Murder.Com (19 page)

     
Cliff quickly ushered the gathering crowd away from the doorway and down the hall to an empty office.
 
Once he calmed the bewildered group, he hurried back to Tom, who'd already called for the investigation crew.
 
The two detectives guarded the entrance of the office and viewed the grisly sight.
 
Tom scrubbed his chin with his fist.
 
"Looks like our man got damned scared and put a gun to his head."

     
Cliff exhaled loudly.
 
"Yep.
 
Sure looks that way."

     
At that moment, Ken Weber came running up the hall.
 
"What's happened?"
 
He glanced into the room and his face paled.
 
"Oh, my God!"
 
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

     
Tom put out a hand.
 
"Are you okay?"

     
Ken waved him off.
 
"Yeah.
 
I'll be fine in a minute."
 
He bent over and took several deep breaths.
 
"That's a pretty gruesome sight."

     
Several emergency vehicles pulled up in front of the building, followed by the coroner's wagon.
 
Within minutes they had the office cordoned off and the investigation crew began dusting for prints and taking pictures.
 
Ken took a second look as the camera flashed, then staggered back to his office, his hand over his mouth.
 

     
Tom and Cliff took measurements for their own purposes, then, working along with the team, searched the room for clues.
 
After the body had been removed, Tom studied the blood-spattered computer and sheets of paper on the desk.
 
He motioned to Cliff and pointed at the computer monitor.
 
"Looks like a suicide note."

     
Cliff slipped on his half-glasses and read aloud.

To Whom It May Concern:
 
I thought after getting

rid of Mr. Nevers, I could get by with my crimes.

But the police are too close.
 
I can't cope with the

pressure.

Ryan Conners

     
Tom continued to examine the keyboard.
 
"It's odd how the blood is smudged on these keys.
 
If this note had been written before he died, it wouldn't be embedded in the letters.
 
I think this note was written after his death."

     
Cliff bent down and inspected it.
 
"Good observation, Detective Hoffman."
 
He called over the photographer.
 
"Did you get a close up of this note?"

     
"Yes sir."

     
"Good.
 
Now take several of this keyboard at different angles."

     
The photographer nodded and adjusted his camera.
 
After he finished, Cliff touched one of the keys with his gloved finger.
 
"The blood's dry.
 
And from the looks of the body, rigor mortis is setting in.
 
He's probably been dead for several hours.
 
We'll check the photos under a magnifier.
 
That should give us a good clue of when this was written."
 
He hit the Print button and folded a copy of the note into his pocket.

     
Later that day, Tom and Cliff drove out to Ryan Conners' home.
 
The address bordered the low-income part of town where young married couples found shabby but affordable places to live.
 
The small frame home nestled between two others of identical architecture.

     
The door opened, revealing a small, skinny woman with dishwater-blond hair that hung in greasy loose strands over her shoulders.
 
Her freckled skin stretched taut over high cheekbones, shadowing already sunken, washed-out blue eyes.
 
Two little girls, about two and three years old, clung to each side of her legs.
 
She frowned at the two detectives.
 
"Yes?"

     
"Are you Mrs. Conners?"

     
She nodded.

     
The men displayed their badges and Cliff removed his ball cap, smoothing back his hair the best he could.
 
"May we come in, Mrs. Conners?"

     
She stepped back so they could enter.

     
The little girls still clinging to their mother's legs were small and frail with stringy hair.
 
Neither made a sound, but stared intently at the two men.

     
When Tom led the way inside the house, the first thing he noticed was the stench of dirty diapers.
 
The scarcity of furniture seemed odd.
 
Surely Ryan Conners had made enough money to support his family better than this.
 
He turned and looked at the woman again.
 
"You are Mrs. Ryan Conners?
 
Your husband works at Nevers Computer Technology Company?"

     
She eyed them suspiciously.
 
"Yes.
 
Is there something wrong?"

     
Cliff guided her to the worn couch.
 
"Please sit down, Mrs. Conners.
 
Do you have family nearby?"

     
She slowly shook her head.
 
"I have no one but Ryan and my two girls."
 
She put an arm around each of the girls and pulled them up beside her, hugging them closely.

     
Tom remained standing as he presented the news as kindly as possible.
 
The woman never moved or blinked an eye.
 
Cliff switched his hat from one hand to another as he watched her.

     
"So he's dead?" she asked.

     
Tom kept his voice soft.
 
"Yes.
 
I'm sorry."

     
Cliff stepped in front of her.
 
"I know this is a terrible time to be asking you any questions.
 
But could you tell us if your husband owned a gun?"

