Dirty Laundry Page 11

  “Cardiac arrest.” I wasn’t about to add that she’d been watching the Yankees, Red Sox game at the time.

  “Stop being so hardheaded and stop taking the damned pills. You’re a doctor, why can’t you write your own prescriptions?”

  “Because I’m not practicing anymore,” I said. “Dead people typically don’t need medicine. And even though Denny was a vet, he was still registered with the DEA for be able to write prescriptions. If he’d stuck to selling birth control pills and penicillin, he would’ve never gotten caught. Besides, you think I’m dumb enough to take those pills without examining them first?”

  Jack sighed, letting a breath out long and slow, and he closed his eyes. “No, I don’t think you’re dumb. I’m sorry.”

  I felt the tension and anger drain from my body. “The good news is since we’ve gotten married, I can actually have health insurance now. If I’d known how cheap it was through the county instead of private pay, I would’ve married you years ago.”

  “Hilarious,” Jack said, straight-faced. “If I’d known what a huge tax deduction we’d get for being married, I’d have married you years ago too. Are we done with this fight?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I said. “But it’s probably best we had sex earlier.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “Do you think Jenson could be the man Monica is having an affair with?” I asked.

  “I guess anything is possible, but you’d think one of the other neighbors would have picked up on it. It’s hard for two people to hide it when they have a sexual relationship. People think they do a good job of concealing it, but there are little things that give it away. Robert said it was for Monica’s protection. Because Harrison is such a letch. At least that story is consistent.”

  “True,” I agreed. “Everyone hates Harrison. You’d think he’d be the one who was murdered instead of sweet Mrs. McGowen.”

  “It’s a secluded, cul-de-sac neighborhood,” Jack said. “I walked the perimeter today. Behind the houses on Mrs. McGowen’s side of the street is nothing but woods. The other side takes you to Galliard Street, but it’s a heck of a walk.”

  “And that’s a busy street. You couldn’t exactly park on the side of the road without someone noticing.”

  “Maybe not at that time of the morning, but there are quite a few businesses across the street. Maybe someone has an outdoor camera.”

  “What’s on the other side of the street?” I asked.

  “More woods and a creek,” he answered. “It’s a shorter distance to the nearest street, but it’d be more difficult to get to. The creek is a good twenty feet down, and the terrain is rocky and rough. It wouldn’t be easy in the daytime, much less when it was still dark outside.”

  “Plus, they’d have to make their way to the other side of the street somehow. With the running club out and about, it’d be risky.”

  “Monica’s husband was still on shift and didn’t get home until around eight. Nash already checked him out. Clark and Maria Green were asleep. They both were up to start their day around seven. Maria still has pretty bad morning sickness, and she told Martinez that Clark brought her tea and toast to help settle her stomach. Clark got ready for work and left a little after eight. He’s an electrician. Maria didn’t have to be at work until ten, so she stayed in bed a little longer. She’s a manager at the shoe store on Purgatory Drive.”

  “I love that place,” I said. “They’re having a BOGO sale right now.”

  “Good, you should go and talk to her. See what she knows about everyone.”

  “The silent part of that sentence was that I should buy shoes so I have a good reason to be there.”

  “You’re so good at hearing the things I don’t say,” he said, his smile tight.

  “Marriage is an amazing thing.”

  “Uh huh,” he said. “Jenson and Angela Davis are next door to the Clarks. Jenson was running with Monica. Angela was asleep until she heard Jenson come back home and get in the shower. They have two young kids, and Jenson drops them off at daycare on his way to the insurance agency. Angela is a fitness instructor at the gym. She teaches the eight o’clock spin class that JoAnn Taylor was in.

  “Then there’s Abby Clearwater. She’s in the running group with Robert and Janet. She said she enjoys every minute of her summer break she can. After they got back from their run, she hopped in the shower and then got back in bed. She said she didn’t wake up again until after ten. She does work part-time in the afternoons at the florist, but only Monday through Thursday. She likes to have her weekends free. She’s got a guy she’s been seeing in Richmond.”

