Authors: Leslie Caine
a la Hulk Hogan. After a few minutes of silence he said,
"This was a shooting death?"
"Yes. Of someone I knew. He was judging this ecobuilt home of my client for a contest."
"Hnnh," he muttered, then we fell into a silence
again. Finally, O'Reilly returned. He was talking on his
radio. With a jerk of his chin, O'Reilly indicated that the
other officer should go to the backyard.
O'Reilly completed his radio conversation and sauntered over to me. "What does this make now, Miss
Gilbert?" he asked. "Three, four times someone's been
murdered at your client's house? If things didn't always
manage to shake out otherwise, I'd swear you were a serial killer. I don't even know what to say to you at this
point."
It felt humiliating to have to endure his remarks. "You
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usually don't say all that much to me. You ask me questions and act as if my every answer is a lie. You make me
feel as though it was my fault for being the one to find
some poor person has been murdered. Well, I'm not asking for any of this to happen! What am I supposed to do?"
"Have you considered relocating to Denver?"
"No. Have you considered switching to the Denver
police department?"
He glared at me. "It has crossed my mind of late, yes."
I said nothing.
"Let's proceed," he commanded. "Take me through
your morning, till the time you arrived. And then be sure
and explain precisely why, with a dead body splayed in
front of you, you decided on your own to go traipsing
down the road toward Stratton's car and speak with him
about the murder."
"It wasn't like that!" My knees were shaking and I
dearly wanted to sit down someplace before they buckled.
"Like what?"
"Like I decided to take a little stroll and have a chat
with my client! When I first went up to the car, I wasn't
even sure if he was dead or alive! He was scared and
didn't know what to do, so I convinced him to come back
with me and talk to you people!"
"You're doing this backwards, Miss Gilbert. Let's get to
that chronologically. Then you can offer up all your excuses for talking to our prime suspect before we had the
chance to interrogate him ourselves. All right?"
"Is there any way I can request a different detective to
question me?"
"Sure. You can request it. Won't do any good, though."
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"Are you this snide and nasty all the time, or just when
you're on the job?"
"Nah. Only when I'm working. Being around murderers and other criminals tends to bring out the worst in
me." He waited a moment, sighed, then said gently, "Let's
go sit in my car. You look about ready to collapse."
A couple of hours later, Steve and I were finally al-
lowed to leave. We promptly got into an argument regarding Burke's innocence. "Okay, Sullivan," I finally
told him. "I admit Burke's behavior today was really
bizarre. Even though he knew he'd be accused, he
should have contacted the police immediately."
"Right."
"But . . . that's just it. This is all so incriminating, I have
to think he's telling the truth."
"Either that, or he somehow found himself with no
options and grew desperate. He killed Walter after finding out that Walter uncovered the evidence that was going to convict him of Richard's murder. Then he
concocted this whole story once he realized he wasn't going to be able to escape."
"Then why stay in his car? Why not return home and
act shocked at our having discovered Walter's body in his
backyard?"
"I don't know. I'm not a killer. I can't begin to imagine
a killer's thought patterns."
"You don't know that he is a killer! Just last Friday, you
admitted you had some doubts whether or not he was
guilty. We need to presume his innocence here," I stated
firmly.
"Why?" Sullivan asked, smacking the steering wheel
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with his hand for emphasis. "We're not jury members. I
think we should presume that we'll live longer if we stay
the hell away from Burke Stratton!"
"In other words, you've changed your mind about
gleaning inside information from Burke that might help
the police to convict Richard's killer."
Sullivan said nothing, but his jaw muscles were working overtime. Finally he replied, "No. But we're watching each other's backs really carefully from here on out.
Neither of us ever comes into this neighborhood without
the other."
"I can live with that."
"I sure as hell hope so," he replied.
The next day, Burke called my cell phone. "Well," he
said, "at least I haven't been arrested yet. But it's obviously just a matter of time. Someone's framing me so well
that I half suspect I'm guilty, even though I'm the one
person I know for a fact is innocent!"
"Hang in there," I muttered, not knowing what else to
say.
"I need help. I can't just sit back and assume the police are going to sort out the truth. They're going to go
with the simplest scenario. And that's with me as the
killer!"
I winced at the wording and held my tongue. Hadn't
Linda Delgardio just recently said something about the
simplest answers usually being the correct ones?
"Do you know of any great private investigators in
Crestview?"
"No, I'm sorry, I don't."
"I'll . . . look in the yellow pages." He paused. "Are you
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coming to Earth Love this afternoon?" When I hesitated,
confused, he continued, "They're holding a meeting for
the finalists at four P.M. Undoubtedly to inform us that
the contest has been canceled."
"Nobody notified me about the meeting, and I--"
"Please come, Erin. I'm going to be treated like a
pariah, and I'd really like to know at least one person is
there who's on my side."
"Sullivan and I have a client appointment. But we'll
try our best to reschedule. I'll meet you there, if I can
swing it."
"This competition has become totally bogus," Darren
grumbled. He and I were the first to arrive for the meeting at Earth Love, and we were waiting in a conference
room at their headquarters. "First off, nobody is going to
have such a death wish that they'd be willing to become
the new judge. And even if they do, it's an unfair competition because the judges keep dying!"
I gave him my most withering stare. I'd developed an
intense dislike for Darren and could all too easily envision him as a crackpot capable of murdering two men.
"This has been a terrific inconvenience to all of us," I
said dryly. "It was really inconsiderate of both Richard
and Walter."
