. This could certainly explain why Greene was tense and wound-up when he got to the office. But why hadn't he called the police, or even said anything about it?
Maybe it meant he knew his attacker and felt he could deal with him or her on his own, a self-important guy might think that. Had the Mrs. taken a potshot at him during a quarrel Tuesday morning? He could've easily gotten the gun away from her. But if that were the case, how did the faked burglary fit in? It didn't, that Ken could see.
Maybe Greene had come home to find the thief in the act, the guy had shot at him and then run away. Perhaps the robber was upstairs when Greene had come home; he'd gone to his office and seen the destruction, then walked through the house to see if there was more. The assailant had heard him, come downstairs and shot at him, then ran off.
As he was going through these scenarios in his mind, he thought of something else. The ME had said Greene had a big bump on the back of his head. Ken looked to his left; there was a heavy occasional table there, with a lamp and some knick-knacks on it. Could the man have fallen as he tried to dodge a bullet and hit his head on the table? That would certainly have given the shooter time to get away.
That still left him assuming Greene hadn't wanted to get involved with a long police investigation because he didn't want to be late for his big appointment. He might buy that once, but twice was too much to believe. If it was the wife she might have tried again in the garage. He'd bet she'd never fired a gun before so there'd be a good chance she'd miss with all three shots. But she hadn't been the one who'd finally killed him. He felt like his thoughts were going 'round in circles, none of the pieces seemed to fit.
Ken walked to the foot of the stairs and called up to Mrs. Greene, asking her to come downstairs for a minute.
She came out of the bedroom wearing different clothes. She'd changed into a pair of
short
jeans cut-offs and a tight, low-cut tank top. Presumably this was her idea of an outfit to clean house in.
"Yeah, Officer – what do you want?" she asked, sounding like she wasn't pleased to have been bothered.
Ken held up the baggie. "Look what I found in your library," he told her.
Jennifer walked slowly down the stairs until she was close enough to see what it contained. "Oh My God!" she shrieked. "Is that a
bullet
?"
"Yes, Ma'am, it is. I found it behind one of the books, it'd gone right through it and buried itself in the wall," he told her.
Jennifer ran into the den; Ken hurried to keep up with her. She ran up to the shelves and began darting glances left and right, trying to see what he was talking about. Finally she saw the missing tome but couldn't see the bullet-hole in the shadow of the other books. Ken turned on his flashlight and showed her.
Her face had gone white and she was wringing her hands. She turned to face Ken and he thought her fear looked genuine this time. But what was she afraid of?
"D-do you think, I mean, di-did the burglar do this?" she stammered.
"That would be a logical assumption," he said. "I take it you know nothing about it?"
"Why would
I
know about it?" She truly sounded uncertain.
"Maybe your husband had a few too many one night and decided to take out Shakespeare," he suggested.
"Shakespeare? I mean, isn't he already dead?"
Ken showed her the volume, flipping it open so she could see the gouge left by the bullet. Jennifer shuddered and turned her face away.
"Charles didn't get violent when he drank, Officer," she said in a shaky voice. "He said a lot of, like, nasty things. He'd tell things people had told him that were secrets, too. But if he shot that gun, he did it when I wasn't here."
Ken took her arm and led her away from the bookcase. "Why don't you go lie down, Mrs. Greene. This has obviously upset you, and I'm sorry for that. I just wanted to make sure this wasn't some old temper tantrum that happened months ago, that's all. I can see you knew nothing about it."
He walked her to the stairs and waved his hand towards the top to indicate she should go up on her own. "I'm going to take this to the lab now. I'll let myself out. Goodnight, Mrs. Greene."
Ken stopped to gather up the papers from the office, then got in his car and drove to headquarters. He took the bullet to Joe and asked him to check it against the other three bullets in this case. Told him he'd wait.
While Joe was getting things set up he told Ken that the gun retrieved from Bill Conover's house had
not
been a match to the three bullets. Plus, in his professional opinion, the gun hadn't been fired recently. So much for that theory, Ken thought. It'd been a long shot anyway, surely the guy wouldn't be dumb enough to turn over the murder weapon!
Ken passed some of the time talking to the ME, who told him that the lump on Greene's head could have been enough to knock him unconscious for several minutes. The accounting guru had already gone home for the day, he'd have to check with him tomorrow.
Joe seemed to fiddle with his equipment, taking his time, putting each of the other bullets under the comparison microscope in turn. Finally he beckoned Ken over to have a look.
The new bullet wasn't in good shape. It was difficult to say for certain, the best Joe could do was to say it was consistent with the others. That was good enough for Ken, he'd continue with the assumption that it was a fourth shot – or rather a
first
shot – fired at Mr. Greene. He decided he'd get some dinner and give the ex-wife time to get home from work before he delivered Greene's papers to her.