     
"Yes, he had a gun.
 
But he kept it at the office because he took care of the money business.
 
I wouldn't allow one in the house because of the girls."

     
"I understand.
 
Thank you."

     
Tom wondered if the news had really sunk in.
 
The woman seemed so void of emotion.
 
"Is there anyone we can contact for you?
 
Or anything we can do to make this matter easier?"

     
Slowly she raised her head and gazed at him with tearless eyes.
 
"No.
 
Thank you.
 
I'll be fine."

     
"I'd like to ask you one more question," Tom said.
 
"Did your husband contact anyone at the office last night?"

     
"Ryan never came home last night.
 
He seldom does.
 
He lives at that office.
 
We seldom see him.
 
I don't even know the names of the people he works with.
 
I couldn't tell you who he does or doesn't talk to."

     
"Excuse me, ma'am."
 
Cliff put his cap back on his head.
 
"Was your husband right- or left-handed?"

     
"Left."

     
"Thank you."

     
When the two detectives got back in the car, Cliff shook his head.
 
"Boy, the way some people live.
 
It just amazes me."

     
Tom glanced over at him.
 
"Have I missed something?"

     
"Why do you ask?"

     
"The left and right hand thing?"

     
"Well, you might not have noticed, but the gun had fallen to the floor on his right side."

     
"Very interesting," Tom said, nodding.

     
By the time the men got back to the police station, most of the regular staff had left.
 
They went to Tom's office and started reviewing the packet of pictures the investigators had left.
 
They were particularly interested in the photos of the keyboard.

     
Angie felt totally shocked over the news of Ryan Conners' suicide.
 
She couldn't imagine that meek man involved in embezzlement.
 
But one never knows.
 
She knew the company would suffer.
 
And sure enough, after only a few days, rumors were circulating that Ryan had been murdered like Mr. Nevers.
 
Terror reigned throughout the company, with gossip about a madman stalking the halls.
 
Several employees quit.
 
She hoped Ken could get hold of the rumor and put an end to it.
 

     
But before talking to Ken, she wanted to check with Tom to find out if the rumors had any foundation.
 
She hadn't heard from him lately, but figured he had his hands full with two unsolved murder cases.
 
She also wanted to wait until she heard from Dr. Parker on the DNA test results.

     
Angie had her hand on the phone, contemplating who to call, when it rang.

     
"Hello."

     
"Angie, this is Sandy.
 
Could you meet me for lunch?"

     
"Sure."

     
"Velvet Turtle in thirty minutes.
 
I'll meet you in the bar."

     
"Okay."

     
After hanging up, Angie stared at the phone.
 
That was sure abrupt, she thought.
 
Sandy really sounded uptight and worried.

     
Angie quickly freshened her face and hair, then left.
 
She entered the restaurant's bar and stood on her tiptoes to see over the heads of the lunch hour crowd.
 
She finally spotted Sandy in the far corner of the room and hurried toward her, greeting her with a hug.
 
"It's good to see you."

     
Sandy nodded and smiled faintly, then motioned for the waitress.
 
Angie studied her friend and knew something was amiss when Sandy avoided her gaze.
 
"What's wrong?"

     
"Is it that apparent?"

     
"I've known you too long not to see it written all over your face.
 
Are the twins giving you problems?"

     
"Not since I've sent them to mother's."

     
Then she saw the tears glistening in Sandy's eyes and took hold of her wrist.
 
"Is it that bad?"

     
Sandy fumbled in her purse for a tissue and dabbed her eyes.
 
"It's not the girls, it's Ken."

     
Not expecting that answer, Angie slumped back in her chair.
 
"Ken?"

     
She nodded.
 
"Ever since Bud's death, he's been different.
 
But since Ryan's death, he's totally changed for the worst."

     
Angie's stomach lurched at the reference to Bud.
 
How she missed him.
 
He'd know what to do in this situation.
 
Obviously, her reaction didn't show outwardly as Sandy continued talking.

     
"He yells and screams at me and the girls like we're his enemies.
 
It really upsets the twins.
 
Even though I've tried to explain how these deaths have upset him, they don't understand his behavior."
 
She sighed.
 
"And frankly, I don't either.
 
One day, he slapped Cindy and it shocked her so bad that she's avoided him ever since."
 
Sandy choked down a sob.
 
"He's never struck either of the girls before.
 
It's gotten so bad that I had to send them away for awhile until he settles down."

     
Angie frowned.
 
"He's under a lot of pressure, not only with the deaths, but having to take over Bud's job as well as doing his own.
 
Of course, it doesn't help with police swarming all over the place and people quitting left and right."