Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets (8 page)

Justin fanned open the slats of the blinds and peered out his bedroom window. The cops had been checking all night. A plain blue sedan drove by. Did an unmarked car mean things were better or worse? The regular cop car parked out front had left about an hour ago.

Guess we’ve been demoted from stakeout to drive-by surveillance.

Rubbing his eyes, he climbed into bed. Hands folded under his head, he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. How had he ended up in the middle of this mess?

Easy answer. To spare his grandparents.

From the other room, he heard the rustling of sheets, a faint whimper. Megan tossing and turning. Again. Was she in pain? Having nightmares? Should he do something? The old feelings of inadequacy, of insecurity, of being a failure, threatened to displace any confidence he’d built over the years. He quashed a fleeting desire to pull the covers over his head. He was an adult now, and beyond those childhood anxieties. Now he had full-fledged grownup anxieties.

The whimpering grew louder. Almost a cry. Justin ripped back the covers and crossed to the bathroom. At Megan’s closed door, he paused. He tapped his knuckles against the wood. “Megan?” No answer. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard muffled weeping.

He eased the door open. “Megan?” he whispered into the darkness. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffled. “Go away.”

He flipped the bathroom light on. “No, I’m coming in.” He left the door ajar behind him, providing enough light to see.

She sat up, hugging the covers to her chest. “Just a dream.”

Justin crossed the room and sat at the foot of the bed. “Talk to me, Megan.”

“I…I can’t.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“You remembered, didn’t you?”

“No. It’s…I can’t sleep is all.”

“You want anything? Herbal tea? Hot chocolate? Another pain pill?”

She paused, as if he’d posed the question of the ages. She flexed her wrist, then inhaled sharply. “Maybe a pill.”

The vial sat on her bedside table, beside a glass of water. He opened the container and tipped out a tablet. She took it from his palm, popped it in her mouth, and he handed her the water.

“I haven’t been able to sleep either,” he said after she swallowed the pill. “How about we talk until it starts working?”

Handing him the empty glass, she cocked her head. “Another surprise. We hardly ever talked as kids.”

“Yeah. I was a loner. Not that you tried to change that.”

“The first time you visited—when I lived here—I was six. You were eight.”

“I remember. You were a bossy little squirt.” He gave her leg a playful punch.

“We were kids. I was insecure. I was afraid of you.”

“Afraid?” That hit him like a two-by-four. Megan the Fearless? Afraid of
him
? “Of me? Whatever for?”

She fussed with the sheet. “It hadn’t been that long since my parents died. I was a late-in life-baby, and my parents were probably closer in age to Rose and Sam than to parents of other kids my age. Rose and Sam were like family.

“Then, all of a sudden, they
were
family. Deep down, I worried that they might go away forever, or send me away. Rose used to go help Sam in the bookstore, but I’d panic if she left me with someone, or had someone come stay with me after school.”

“That’s understandable. You’d had a traumatic loss.”

“When you showed up, I thought Rose and Sam might like you more than me. And you didn’t like to play with us kids, so you spent a lot of time with Sam in his store. I was afraid they wouldn’t have room for both of us, and since you were a real relation, you’d be the one they chose.”

He didn’t respond immediately, trying to think like a frightened six-year-old who’d lost her parents less than a year before. All the mischief she’d wrought, blaming it on him. It made sense now.

“Maybe we didn’t talk enough then,” he said. “But my parents, and Oma and Opa, should have explained. I think kids understand a lot more than adults give them credit for. All my folks said that year was that Oma and Opa had a little girl living with them, and that I’d have someone to play with. I didn’t have many friends at home, so I thought it might be fun.” He grinned. “Even if you were a girl.”

“But I wasn’t what you’d expected.”

“No, you weren’t. You didn’t like to read. Or do jigsaw puzzles. Everything you did involved running, or included some kind of ball. I was a klutz. And then there was the frog incident.”

She ducked her head. “I’m sorry about that one. I still owe you for not telling Rose I put it in your bed.”

“I think I checked for nighttime guests for six months—even after I went home.”

“I remember being glad when you went home. Like I’d won. You stayed what—three weeks that first time? It seemed endless.”

He huffed. “Yeah, on that we can agree. And too bad, because that visit set the tone for all the rest.”

“If I could go back, I’d try to be more understanding. You think we can put it behind us? Start over?” She extended her good hand. “Friends?”

