Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets (12 page)

Justin hung back as they entered his grandparents’ house. Rose clung to Sam. As a unit, they trudged into the living room. Rose’s hands flew to her mouth.
“Mein Gott, mein Gott, mein Gott.”
There were two other cops there. One, Justin recognized as the officer who’d shown up after Megan’s accident. Solomon, he thought. The other wore a deputy sheriff’s uniform. Gordon had mentioned getting help with the homicide. That the deputy was here reinforced Justin’s conviction that the two cases had to be connected.

But were they connected to
him
?

The three cops conferred outside the front door before Solomon and the deputy departed, indicating they were off to follow whatever orders they’d been given. Justin’s attention was focused on his grandmother, who stood in the center of the room, a dazed expression on her face.

“I know this is difficult,” Gordon said, shoving Justin’s focus to the immediate crisis. “I’m going to ask you to see if anything was taken.”

“Let me help,” Justin said. “Oma, you can sit on the sofa while I organize everything.”

Megan picked up his unspoken signal and guided his grandmother to the couch. “Would you like me to get you something? Tea, water?”

“You think I should sit here drinking tea while you go through the mess some
ganef,
some
mamzer
made of my house?” Oma snapped.

Whoa. Oma swearing? Justin noticed the puzzled expression on Gordon’s face. “Thief. Bastard,” he translated.

The cop’s eyebrows lifted. Apparently Oma’s epithets surprised him too. Justin cut a glance to his grandfather, who stood soldier-straight, fists clenched, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Not a thief,” Opa said. He swept his arm around the room. “The television, the stereo—he didn’t take those.”

“But how did he get in?” Oma asked. She turned to face the cop. “We locked up tight.”

Megan’s hands shot to her mouth. “My window.”

“Appears so,” the cop said.

“I’m so sorry,” Megan said. “It sticks, and it’s so hard to open if you close it all the way. It was only open a couple of inches, honest. I…I didn’t think.”

“I should have fixed it,” Justin said. “Replaced the whole thing. All the upstairs windows.”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” the cop said. “If he wanted to get in, a closed window wouldn’t have stopped him.”

Justin closed his eyes, took a breath, then opened them and studied the room more carefully, trying to ignore the innumerable black smudges of fingerprint powder. The television on the floor instead of in the entertainment center. Same for the CD player. The discs were heaped on the floor, but still in their cases. “He moved everything.”

“We’re assuming he was looking for something,” Gordon said. “The question is, did he find it?”

“Is the whole house like this?” Megan asked.

The grim expression on Gordon’s face twisted Justin’s gut. He suppressed the urge to add a few colorful expletives of his own to Oma’s outburst. His vocabulary had certainly expanded since he’d been working at the vocational school. Keeping his irritation in check, he asked, “Can I go upstairs? I’m familiar enough with my room.”

“Go ahead,” Gordon said. “We might be done faster that way.”

Justin fished in his pocket for his phone as he ran up the stairs. He ignored the clothes blanketing the floor of his bedroom and crossed to the window. He shoved it open and leaned against the sill, where he knew he had the best cell reception. He scrolled through his contact list until he found the number he needed. He mashed the call button. After four interminable rings, he heard the annoyingly calm voice of his nemesis. “You have it?”

“No, I don’t have it, you son of a bitch, and it’s not Sunday.”

“I know what day it is, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Tell me you didn’t send someone to ransack my grandparents’ house.”

“I didn’t send someone to ransack your grandparents’ house. Why would I do that when I have you there, acting with what is undoubtedly the epitome of discretion?”

Justin took a calming breath. A breath anyway. He was miles from calm. But the initial fury had ebbed, and he realized that there was no reason for this man to be involved with whatever happened at that dress shop. “Of course. But someone did break in here, and the house is a disaster area.”

“That is not reassuring,” the man said. “Because now we won’t be able to ascertain whether the package is in the hands of someone else, or if it remains to be found.”

“On the bright side,” Justin said, “I don’t need to use stealth to look around.”