"I didn't mean to sound heartless."
Intent on ignoring him, I scanned the hallway
through the glass wall. Maybe I could excuse myself and
track down the receptionist; she'd shown us in and then
promptly left, muttering something about a coffee cart.
The same pair of executives who'd conferred with Walter
at Burke's hearing had also left, saying they'd return in a
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few minutes. I smiled as Sullivan neared, ushered in by a
second receptionist.
"In any case," Darren continued, "Margot Troy and I
should just throw in the towel at this point."
"You think Burke will win?" I asked just as Sullivan
entered the room.
"Of course. He has an emotional advantage because
he's been implicated, so the new judge will be scared to
pick anyone else."
Sullivan said, "Hey, Gilbert. I didn't miss everything
again, did I?"
"No, we're the first ones here."
"Earth Love's running of this meeting is a disorganized mess," Darren added. "Not exactly big news, right?"
He cupped his hands over his mouth and cried sarcastically, "Stop the presses!"
Sullivan's posture stiffened beside me, and I silently
willed: Go ahead, Sullivan. Pop Darren one, right in his
lantern jaw.
Burke arrived next. His eyes were bloodshot, and his
blond hair had a cowlick that stuck straight up like the
flag on a mailbox.
"I'm grateful you're both here," Burke said. "Thank
you."
"It was the least we could do," I replied, just as
Sullivan was muttering, "No problem."
"I half expected to read in today's headline you were
in jail," Darren said to Burke.
Burke stared at him with empty, exhausted eyes. "I'm
the police's chief suspect. And I didn't do it. I'm innocent."
"Good luck with that," Darren said.
"Your sympathy is overwhelming," Burke growled.
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Darren shrugged. "Hey. It's not like you're the only
one the police are investigating."
"You, too?"
He nodded grimly. "Let's just say that they don't take
kindly to the fact that my Magnum is missing from my
gun collection."
"You've got a gun collection?" Sullivan asked him,
just as the harried receptionist returned, pushing a cart
containing a coffee urn, a pitcher of water, and a box of
sugar cookies.
"Got my own shooting range, in the back room,"
Darren continued proudly. "One of the advantages of
having an underground house." He glared at Burke.
"Apparently, though, I've got to do a better job of keeping
the place locked up when I'm not home."
"The gun wasn't stolen at the open house, was it?" I
asked. Maybe the thief had stolen both the gun and the
gold paint at roughly the same time.
Darren shook his head. "On the following Monday. I
had everything locked in the glass case through the weekend. Though I sure wish now I hadn't let half of
Crestview see that I own firearms. I'd figured I could
show them off without having some bleeding-heart liberal contest judge see 'em. The finalist judge wasn't supposed to attend the open houses, you know. Not that it
stopped Richard Thayers."
"He was there?" I asked in alarm.
"Yes. As I told the police," he answered, nodding.
"Course, I never saw him come inside, just spotted him
over by the pond."
"That must have been when he discovered that illegal
cable my idiotic architect ran!" Burke exclaimed.
A full battalion of Earth Love executives, from what
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looked like the CEO down to first-level managers, swept
into the room, Margot Troy in their midst. She took a seat
across from Burke. Her fingers were so fidgety that they
looked like spider legs. The two female managers sat
down as well, taking all of the remaining seats in the
room and forcing the three men to remain standing.
One of the more regal-looking men, wearing a sports
jacket and seated at the head of the elongated oval table,
introduced himself as Preston Wilcott. He glanced at a
three-by-five note card and stated, "We've decided, under
these tragic circumstances, that we're going to cancel the
green home contest. No winner will be declared. We will
instead start a fund for outstanding ecological contributions to society. The fund will be named for both Walter
Emory and Richard Thayers." He paused, scanned the
crowd's faces, then continued, "We deeply regret the
events that have transpired and our inevitable decision to
cancel the contest. All of us at Earth Love recognize the
considerable effort that each of you has--"
"Please, let's not be too hasty," Margot interrupted. "I
believe I have a suggestion that will fill everyone's needs."
Mr. Wilcott peered over his reading glasses at her. "I
hardly think that's possible at this juncture, Ms. Troy.
The loss of two colleagues can never be recompensed."
"No, of course not. But there is one person, a local
celebrity, who can restore the dignity and stature to this
contest that it so richly deserves."
"A celebrity?" he repeated.
"Yes. We are fortunate to have a strong connection to a
TV host whose show specializes in homes and lifestyles."
Uh-oh. I knew exactly what was coming next, and it
was a terrible idea. Margot grinned at me, and I shook my
head violently at her. She looked puzzled for a moment,
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but then returned her gaze to Mr. Wilcott and announced, "I propose that we ask Audrey Munroe, of
Domestic Bliss with Audrey Munroe on Channel Four, to
judge the Earth Love green home contest."
"I'd like to go on record saying I'm opposed to that
idea," I promptly interjected. Margot glared at me, and I
glared right back at her.
Mr. Wilcott allowed everyone to discuss the idea for
several minutes, at which time Sullivan and I both said
that we could be putting Audrey Munroe in danger--a
notion that Margot, Darren, and a couple of employees
countered by stating that there was no harm in asking
Audrey, who could simply decline if she felt in any way
jeopardized.
At length, Wilcott took a quick straw poll of his employees in the room, which turned out to be unanimous
in Audrey's favor. He sighed and stared into space for