  “Did she have anything to say about Harrison?” I asked.

  “Nothing other than he creeped her out,” Jack said.

  “Too bad there wasn’t a Most Likely to Creep Women Out award when we were in high school. Does he have any sexual misconduct complaints?”

  “Complaints, yes,” Jack said. “But nothing that ever stuck. Mostly from the law clerks and interns who’ve had the misfortune of working with him. He’s got too much money and can make life miserable for anyone who wants to challenge him. At least most people. Women typically steer clear of him.”

  “Which is ridiculous,” I said, my anger going to full throttle. “The fact that women have to just ‘stay out of his way’ shouldn’t be the norm for making his behavior seem acceptable.”

  “I agree with you,” he said. “But until someone comes forward and fights, we can’t do anything about it.”

  I hated it, but he was right. I hadn’t given two thoughts to Harrison Taylor since high school, but to find out he’d been terrorizing the women in town made me wish we’d crossed paths.

  “Janet Selby is alibied with the running club,” he went on. “And Richard left the day before to go to a veterinary conference in DC.”

  “He could commute that,” I said.

  “Apparently, this is an annual thing. He goes for the entire week, does business, and meets up with some golfing buddies. We called the hotel and confirmed he checked in on Sunday at three o’clock. The Selbys have two kids, but one’s in junior high and the other in high school, so they stay at home in the summer while their parents work.

  “Coming up the other side of the street is Doug Roland, and no one has been able to vouch for his whereabouts. He was home Sunday, according to Carl, because he answered the door when they delivered the banana bread. But Katie said he was rarely at home, and no one remembers seeing his car in the driveway the rest of the week. We’re still trying to track him down. We did run a background on him, and he’s career military. Lives a pretty quiet life. Never married. No children. No debt. No big expenses. Not a gambler. His biggest expense is for a hunting lodge in South Carolina. There’s no cell or internet service there, so I’ll put in a call tomorrow to the sheriff there and see if they can run him down.

  “Katie and Jeremy are next door to Doug. Both of them were home and asleep since they had a sick kid up all night. But Katie did witness the mystery man at Monica’s around midnight.”

  I scanned through the pages of Martinez’s report until I found Monica’s statement. “She told Martinez and Chen that she was alone that night. That her husband was at work and she went to bed around ten because she had to get up so early.”

  “We’ll follow back with her on that,” Jack said. “Katie’s husband went in late that morning because of the sick kid. Mrs. McGowen is next door to them. And then there’s Carl and Robert Planter. They both left the house right around five o’clock. Carl to head off to the job site and Robert to walk across the street to the empty house to warm up in the yard.”

  “The next person to arrive was Janet Selby around five-fifteen,” I said. “Robert had fifteen minutes of time alone.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a stretch. He’d have to run across the street, kill her, and be back in place by the time Janet showed up because she said he was already there when she arrived. And they all said that her windows were open when they
left and were closed when they returned. Frank and Edna Bright were asleep, and though they’re mean as snakes, they’re not exactly in the best physical condition to commit murder. And I can’t imagine them being quiet enough to get the job done.”

  I snickered at that. I could imagine the two of them sniping at each other while trying to commit murder.

  “That leaves JoAnn and Harrison Taylor. Harrison started with the running club, but he didn’t finish with them. According to JoAnn, he was always back long before the others. She saw him briefly before she left for her spin class. They’ve got the three kids, but they’re all old enough to hang out on their own in the summer.”

  “So what you’re telling me is that out of everyone who lives on that street, Harrison Taylor is the only one who doesn’t have an alibi for the window of time we think Mrs. McGowen was murdered in.”

  Jack nodded and let out an audible breath. “Yep, that’s what I’m telling you.”