“You will keep me apprised, of course.”

“Of course.” Justin slammed the phone closed.

Justin gritted his teeth and put the mattress on the box spring, grateful the thief hadn’t cut it apart in his search. Maybe it was obvious enough that it was intact, that nothing could have been stuffed inside. He had, however pulled off all the covers.

Justin sat on the edge of the mattress, trying to think. The two break-ins were related, no doubt, but why would a murder at a used clothing store have anything to do with his problem? Because he wasn’t thinking. Because he’d seen the shock and horror on his grandparents’ faces and had to yell at someone.

He crossed through the bathroom, noting little disturbance there aside from the inevitable fingerprint powder, and went into Megan’s room. Her bed had been dismantled as well. Fingerprint powder was heaviest at the window. He moved closer, looking to see if there were any other clues, like a muddy footprint. As if.

She hadn’t finished unpacking, and her suitcase was lying open on the box spring, surrounded by its contents. The books were in total disarray. Her dolls and stuffed animals, their cheerful innocence as they appeared oblivious to the wreckage, sent another wave of helpless frustration through his gut. He left them to their glass-eyed stares and headed for the master bedroom.

The door stood open. Justin approached with trepidation, as if he expected to find the burglar in the room. He almost wished he would, so he could knock the crap out of whoever did this. His real dread, he realized, was having to see his grandmother’s face when she saw the mess.

Well, she wouldn’t see it. He strode into the room and started hanging up the clothes. Most of them were on their hangers, as if the intruder had simply tossed them out of the way. Piles of sweaters were on their closet floor. As if they, too, were in the way. Only the fingerprint powder made the bedroom a crime scene instead of a fraternity boy’s room.

Pondering that, he sensed someone’s approach and spun around. The cop. “Did they find something?” Justin asked. “Or not find something, I guess is more accurate.”

“Not yet.” Gordon picked up a sweater, folded it and set it neatly on the shelf. “How about up here?”

“Nothing I’ve noticed.”

Gordon didn’t respond. He stood in the closet, his gaze sweeping the room beyond, then freezing on Justin, who stopped, holding an armload of his grandfather’s trousers.

Cops.
“So? You have any ideas you’d be willing to share?” Justin said.

Gordon picked up another sweater. “Whatever he wanted, it wasn’t too small.”

Justin surveyed the room again. His eye caught his grandmother’s maple jewelry chest with all its tiny drawers. He pulled one open. Twelve pairs of earrings sat neatly in their individual compartments. “I agree. He didn’t touch this, apparently. It would have been easy enough to pocket the contents.”

Gordon nodded. “That’s our working hypothesis.”

“But we can’t stay here tonight.”

“Afraid not. I’ll try to rush it, but we have to verify we’ve done a complete inspection.”

Dealing with the kinds of kids he taught, Justin had enough experience with cops to recognize pure cop mode when he saw it, sweater-folding notwithstanding. He was pretty good at reading facial expressions and body language. His students had learned lying didn’t work with him. But Gordon’s expression was—expressionless.

“It’s more than the mess, isn’t it? You think he might come back,” Justin said.

“If he didn’t get what he wanted, that’s a possibility.”

“Or maybe murder was part of his intent? The mess-making was a diversion? Or he enjoys it?”

“Letting anyone stay here is a risk I’m not willing to take.”

“But whoever did this might track down my grandparents. Is having them at Selma’s house all that safe? Even with a cop outside? You can’t cover every door, every window.”

For the first time, Justin caught a flash of concern in Gordon’s eyes. The cop immediately schooled his features to neutral. “If I could, I’d have them go to Denver. Hell, I’d send them to Paris. But the odds say that it’s a
thing
, not them, our guy wants. That Mrs. Bedford was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Justin felt the power of Gordon’s gaze once again. “You think it could be someone else? Not my grandparents.” He couldn’t suppress the chill snaking through him. “You think Megan or I might be a target?”

“I doubt it’s Megan,” Gordon said. “Her arrival was completely unexpected.”

