Margaret Truman's Experiment in Murder (6 page)

“How so?” he asked.

“Oh, I don't know. She's very nice, really sweet, but a little spacey, if you get what I mean.”

“Not always here?” he suggested.

“Like she sometimes daydreamed.”

“You've really been a big help, Betty. Thanks for coming in today.”

“Dr. Sedgwick's lawyer wants me to keep coming in to make sure that things stay in order, but I'm sure that won't last long. I'll have to find a new job.”

“If I can be of any help in that, let me know. Thanks again.”

He went directly to MPD headquarters and found Owens coming out of a meeting.

“You come up with anything else?” the detective asked.

“No.”

“Let's swing by the address you have for her. Detective Breen is coming with us. If this pans out the way it looks like it could, Nic, I'll owe you big-time.”

“Lunch at Ray's Hell Burger will do just fine.”

 

CHAPTER

9

Billy Breen was a young detective whose enthusiasm for the job was still fresh. He talked fast and was quick to agree with everything that the veteran Joe Owens said. He reminded Tatum of a tall Mickey Rooney. His youthful verve was welcome; veteran cops tend to be dour individuals after spending years dealing with the dregs of society, although Joe Owens was a pleasant exception. Tatum gave Breen two more years before he became soured and cynical. It just happened, an occupational reality.

Sheila Klaus lived in a small one-story white house in Rockville, Maryland. Owens had run a background check on her earlier that afternoon. She was forty-eight and a divorcée; her only marriage had lasted two years and ended fourteen years ago. She'd been employed in George Washington University's law school admissions office and had left a year earlier because of a disability, the specifics unstated. She had no arrest record, nor had she even received a traffic citation. Her credit score was high-average. A red Mazda was registered in her name.

As they pulled up in front of her house, they saw a blond woman gardening in the postage-stamp-size front yard. She wore jeans, a red sweatshirt, a floppy white hat, and low red sneakers. Even in her oversized gardening clothes it was obvious to her visitors that she was an attractive woman.

She looked up as they got out of the car but immediately returned to digging a hole for a potted plant that sat next to her.

“Ms. Klaus?” Owens said as they stood outside the low white picket fence that defined the yard.

She looked up and smiled. “Yes?”

“I'm Detective Owens. These are Detective Breen and Dr. Tatum.”

She wiped perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand, stood, and approached, the smile still on her tanned face.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“We're investigating the death of Dr. Mark Sedgwick.”

Her smile vanished. “Oh, yes, I heard about it. What a tragedy. He was a very kind and compassionate doctor. I read about it in the papers.”

“You did know him, then.”

“Yes. I was a patient of his once.”

“We're aware of that, ma'am,” said Owens. “We have some questions we'd like to ask you.”

Her expression turned to puzzlement. “Whatever for?”

“Mind if we come in?” Owens asked.

“I … I suppose that will be all right,” she said, “It's just that—”

“Yes?”

“It's just that this is upsetting, having detectives come to my home concerning Dr. Sedgwick's death. What could I possibly know that would interest you?”

“We can determine that after we ask you a few questions,” Breen said, hoping he wasn't treading on Owens's toes. He'd hardened his tone to sound the way he was sure a detective should sound.

“All right,” she said, her smile returning. “You'll have to excuse the house. It's a bit of a mess.”

She removed her hat as they followed her inside. She was blond. Tatum was struck by her demeanor. Aside from a natural curiosity about their visit, she was calm and pleasant, hardly the behavior of someone who had deliberately run someone down only a few days earlier.

The house was a lot neater than she'd promised. She invited them to sit in a glassed-in atrium at the rear in which dozens of plants sat on windowsills or on metal stands.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked. “I made fresh iced tea this morning and—”

“No, thank you,” Owens said. “Ms. Klaus, have you ever owned a white Buick Regal?”

She answered instantly. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Dr. Sedgwick was struck by a white Buick Regal,” Breen said.

