Halfway to Half Way (10 page)

 

 

He was on his feet before the receiver stopped wobbling in its cradle. "Interesting."

 

 

"Wild guess. That was Bev and Larry's daughter."

 

 

"Kimmie Sue Beauford, the never-was, never-gonna-be movie star." Marlin lifted his sport coat off the back of his chair. "She's meeting us at the house in fifteen minutes."

 

 

"I thought she lived in Los Angeles."

 

 

"She does. That's where I thought she was when I called to tell her about her mother." Marlin's jaw cocked as he tightened his tie. "Lo and behold, the contact number we had was a cell phone. Kimmie Sue was eating lunch in Joplin when she answered it."

 

 

"Joplin, Missouri?" David said, as though every state between here and the Pacific Ocean had at least one. "That's what, a hundred and twenty miles from Sanity?"

 

 

"Three hours travel time, give or take. About half interstate, half two-lane." Marlin lit a cigarette, in violation of city, county and state ordinance, but in keeping with the Thank You for Smoking sign on his desk. "She said Bev didn't know she was coming to town. Wanted it to be a surprise."

 

 

David leveraged himself out of the molded plastic vice clamped to his hips and thighs. "Helluva coincidence."

 

 

"Ain't it, though? That solo nuke-a-meal in Bev's grocery sack says she didn't expect company, but who drives cross-country to drop in on somebody?"

 

 

A detective adjusting a shoulder holster bears a striking resemblance to a woman adjusting a bra strap—an observation David thought was better kept to himself.

 

 

"My mom and dad sprang an unannounced visit on me a few months ago," he said. He'd answered that early morning pounding at his front door with a towel wrapped around his waist, a major league hard-on and Hannah wet and waiting for him in the shower. "But they never had before, and I kind of doubt they ever will again."

 

 

Marlin's expectant look eventually deflated. He was itching for the middle of the story. He did, in fact, scratch his neck, but he wouldn't ask and David wouldn't tell. Hannah might someday—when it struck her as funny, not near the top of life's most mortifying moments.

 

 

David glanced at his watch. Seven-forty. "Where's Kimmie Sue been since you reached her on her cell phone?"

 

 

"The Wishing Well Motel. We were still processing the scene when she hit town." He chuffed. "Jesus, you feel like a ten-pound turd telling the next of kin to relax, gimme a jingle when that migraine backs off, then we'll go to Mom's and figure out what the dirtbag ripped off, before or after he killed her."

 

 

"You're back to a burglary gone bad?"

 

 

"I'm not in love with it," Marlin said, "but I haven't ruled it out."

 

 

A press of a button disengaged the Outhouse's electronic lock mechanism. Access from the outside required a magnetized key card. The hole-in-the-wall detective division was also wired with interior and exterior surveillance cameras, silent alarms and motion-sensitive lights.

 

 

A similar system was installed at the courthouse to restrict access after business hours. Necessary evils, David allowed, but a can of spray paint would surely improve the can't-miss donor plaques that bragged: Protected By Fort Knox Security; Jessup Knox, Owner and Certified Specialist.

 

 

What Knox specialized in, apart from pissing off the sheriff, was open to speculation.

 

 

David lost the curbside who's-driving argument before he pulled his keys out of his pocket. Marlin's beater, gunmetal-gray Chevy smelled like an ashtray and decomposed French fries. By all appearances, a file cabinet had detonated inside, but it was the detective's mobile office and you just never knew when you might need a Brattleboro, Vermont, city directory.

 

 

While David settled into the passenger side, Marlin told him that Cletus Orr was witnessing the autopsy at the state lab in Columbia. Because Bev was a sheriff's widow, the assistant medical examiner had waived the standard first-come, first-served policy and moved her to the front of the line.

 

 

The ride to Greenaway Circle passed in silence, neither David nor Marlin being disposed toward small talk, or a verbal postmortem of a case laden with questions and precious few facts.

 

 

A block from the cul-de-sac's entrance, Marlin banged the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. "Damn it. We should have brought both cars."

 

 

David couldn't imagine why, was reluctant to find out, and doubted he'd like the answer.