  Chapter Ten

  I generally wasn’t a morning person, but after Jack’s alarm went off and he got in the shower, I couldn’t make myself go back to sleep. But not for lack of trying. In my opinion, people shouldn’t get out of bed if it was still dark outside.

  My mind wouldn’t shut off, so I dragged myself up and into the shower. I dressed in my typical work attire of comfortable black slacks and a black and white striped sleeveless shirt. I grabbed a black cardigan at the last second because the police station was always cold and so was the funeral home.

  By the time I got downstairs, Jack was finishing up his breakfast. He handed me a cup of already prepared coffee, and I took a small sip to test the temperature. It was perfect.

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice croaking.

  Several months before, I’d been choked to the point of unconsciousness by a serial killer. My voice had never quite regained its original timbre. It tired easily, and sometimes I’d be hoarse at the end of a long day. And it took a while to warm up in the mornings. But even when I was warmed up, I still had a rasp that had never been there before. Jack told me it was sexy. I tried to believe him.

  “I’ll see you at the nine o’clock briefing,” he said and kissed me on the top of the head. “I’ve got a meeting at eight, so I’ve got to get going, but I’m going to try and pin down Harrison Taylor for a meeting at some point today.”

  “Fun,” I said, clearing my throat. “Don’t forget Vaughn’s coming tonight for dinner.”

  “Right,” Jack said. “Y’all are going to track down the infamous Madam Scandal.”

  “Hey, maybe if we can find her, she can tell us who killed Mrs. McGowen.”

  “Very funny,” Jack said. “Nine o’clock.” And then the front door closed behind him.

  I finished my first cup of coffee, enjoying the silence, but there had been something bothering me about Foxglove Court that I couldn’t get out of my mind. I had plenty of time before the nine o’clock briefing, so I poured a to-go cup and grabbed my bag before heading out to the Suburban.

  I drove into town and then turned onto Galliard Street. Traffic was heavy at this time of the morning, so I had plenty of time to check out the wooded area to my right. Across the street were a few businesses, so someone could have parked there and walked across. And Jack was right—at that time of the morning there would hardly be anyone out and about. The trees were so thick you couldn’t see a hint of the houses behind them.

  I circled around to the other side and wound through the neighborhood that backed up to the side of the street the Middletons and Abby Clearwater lived on. It was more of a winding road, and again, the trees were thick. There was also a chain-link fence that ran the length of the trees, presumably protecting people from the powerlines. And there was also a creek that ran somewhere behind the houses. It wouldn’t have been impossible to park along this street and make it to Foxglove Court. It was low-end housing and there were more cars parked on the street. Making it over the fence and across the twenty foot drop where the creek ran would have been possible for someone in semi-decent shape. It was just much more complicated for someone to come in that way to kill a little old woman who lived in the middle of the block on the opposite side of the street.

  When looking at means, motive, and opportunity, we didn’t have a whole lot to go on. We didn’t have a suspect, but Harrison Taylor was high on the list of persons of interest. He definitely had the means and opportunity. But what was the motive? Recipes? Maybe if he was doing it for his wife, but in that case, they’d be in on it together. Which I wasn’t totally turned off by.

  But just because I wanted it to be Harrison or JoAnn didn’t mean it was. Everyone else on the street had an alibi. And one of the first things Jack had taught me was to not make things too complicated. Sometimes the simplest answer was, in fact, the right answer.

  What if someone had parked along this street, but hadn’t trampled through the woods in the middle of the night? What if they were already on the street, waiting for the right opportunity?

  I drove back out of the neighborhood and made my way to Foxglove Court. I parked in front of Mrs. McGowen’s house, but that wasn’t my focus. I waved to Katie next door as I got out of the Suburban. She was in her usual place by the front window. Doug’s truck was still gone, as was Carl’s. In fact, the street looked deserted except for Katie’s Mazda CX-5 and a dark blue Honda Civic that was parked in the driveway at the Middleton’s. I assumed it belonged to Monica’s husband, Keith. He’d probably just gotten home from work and was going to bed.