He accepted the handshake. “Friends.” Her hand was dry and warm in his. Smooth. In the dim light, he couldn’t read her eyes, but she didn’t let go. And then he wondered, if they’d grown up close, would he consider her more a sister than a woman? Because he was definitely thinking woman. So what? Sister or woman, it didn’t matter. What it meant was he now had one more person to protect.

Or could he trust her with the truth?

Gordon stood inside the doorway, taking in the scene, finding the detachment needed to keep from smashing his fist through the wall.

Betty Bedford was secured to her wooden desk chair. Her ankles were crossed in front of her, bound with duct tape. Another wide belt of tape went around her torso. Her arms, taped at the wrists, were behind the chair.

A nuisance, a pest, a thorn in his side she might have been, but she was a vital woman, barely into her sixties. She should have been pestering him for years to come. Her bright, eager eyes, now filmed with death, stared into nothingness.

He took three deep breaths, counted to ten, and called out to Doc Evans, who doubled as the city coroner.

Doc straightened from his crouch next to the body. “She’s been murdered.”

Yeah, that was a fairly easy call. The slit throat was a dead giveaway. Kind of hard to do yourself when you were tied up. Or tie yourself up afterward. And her shop was in ruins. Heaps of clothing in the center of the room, all her quirky
ambience
pieces broken and strewn helter-skelter. Cardboard boxes, contents spewed, lay upended amidst the debris.

“You going to call the Sheriff’s Office in on this one?” Doc said.

“Ya’ think?” Gordon scrubbed his hands over his face. “While we’re waiting, what can you tell me?”

“I’m no medical examiner, but I’m willing to go out on a limb and say cause of death was exsanguination.” He pointed to the pool of blood at the base of the chair. “She died in this chair, judging from the blood. And from the way the blood’s dried, I’d say she’s been dead several hours. The ME will be able to tell you more after an autopsy.”

“Thanks. Hang tight.” A homicide in Mapleton. There’d been one close call, a couple of thugs thinking they could lie low in Mapleton after robbing a Denver jewelry store about fifteen years ago. His father had been in the thick of things, and if not for the quick thinking of Dix, Betty Bedford might have been Mapleton’s second homicide victim instead of the first in fifty-some-odd years. Gordon took a moment to collect his thoughts, giving another silent thanks to Dix.

He pulled out his radio, then changed his mind and used his cell to call Dispatch. Buzz would be monitoring the radio, and he wasn’t ready to cope with a reporter. Buzz meant well, but his normal stories were gossip, although he called them human interest. This kind of a story would have him salivating, there’d be a special edition of the weekly paper, and he’d no doubt call in every media contact in Colorado. Hell, he’d probably call CNN.

Gordon wasn’t surprised when Connie answered his call instead of Irv. Even Angie had shown up at the scene.

“Hey, Chief. Irv called me. Said he felt a little out of his element, so I came in early.”

Irv, retired from another small town force, worked three nights a week as a dispatcher. Gordon thought he’d applied for the job as a way to live with his insomnia.

“Thanks. I need you to call the County Sheriff’s Office. Get them to roll their Crime Scene Response Team to Vintage Duds.”

“Already done.”

“Why do I get the feeling I was left out of the loop on this one?”

She lowered her voice. “Chief, I dropped the ball. I assumed Irv had already called you. I should have asked.”

He couldn’t bring himself to fault Connie. “It’s over. Good to know the department runs even when I’m not around. What else has gone down that I should know about? Recap, please.”

“Vicky McDermott called it in. Irv rolled the medics and another car. Then he called me. From what he said, I figured we were going to need all the help we could get.”

“You thought right. Get me three fresh uniforms to maintain the perimeter.”

“On it.”

“And if anyone but me calls, your vocabulary has been cut to two words. ‘No comment.’ Pass the word to the rest of the staff.”

“Roger.”

“Good work.” He hung up and backed out the door. Vicky McDermott stood sentry with her clipboard. She looked pale. He thought of Mrs. Bedford in the chair and figured he was probably a few shades lighter than normal too.

“Someone get pictures?” he asked her.

“Solomon, sir. He brought the good camera. All I have is that dinky point and shoot.”

“No problem. The county guys will bring all the fancy gear. I’m going to check around. Then I’ll need your report. Say, my office in half an hour?”

“Yes, sir.” She hesitated, like she wanted to say more.

“What is it?”

“I keep wondering if I could have done something to prevent this. Or been here in time to see the bad guy.”

“I’m sure you did everything according to procedure. I shouldn’t have given you two addresses to cover on top of your normal patrol duties.” He pulled his ball cap out of his pocket and tugged it on. “For what it’s worth, I’m kicking myself too. But hindsight isn’t going to help us now. We have to pull together and find the creep who did this.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll have my report ready.”