“How dreadful,” she said. “I believe I read that some people who witnessed it said it appeared that the driver deliberately hit Dr. Sedgwick. Is that true?”

“Yes, ma'am, we think that's what happened,” said Owens. “What kind of car do you drive?”

“A Mazda. It's in the garage. Do you wish to see it?”

“In a minute,” Owens said. “You acknowledge that you were a patient of Dr. Sedgwick.”

“Yes. Why shouldn't I? There's no crime in seeing a psychiatrist.”

Owens smiled. “Of course there isn't,” he said. “Did you and Dr. Sedgwick … well, were you friends aside from the doctor-patient relationship?”

She rolled her eyes up, blew out an exasperated stream of air, lowered her eyes, and fixed him in a hard stare. “Are you suggesting that—?”

Owens held up his hand. “I'm not suggesting anything, Ms. Klaus, but we've been informed that you and the doctor traveled together on a few occasions.”

“That simply is not true!” she exclaimed. “Not true. Whatever gave you that idea? Who told you such a thing?”

“Please understand, Ms. Klaus, that it's our job to follow up on anything and everything we're told.”

Tatum knew that Owens would ask Betty Martinez for more details about Sedgwick's travels as they might have involved Sheila Klaus and have someone dig into airline records. There was nothing to be gained by pressing her about it at this juncture.

Tatum had said nothing since they arrived. But he was keenly attuned to every word Sheila Klaus said, every gesture, the inflection in her voice, her posture, the vehemence with which she denied what Owens had suggested. It sounded to Tatum that she was being truthful, and he wondered whether the detective was barking up the wrong tree. He was aware, of course, that he was the one who'd initiated the interest in her as a possible suspect.

“Did you and the doctor ever have a falling out?” the senior detective asked.

She cocked her head and squinted. “No, I can't say that we ever did. May I ask you a question, Detective?”

“Sure.”

“Isn't this a violation of the doctor-patient privacy law?”

“Not in this case, ma'am. We have a court order that gives us access to Dr. Sedgwick's patient records. Because his death is being treated as a homicide, the judge—”

“Homicide?” she blurted.

“Yes, ma'am. As you read in the newspaper, it seems that whoever was driving the car deliberately struck the doctor. That's homicide.” He hesitated before saying, “This may sound like a strange question to you, Ms. Klaus, but do you own a pair of expensive red Italian shoes?”

“As a matter of fact I do. More than one pair.”

He pulled a note from his pocket and read from it. “Gucci shoes?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Would you mind if we had a look at them?”

“I don't understand.”

“Only take a moment,” Owens said. “We could get a warrant, but I'm sure you won't put us to that bother.”

“If you insist,” she said through a laugh.

“Go with her,” Owens told Breen.

The young detective followed her up the stairs.

“What do you think?” Owens asked Tatum in a low voice.

“She seems legit to me,” Tatum said.

“To me, too,” Owens agreed.

Sheila and Breen returned a few minutes later. Breen carried two and a half pairs of women's red shoes.

“Almost three pairs,” Owens muttered as he examined them. “You're missing one.”

Sheila laughed. “I can't imagine where it could be,” she said. “This is so embarrassing. I have what I suppose you could call a passion for Italian shoes, particularly Gucci. And I'm fond of red. My friends sometimes kid me. They say I'm like Imelda Marcos. I hardly think that—”

Owens took note of the size of the shoes. Six. The shoe found in the Buick was also a six. He handed the shoes to her. “Have you driven a white Buick lately?” he asked. “Maybe a friend's car or a rental?”

“No. The only car I drive is my Mazda. It's red, too, like my shoes.”

“Where were you the morning that Dr. Sedgwick was killed?”

“That was … let me see … I … I don't know. Here, I suppose.”

“Anyone who can vouch for that?”

“No. I live here alone.”

There was silence as Breen took notes and Owens formulated his next question. Tatum maintained his watchful silence.