 

 

"Kimmie Sue leaned on you pretty heavy after Larry's funeral," Marlin said. "If you had wheels, you could have asked her out for coffee after we finish at the house."

 

 

"And why would I do that?"

 

 

"Well, let's see, kemosabe. We've confirmed that Bev was strangled with her own scarf. Thirty-one percent of female homicide victims are killed by a family member, friend, lover—someone known to them. Bev's only child was conveniently two hundred miles from the scene. And when Kimmie Sue's dad died, it was obvious she was interested in more than your clean hankie and an arm to hang on to."

 

 

David reserved judgment. Everyone handled death differently—sudden, or not. Kimmie Sue's clinginess and blatant flirting had made him extremely uncomfortable. Maybe losing the daddy she'd adored in the blink of an eye was no excuse, but David refused to condemn her, then or now.

 

 

"So," he said, "in your twisted mind, she's a suspect."

 

 

"It's automatic for next of kin. And she sees you as one of Papa's good old boys, not a trained, half-smart cop." Marlin looked sideways and smirked. "Five bucks, she'll ask
you
out tonight. Hell, she might even spring for dinner."

 

 

The unmarked's headlights swept a hard-shell Jeep with a California plate parked in front of 2208. "Then pay up." David pointed out the windshield. "It appears our next of kin didn't make the trip home all by herself."

 

 

Kimmie Sue Beauford's traveling companion had a couple of inches and twenty pounds of solid, gymrat muscle on David. The deep-tanned, dark-haired Goliath dressed in a spandex wife beater and jeans introduced himself as Rocco Jarek. Two seconds and a snarl from Marlin elicited his real name: Rodney Windle.

 

 

In the months since her father's funeral, Kimmie Sue had transformed from a striking, green-eyed brunette to a blond, pouty-lipped Barbie doll. David's conservative roots might be showing, but a skintight halter top, denim miniskirt and high-heeled sandals weren't what grieving, overnight orphans usually wore to a walk-through.

 

 

"David?" Her aqua contact lenses glittered in the streetlight's halogen glow. Feigning disappointment, she said, "I've told Rocco so much about you, he's jealous, and you don't even remember me, do you?"

 

 

"Of course I do, Ms. Beauford. Allow me to extend my and the department's condolences about your mother."

 

 

She flinched, as if he'd slapped her. David had a feeling he'd be buying his own coffee with that five-spot Marlin owed him.

 

 

As they proceeded to the front door, Marlin angled his notebook, so David could read the line under Kimmie Sue's boyfriend's address, driver's license, social security and tag numbers:
Rocco Jarek—hired dick.

 

 

David murmured, "He's a private investigator?"

 

 

Considering the source, he should have expected "Uh-uh. Porn star. Grade B, jumbo," Marlin grunted. "Don't ask how I know."

 

 

The air temperature inside the house was twenty degrees warmer than that morning. Most of the postmortem odor had dissipated and the stench of stale nicotine and cigarette smoke prevailed. Despite the lights and lamps Marlin switched on, there was the perceptible, indescribable emptiness that four people, or four hundred, couldn't dispel.

 

 

Kimmie Sue hugged her bare arms tight to her chest and nestled against Jarek. "I've changed my mind. I can't do this." Peering up at him, she said, "Please, take me back to the motel."

 

 

"It won't be any easier tomorrow, Kim," he said. "Might as well get it over with, then we can kick back and relax."

 

 

Marlin and David exchanged a look. Any remark was open to interpretation. Trust two cops to hear implications where none might exist.

 

 

Kimmie Sue gripped Jarek's hand as they moved into the living room, then the dining room. As Marlin opened drawers and cupboard doors, she surveyed the contents and shook her head—no, nothing appeared to be missing.

 

 

From there, they trooped into the utility room, circled Bev's car in the garage, then backtracked to the kitchen.

 

 

"Everything seems like it always was," Kimmie Sue said. "Little things are different—the dish towels, that tacky compote over there. But gosh, you know, I moved to L.A. a long time ago."

 

 

David was watching her, gauging her reactions, while Marlin concentrated on Jarek. So far,
detached
was the best description David could conjure. If it was a game face, Kimmie Sue's was the best he could recall. Evidently, fingerprint powder strewn on every horizontal surface and a goodly share of verticals didn't count as different, much less a
little thing.