Her stride was steady as she walked to her car. Buzz, appeared from behind Angie’s van, dropping his cigarette into his coffee cup as he trotted up. “Chief! Chief!” He had a pen and notebook at the ready. “Can I get a quote? What happened?” Buzz stood on tiptoe and craned his neck, trying to peer into the shop.

“Buzz, you know we’re going to have to notify next of kin before you can run with any story. We don’t need your sensationalism.”

“What do you mean, sensationalism. I write in-depth studies.”

“For starters, your Holocaust article was uncalled for. Mapleton’s got a sizeable Jewish population. “

Buzz flapped a hand. “Hey, that was only the first article. I’m thinking my series will be picked up by the national papers.”

“Think about the consequences next time you print a one-sided article. You don’t want to alienate your readers, or they won’t read the next installment.”

“Hey. Not my fault they cut the bit where I explained I’ve got a whole series planned, showing all sides of the picture. I’ve got a hot lead on some new information. I’m lining up interviews with people from town. I’ve got a publisher interested in a book deal.” He shifted his gaze toward the shop. “But this is more immediate. I promise not to print anything until you give me the word. You’ve got to give me something, Chief. This is big.”

“What do you know?”

“Officer McDermott found Mrs. Bedford’s body. And her throat was cut. Do you have any suspects?”

Damn. That was already too much information.

“You know as much as I do, Buzz. And I’m counting on you to keep your word. If I see a special edition of the
Weekly
, you’re going to be so far out of the loop, you won’t know who won third prize for the best canned beets at the County Fair.”

Buzz glowered, then stomped toward his battered old RAV4. “Just doing my job,” he muttered, smacking his fists against his thighs.

Gordon waited until Buzz drove off, then found Ed Solomon, camera around his neck, leaning against the wall in the alley behind the store, but away from the door to Vintage Duds. Keeping the scene uncontaminated, Gordon thought, allowing himself a quick glow of pride that his officers knew their jobs.

Solomon had been on duty all day, and the security light above the door emphasized the shadows under his eyes. He snapped upright at Gordon’s approach. “Chief.”

Gordon nodded. “Didn’t expect to see you, but thanks for coming.”

Solomon’s lip twisted upward in a half-smile. “Hey, pass up a chance to be part of the only homicide in Mapleton history since—well, since before my time, anyway.”

“Mine, too. What did you find?”

Solomon pulled out his Maglite, flicked it on and pointed the beam at the Vintage Duds door. “No sign of forced entry. If our guy came in this way, either the door was unlocked, or Mrs. Bedford let him in.”

Gordon cursed under his breath. She’d probably heard more noises, thought she was catching her ghost, and opened the door to confront it. But it wasn’t a ghost.

 Solomon swung the light along the gravel-covered alley. “No prints I could find, nothing unusual, but we don’t have any snazzy toys to find the less-than-obvious stuff. No cigarette butts, no candy wrappers. Not like the alley behind Finnegan’s.”

“Yeah, Mrs. Bedford had everything spic and span tonight.”

“I heard the radio traffic. Another ghost watch.” Solomon made a clucking sound. “A ghost wouldn’t leave prints, or need to open the door.”

“You saw inside?”

Solomon sobered at Gordon’s tone. “Definitely not a ghost.”

“Any flesh and blood individuals show up?”

“Couple of lookie-loos, but I convinced them they should be elsewhere. And Buzz, of course, as expected. I sent him on his way, too.”

“Of course. The man must have a scanner on twenty-four seven. The other merchants know?”

“Nobody’s come by.”

He made a note to touch base with them. Maybe the rumor mill had stopped grinding and they hadn’t heard. If they had, they’d have been here. “Crime Scene Response team is on its way. I’ve got a couple of things to check at the station, but I’ll be back. Until then, grab some tape, block off the alley, let’s say one store in either direction. Same thing out front. Might as well show the locals we’re putting their tax dollars to good use.”

“Will do.” He started off.

“Hang on,” Gordon said. “Give me the memory chip. I can copy the files and start investigating.”

Solomon slipped the camera from his neck and extracted the chip, placing it in an evidence envelope he pulled from his jacket pocket. Gordon signed for it, then waited until Solomon returned with the yellow tape. After helping set the perimeter, Gordon stormed to the station to deal with the communication snafu.

Calmly. Professionally. With great finesse and understanding. Or so he told himself as he resisted the urge to peel rubber as he left the scene.