  There was still crime scene tape on the front door of Mrs. McGowen’s, and I decided to walk up the street and cross by the cul-de-sac because it was harder for Katie to see what I was doing.

  I hadn’t been dreaming when I’d seen that curtain move in the vacant house the day before. What if the killer had been on the street all along? As soon as the runners took off, they’d be clear to make their way to Mrs. McGowen’s house. Her windows were already open. All he’d have to do is remove one of the bedroom screens and slip in. She was hard of hearing anyway, so if her TV was up loud, she wouldn’t have heard him enter. Then he bashes her in the head, takes her computer, closes all the windows, and is back outside long before Harrison Taylor comes back from his run. The killer could’ve stayed in the house all week, waiting and watching to see if someone would discover his handiwork.

  And if I was honest, I couldn’t get that freesia out tied with a ribbon out of my head. It could have been a coincidence, but then again, I wasn’t sure I believed in coincidences when it came to my father.

  I sent a quick glance toward Janet Selby’s house, not wanting to get caught in another conversation, but the driveway was empty. I walked right up to the front door and tried the knob, but it was locked. I rang the bell, just in case, but I didn’t hear anything stirring on the inside. The good thing about these houses was that none of them were divided by fences. Most people got their privacy like Mrs. McGowen, by planting hedges or some other kind of plant. But there was nothing that enclosed the vacant house’s backyard, though it was more heavily treed than the other lots.

  The backyard was nice, and I personally thought Janet should have spent a little more time trying to sell us on those features. There was a covered porch and an outdoor fireplace, and a deck that looked like it was meant for entertaining. And she’d been right—there was plenty of room for someone to add in a pool. If I were to buy a house like this one, the first thing I’d do was make the entire back of the house windows so I could see outside. As it was, there were two windows that sat fairly close together and looked into the living room. The back door was solid and plain.

  But when I tried the door knob it turned beneath my hand, and I felt my pulse start to race. I pushed the door open gently and decided to bluster my way through, just in case there was someone inside. And if there was, hopefully that person wasn’t a killer.

  “Hello,” I said. The sound of my voice echoed back at me. “I’m just here to look at the house aga
in. Janet said it was okay to come on over. She left the back door unlocked for me.”

  I waited again, but there was nothing, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. The chocolate chip cookie smell was still wafting through the air, and the house had an empty feel to it. I bypassed the kitchen and went to the front bedroom, where I’d seen the curtains move the day before.

  It was a small room, probably used as an office or spare bedroom. The carpet was beige and the walls had been recently painted a soft eggshell. There were no blinds in the window, only the starch-pressed sateen curtains. I touched them, peeking out to the front yard. They were heavy, and there was no way the air conditioning kicking on would have moved them that much.

  “You were always a curious child,” a voice said from behind me. “Did you notice the freesia? I thought it was a nice touch.”

  I felt my shoulders tense immediately and took a second to compose my face before I turned around. He’d always moved quietly, like a ghost. I hadn’t seen my father since before Jack and I got married. In fact, the last time I’d seen him, Jack had been holding a gun on him, ready to arrest him and turn him back over to the FBI. But no one captured Malachi Graves. Not unless he wanted them to. And just like that, he’d been gone…pfft…like a ghost.

  “Yes,” I said. “And you always told me not to ask too many questions.”

  “It didn’t stop you from asking them,” he said, smiling slightly.

  He’d changed subtly over the past months, since he’d come back from the dead to haunt the living again. He was a man who could look like anyone, blend in anywhere. He was average height and average build. His hair had been the color of a deer pelt the last time I’d seen him, but he’d dyed it gray with a little bit of silver at the temples, and his goatee matched. He’d gotten rid of the tortoiseshell glasses and was wearing pale blue contacts. His jeans and Henley were nondescript, unmemorable, but he was still my father.

  “You know I’m just going to call Jack and tell him where you are,” I said.