“Me?” Justin swallowed. “You think I might be on this guy’s hit list? Why?”

Gordon put away the last sweater and speared Justin with his gaze. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

Gordon waited, watching. Given the circumstances, the man’s reactions and behaviors to this point had been consistent with a caring grandson. He’d looked totally shocked when Gordon suggested he might be in line to be murdered.

Even though Gordon felt the odds were slim, it was an avenue worth pursuing, if only to learn more about Justin Nadell. Because expected behavior or not, Gordon’s cop radar said the man was hiding something.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Justin said. “Why would someone want to kill me? I admit I’ve pissed off more than a few juvenile misfits, but I don’t think any of them would have the brains—or the resources—to do anything like this. They’re not murderers.”

“These misfits, as you politely call them, are your students?”

Justin’s eyes narrowed. “Of course. You think I hang with that crowd socially? Look, Mister Chief of Police. Believe it or not, we’re on the same side here. You try to catch the bad guys. I try to keep them from becoming bad guys. Or worse guys, since we don’t meet a lot of the cream of society where I work.”

“If we’re so alike in our professions, you understand I have to eliminate every possibility.”

Justin clawed his hands through his hair and sank onto the bed. “I guess. If this were the only crime, I could see you trying to connect me. But since the dress shop—” he paused, apparently searching for the right term.

“Incident,” Gordon supplied.

“Right. Incident. That’s sanitized enough. Since the
incident
came first, I don’t see it.”

“I’ll accept that. So, we have two crimes, apparently related, although one includes a homicide. Ignoring the homicide for the moment. Do you have any idea what our suspect might be looking for?”

“How would I know what some creep wanted? My guess would have been valuables, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. And I’ve been here less than two weeks. It’s not like I’d notice any obscure missing whatever.”

Gordon had to agree. If anything had been taken, it hadn’t been in plain sight, or there wouldn’t have been a need for the search.

Justin turned away and continued putting the room in order. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not leave this mess here for my grandmother to see. Unless you think it’s vital that she go through it the way it is, she shouldn’t have to deal with it. What’s downstairs is bad enough, but to know someone was pawing through her personal things? She should be spared that.”

Gordon thought of Rose’s face when she’d seen the living room. “I agree.”

Justin seemed to accept the temporary truce. He bundled the sheets and piled them by the door. “Give me a hand?” He gestured to the mattress laying half off the box spring. The two of them repositioned the king sized mattress where it belonged.

Justin cast a curious glance his way. “Come to think of it, why are you here instead of one of your underlings? Why is the Chief of Police on clean-up detail? Shouldn’t you be solving a murder?” The curiosity in Justin’s eyes shifted. His gaze shot a challenge like darts at a dartboard.

So much for a truce. “Maybe I am,” Gordon said.

“You suspect me? Of killing someone? I’ve gone from potential victim to suspect?”

“No, I don’t think you killed anyone.”

“So, why are you here? Did the hot-shot homicide detective decide you weren’t good enough to work on the murder, so he sent you to take care of some penny-ante crook?”

Gordon ignored the taunts. Something had set Justin off. And maybe that something hid a lead. Something he could follow.

He wandered past the open bureau drawers, leaving Justin with his grandmother’s intimate garments. The night table drawers were open, their contents dumped onto the floor. “Guy must have been in a hurry. How long were you gone?”

Justin appeared to be replaying his timetable. “My grandmother’s appointment was at eleven. She wanted to stop at the church to see about a memorial service for Mrs. Bedford. I’d say we left here about ten.”

Pure Rose. Although the Kretzers were Jewish, Megan’s parents weren’t. Rose and Sam had respected the Wyatts’ wishes and raised Megan in her faith, although they also included her in their own. She’d ended up embracing both religions. Small wonder, considering the double holiday celebrations, and the foods that accompanied them. The social connections Rose had made through the church hadn’t been severed, even after Megan left Mapleton.

Justin continued. “Doctor Evans was running behind schedule, and by the time we got out of there, it was nearly one. My grandmother had errands to run. My grandfather went with her. Megan and I went for coffee. I’d say it was between two-thirty and three when we got home.”