* * * *
Clarissa had barely shut the front door behind her when she heard the phone ringing. It'd been a long day; she was worried about how Gracie was handling her father's death and wanted to spend time talking to her. The phone continued to ring and, with a sigh, she went to answer it.
"Well, I'm on break, I haven't got a lot of time. That asshole will dock my pay if I'm late getting back," Jeanine said.
"Hello, Jeanine. I'm fine, thank you," Clarissa responded.
"Yeah. So you've gotta tell me when the funeral is. He won't let me off for more than one day, I need to know," Jeanine continued as if Clarissa hadn't spoken.
"I haven't heard anything myself. I just got home, haven't had a chance to check voice mail yet," Clarissa told her.
"Well be sure and let me know as soon as you find out. My luck it'll be on my day off," Jeanine said sourly.
"I would think that would be better," Clarissa said, a bit puzzled. "That way you won't lose any pay."
"I've got things to do on my day off, laundry and stuff. I could use another day with what I've been through. And I get paid for funeral-time. Told that son of a bitch I needed the whole week off, but he's got it out for me, won't let me take it all," Jeanine said.
"We've
all
been through a lot, especially Gracie. I promise I'll let you know as soon as I find out, but I need to spend some time with my daughter so I'll let you go," Clarissa said, trying to end the conversation.
"Oh, OK. That damn cop's been breathing down my neck. I know he thinks I shot him, he told me he thinks I was lying about being at bingo."
"He's been talking to everybody, Jeanine," Clarissa said trying to maintain her calm. "There's no reason for you to get rattled, he's just doing his job. I really have to go now."
"Yeah, that's another thing," Jeanine continued. "When're they gonna read the will? I wanna know how much I'll get."
"For God's sake, Jeanine!" Clarissa finally let some of her frustration show in her voice. "The man's not even buried yet, and all you can think of is his money. You should be ashamed of yourself!"
"He damn sure didn't take it with him, and I need it. I wanna quit that shitty job, when's it gonna be read?" Jeanine asked belligerently.
"I'm quite sure Charles' attorney will contact you when it's time. I must go now, and you need to get back to work. Bye!" Clarissa hung up.
Gracie answered the door when Ken rang the bell. She invited him in, telling him she and her mother were in the process of cooking dinner. Ken joined them in the kitchen.
"Good evening, Lieutenant," Clarissa said. "Do you mind if I continue working while we talk? We're fixing a somewhat complicated dish, and need to get it in the oven so we don't end up eating at 9:00."
"Sure thing, Ms. Stewart," he replied. They walked to the kitchen. "Um, may I?" He pointed to a pile of carrots.
"Of course. They're not peeled yet, that's Gracie's job." She turned a mock glare towards her daughter.
Gracie handed a carrot to Ken who immediately took a bite. "You get more vitamins and stuff if you eat the peel, anyway. Mom used to buy the already-peeled kind, but I told her that's just extra processing that uses more energy and contributes, well OK just a little, to pollution. So now I get to peel all the carrots." She picked up a peeler and set to work.
"Are those Charles' papers?" Clarissa asked, pointed to the pile Ken had dropped on the counter.
"Yes, Ma'am," he said. "It looks like a bunch of investment reports to me, but I didn't pay too much attention. I'm not asking you to figure out the state of his portfolio, we've got accountants that can do that kind of thing if we need to. Just let me know if you run across anything that someone might've been interested to find, maybe something that pertained to someone else."
"I don't mind saying I'm a bit uncomfortable doing this. I understand why you've asked me, but I feel a little out-of-place. Nonetheless I will go through them after dinner this evening, and let you know the results tomorrow. Will that be OK?"
Ken assured her that that would be fine. Then he proceeded to fill them in on the developments of the day. He told them he'd learned that Jennifer had been staying with her friend, but said nothing of the nature of the relationship. They both remembered Charles telling Jeanine she was in his will, though Clarissa said she had no idea how much she might inherit. He mentioned that so far he'd been unable to verify Jeanine's – or Clay's – alibi.
Then he told them about finding the bullet buried behind the volume of Shakespeare, and that, though it was damaged, it appeared to have been fired from the same weapon. Gracie asked a lot of questions; very
good
questions in Ken's opinion. Well, it never hurt to have someone else's opinions, and the girl certainly had a right to know what had happened to her father. She seemed to be taking this detective thing pretty seriously. Ken answered all her questions and told her his theories relating to this latest development, then left the ladies to their cooking.