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

“Not at the moment,” Owens said. “Thanks for your time. We might have further questions for you at some later date.”

“That will be fine. I know that you're doing your job and have to follow up on every little thing. I wish I could be of more help.”

Before getting in the car, Owens checked the garage. The car in it was, as Ms. Klaus had said, a red Mazda. Owens also noticed tire tread marks in the driveway. “Get the camera,” he told Breen, “and grab some shots of it.”

They headed back to the District.

“I think she's lying,” Breen offered.

“Oh?” said Owens. “What makes you think that?”

“Just a hunch.”

“You think she's being truthful,” Owens said to Tatum.

Breen quickly said, “Yeah, maybe she is.”

“I don't know,” said Tatum. “I do know one thing.”

“What's that?”

“She's a classic Dionysian. Did you catch her eye roll?”

“What's that?” Breen asked.

“When she rolls her eyes up, her irises disappear. Nothing but white. That matches up with the HIP score in her file.”

Breen's expression was pure confusion.

“That puts her at the very top of the scale,” Tatum further explained. “Only a tiny percentage of people score that high. They're almost freakish in how suggestible and malleable they are. Of course there are other tests, but I'd be surprised if they didn't confirm the eye roll.”

“She says she never traveled with the doctor,” Breen offered. “You believe her?”

Owens answered, “Next stop Sedgwick's office to see if Ms. Martinez is still there. She says she arranged all of his trips. Let's see if she also bought tickets for Sheila Klaus.”

As Tatum and Owens got out of the car, Tatum looked back and suppressed a smile. Breen was looking intently into the rearview mirror and rolling up his eyes.

 

CHAPTER

10

Betty Martinez was packing up to leave Sedgwick's office when Owens, Tatum, and Breen walked in.

“Don't want to keep you,” Owens said, “but we need some information.” He asked that she check the doctor's records to see when he and Sheila Klaus had traveled together.

“I don't know whether they did,” Betty said.

Tatum said, “You told me when I was here going through his files that they had.”

“I guess I shouldn't have said that,” she said, eyes downcast.

“It's okay,” Owens said. “You're not betraying any confidences. The court order doesn't exclude anything specific like travel records.”

She drew a sustaining breath and said, “Okay. I guess it's all right.” Then, without the need to consult the files, she said, “Sheila and Dr. Sedgwick traveled together to San Francisco a few times, only Ms. Klaus didn't use her real name.”

“What name did she use?” Owens asked.

“Carla Rasmussen.”

“How did she do that?” Tatum asked. “Didn't she need ID at the airport?”

“I asked Dr. Sedgwick about that the first time he told me to book the flights. I mean, I always reminded him of things that he and whoever he was traveling with needed for security. He told me that Carla Rasmussen was a medical colleague and had all the ID she needed.”

“But you knew he was traveling with Ms. Klaus under that assumed name?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know?”

“Little things. Sheila was the one who picked up the ticket for Carla Rasmussen from me for one of the trips. I remember because Dr. Sedgwick was angry that she had.”

“Why was he mad?”

“I suppose because he didn't want me to know.”

“What else led you to know that Ms. Klaus was this Carla Rasmussen?”

“Like I said, it was little things. I mean I didn't snoop or anything, but—”

“But you're sure that it was Ms. Klaus who traveled under the name Carla Rasmussen?”

“Yes.”

“How many trips did they take together?” Owens asked.

“Four, I think.”

“When did they take their first trip together?”

She went to a file cabinet and removed a folder. “Two thousand eight,” she said after consulting a paper within the folder. “August sixteenth.”

“Where did they go?” asked Breen.

“San Francisco. That's where they always went.”

“I'd like a list of those trips,” Owens said.

She used a photocopying machine to produce copies.

“And she always used that name when she traveled?” Tatum asked.

“Yes.”

“Where did they stay when they were in San Francisco?” he asked.

“The Hyatt on the Embarcadero.”

After a few more questions that produced nothing in the way of additional information, the men left and got into their car.