“No way for anyone to know when you’d be home, then.”

“No, other than the doctor’s appointment, everything was spontaneous.”

Gordon’s cell vibrated at his waist. “Hepler.”

“Chief, I think you should get here,” Laurie said. “The vultures are descending.”

Damn. The press conference. “On my way.” After disconnecting, he scooped what he assumed belonged in the night table drawer and set it on the bed. “I’ve got to go. If anything seems the slightest bit out of line—anything—call 911 and have them put you through to the Mapleton dispatcher.”

Gordon slipped into his office via the rear entrance. Damn, where had the time gone? He buzzed Laurie. “Is Detective Colfax around?”

“He’s on his way. I called him right after I called you.”

Good to see she had her priorities in order. “Thanks. Send him in as soon as he gets here.”

He needed a prepared statement. This was a far cry from the usual Mapleton media interview, which usually entailed meeting Buzz at Daily Bread for coffee and a sandwich. There was a strong possibility this might be picked up by the networks. Newspapers were bad enough. His palms sweated at the thought of making a fool out of himself on national television. Press conferences. Media vultures. What a waste of time.

He closed his eyes, picturing Dix and his father sitting in some eternal cop bar, laughing, lifting their boilermakers, peering down at him. He felt like a rookie with his training partner putting him through the wringer.

You accepted the job. Suck it up.

As he organized his thoughts and jotted notes, it occurred to him that this might be putting things into a clearer perspective, and might actually help him move the investigation forward. While he worked, something niggled at the back of his mind. Something he’d made a mental note to ask, and then forgotten.

He rubbed his neck. His brain was more like the midway at the carnival, and his stomach felt like he was riding a Tilt-a-Whirl inside a fun house. It would come to him eventually.

Gordon looked up when Colfax strode into the room and flopped into a visitor’s chair. He carried two cups of coffee and set one on the desk. Gordon nodded his thanks.

“You want me to handle the media?” Colfax asked. “I’ve worked with some of them before. No offense, but you look a little green around the gills.”

Tempting as it was, Gordon wasn’t going to let his own insecurities keep him from doing his job. “No, I’ve got it.”

“How are you going to spin it?” Colfax asked.

“I thought I’d tell the truth.”

Colfax grinned. “A novel approach.” He sipped his coffee before going on. “It’s not what you say, it’s what you don’t say. My advice, for what it’s worth. Stick to the facts. Keep it short. And you’re under no obligation to answer their questions. Better yet, no matter what they ask, give them what you want them to have.”

Gordon laid out his talking points. “You have anything to add?”

Colfax arranged his features into a perfect “impassive yet concerned” expression and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen. I know you understand that we cannot talk about an ongoing investigation. Be assured that the Mapleton Police Department and the County Sheriff’s Office are cooperating and working diligently to apprehend whoever is responsible for this travesty.” He grinned again. “You’ll notice I gave you top billing.”

“I thought I’d read a statement, then turn it over to questions. For both of us.”

“Not a problem.” Colfax’s grin disappeared. “When you answer, it’s good to let a little outrage show.”

Damn, but the man apparently enjoyed this stuff. “How do you stand it? Having all those people screaming questions and wanting dirt, not facts?”

“Come with me,” Colfax said and walked out of the room.

Curious, Gordon followed him down the hall to their briefing room. Colfax stepped toward the white board and stood a respectful distance away, as if it were a shrine. “I do it for her,” he said, indicating the photos of Mrs. Bedford. “All the crap, all the misquotes, all the interruptions at home when you’re trying to have a life. They all fade away when you get the assholes who do stuff like this. And sometimes, it’s a lead you get because someone saw you on the news or read an article in the paper.” Colfax rested his hand on Gordon’s shoulder briefly, giving a hint of a squeeze before backing out of the room.

Gordon lingered, staring at the white board for several long, heart-wrenching moments before tackling his statement. He lifted his gaze.

Just watch. I’m going to nail this.