 

 

And he knew for a fact, that compote had belonged to Bev's mother. The first time he was a guest in this house, he'd told Bev that his grandmother had one exactly like it. Depression glass, she'd called it, because during the thirties, movie houses gave away all sorts of cheap knickknacks to help sell tickets.

 

 

Bev might have stored it away for safekeeping when her daughter was growing up, but if David had seen it, surely Kimmie Sue had, as well.

 

 

As she entered the family room, Kimmie Sue's eyes widened and darted from the damaged coffee table to the carpet flattened and trampled by gurney wheels and a dozen pairs of shoes. She shrank back against Jarek. "Oh, God. This is where Mom…" Her stiletto heels digging into the floor, she pushed against his chest. "No, please, I—Don't make me go in there. I can't. I
can't.
"

 

 

Sobbing into her hands, she said, "Damn it, why are you doing this to me? Anybody can tell nothing's
gone.
She didn't have anything worth
stealing.
"

 

 

Jarek glowered at Marlin. "This is bullshit. I'm getting her out of here."

 

 

The detective shifted his weight and the gentle, sympathetic tone he'd used on Kimmie Sue. "It's like you said, Rodney. It ain't gonna be any easier tomorrow." A shrug, then, "You'd think you'd want to help us find whoever did this to your girlfriend's mother."

 

 

"I do," Jarek blustered. "I just can't handle seeing Kim upset like this. First you hit her with the news her mother's been—uh, that she's passed on, then you expect her to take inventory? It's fuckin' cruel, man."

 

 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jarek," said David, the designated good guy. "I realize how hard this is for both of you, but Ms. Beauford is the only one that can tell us what we need to know."

 

 

"Oh, yeah? What about neighbors? Friends?"

 

 

Bending down, David looked into Kimmie Sue's eyes. A trifle bloodshot but dry. He wanted to be surprised. "A few more minutes is all I'm asking for. Okay?"

 

 

Sniffling, she swiped the pad of a taloned finger along her lower lids. "Okay." A brave smile. "Thanks, David. For understanding."

 

 

Marlin smoothly separated her from Jarek. Cupping her elbow, he escorted her through the family room. Jarek stayed close behind, David now bird-dogging him.

 

 

They paused in the foyer where the stairway led to the second floor. Marlin said, "Go on up, while me and Ms. Beauford take a breather. Master bedroom's next."

 

 

David gestured
after you
to Jarek. The carpeted plank treads creaked under their respective weights. Beyond the landing were four doors, all of them closed. On the right, Kimmie Sue's old bedroom was now a guest room. The spare room nearer the end of the hall had been converted to Larry Beauford's home office and den. The first door on the left was a full bath.

 

 

Jarek strode directly to the second door. Reaching for the knob, he pulled back his hand, glancing at David. "I, uh, I almost forgot I'm not supposed to touch anything."

 

 

Not yet, you aren't, David thought. He took out a handkerchief and wiped off the powder residue smudging the knob. "All clear. You can go on in now."

 

 

Jarek hesitated, exhaled, then turned the knob. Once inside the master bedroom, David stationed himself at the door, forcing Kimmie Sue and Marlin to sidle past him. Nothing and nobody were going to lay a finger on that doorknob, until after she and Jarek vacated the premises and Marlin redusted it.

 

 

Kimmie Sue broke down for real at the sight of her mother's jewelry and clothing strewn across the bed and floor. Marlin recorded descriptions of a missing diamond cocktail ring, a pearl solitaire and earrings, a ruby brooch, a diamond pendant and Larry's horseshoe pinkie ring that he'd kept in Bev's jewelry box.

 

 

Kimmie Sue refused to enter her father's office. "I couldn't after he died," she shrieked. "I can't now.
I won't.
" She cut and ran down the hallway, stopping at the stairs just long enough to kick off her shoes, sending them flying into the foyer.

 

 

"Kim—" Jarek shot Marlin and David a hateful glare and chased after her. Seconds later, the door slammed hard enough to rattle the doorbell's chimes.