An Intimate Murder (The Catherine O'Brien Series) (18 page)

Louise took her Glock from the leather holster she kept attached to her belt. I did the same with mine. Adrenaline surged through me. My heart pounded in my ears.

We approached the front door, guns drawn but pointed at the ground at arm’s length.

“Excuse me!” A shrill voice called from the porch next door. “Don’t do that!”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw a fat woman with stringy, salt and pepper, hair hanging in her face.

“Wait!” She waved and jogged toward us with her limp wrists flopping at breast level as she chugged toward us. “Wait, please!”

With the effort of a champion weight lifter, the fat woman huffed up the steps. She gulped for air, as if she was on the verge of a heart attack.

“Ma’am you should go back to your house,” I said. “This is none of your business.”

“You don’t need to do this.” She wheezed and braced her arms on the porch rail. “Let me talk to her. She’ll come out.”

“Ma’am, please.” I put my hand on her shoulder to lead her away. It was like trying to move Gibraltar.

“What do you have to lose? Just let me try.”

She turned her eyes to Louise.

“Please, I’ve been living next door to Katie for the past ten years. I know she’s not well but she will listen to reason.”

Louise, who had been in a ready crouch, straightened. “I’d rather have Miss Dolan come out on her own, if you think you can talk her out.”

“I’m not making any promises, but it can’t hurt.”

The woman raked her stringy hair away from her face and approached the door. She took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her lips, and gave three short raps.

“Go away,” Katie screamed from behind the door. “I swear to God I’ll kill you if you fucking touch me.”

“Katie,” the woman sing-songed in a clear high voice. “It’s Cheryl Patton from next door.”

She sounded like she was asking to borrow a cup of sugar.

“Go away.” Katie wasn’t shouting and her voice had moved closer to the door. “Go away, Cheryl.”

“Katie, you’re being unreasonable,” she said.

I cringed waiting for the screaming. It didn’t come, only a piteous, muffled crying. No, more like weeping than crying.

“Katie, please come out,” Cheryl soothed. “No one will hurt you.”

Cheryl’s eyes turned up to me for confirmation and I shook my head. We didn’t mean to harm Katie. Of course, we were still going to arrest her, but I didn’t think that Cheryl needed that little detail.

“Do you promise?” Katie wept.

Cheryl nodded. Then, as if she just remembered Katie couldn’t see her through the solid oak door, Cheryl added, “I promise.”

The deadbolt clicked back and the door jerked open. Katie Dolan peeked out like a frightened rabbit peeking out from its hole. She glimpsed Cheryl Patton first and then me. Her eyes dropped to my gun and she whimpered.

“Come out, Katie.” Cheryl glared at me.

I slipped my gun back into its holster and covered the offensive iron with my jacket. On the other side of the porch, Louise did the same.

Katie took Cheryl’s offered hand and slipped through the doorway like a dog that had been kicked one too many times. She folded into Cheryl’s arms; the embrace was as sweet as a mother comforting a child scared by thunder.

Katie sobbed against the ample bosom of Cheryl Patton who petted her hair.

I took out my handcuffs, but Louise shook her head. She nodded to the street where a uniformed officer in a cruiser had parked next to the curb.

“Mrs. Patton,” Louise said. “Are you willing to accompany Miss Dolan to the police station for questioning?”

“Do you want me to go with you, Katie?”

Katie nodded.

“Sure,” Cheryl said. “I’ll go.”

The patrol officer helped the two women into the back seat and drove away. A large crowd of people gathered around the front yard and their questioning eyes locked on us.

We assured the assembled mass that we were only questioning Katie and that Cheryl was only accompanying Katie and was not under arrest. They would be home before dinner was on the table.

We crawled into Louise’s car Jane still rubbed and tugged at her cheek, in the back seat. I wondered if she had a germ phobia of some kind.

“Don’t go through with the assault charges,” Louise said.

“What? No way, that woman spit on me.”

I held up my finger. “Actually, she spit out the door. You happened to be standing where the loogey landed.”

“That’s still assault,” Jane said. “Who knows what kinds of diseases she has. The human mouth has all sorts of disgusting bacteria.”

I turned to Louise. “I was looking the other direction when all of this happened. Did you see this alleged assault?”

Louise turned toward the windshield and revved the engine of the Toyota, sending the neighbors assembled around the car scurrying for safety.

“No, I was distracted.”

Instead of tearing away from the curb as I had expected, and had braced myself for, Louise slowly pulled out and ambled down the street. We passed a playground at the end of the road with a large group of children running about and shouting at one another. Louise waved at one little boy who was standing on the sidewalk waving to us.

“Come on you guys,” Jane said. “What if she had spit on either one of you?”

“It’s disgusting, I’ll grant you that, but you’re not injured,” Louise said. “If we go in to interrogate her and tell her she’s charged with assault, she won’t tell us anything.”

I picked up for Louise. “On the other hand if we tell her that she can go home as soon as she answers our questions, she might be less reticent to tell us what we want to know.”

“I’m pressing charges.” Jane gazed out the back window.

I bent at the waist, opened my purse, and took out a manila file. One of the advantages of carrying a purse that was slightly smaller than a large diaper bag was that you could carry more than just your wallet. Times like this vindicated my choice despite the purse’s lack of fashionability.

I waved the file over the back seat.

“What’s that?” Jane asked.

“The file from the Sheriff of McCann County.” I glanced at her over my shoulder.

Jane’s brows drew together. “And that means what to me?”

I sighed, pulled the file back, and held it in my lap. “This is a full account of Chad’s Grandmother’s murder.”

I held up the file again. “If you agree to not press charges against Katie Dolan, I’ll let you read the file.”

Jane’s dark eyes lit with excitement for about ten seconds, then dimmed.

“What good would it do me, Detective?” she asked and bent toward me.

“It’s not like I can print anything I read anyway.”

Louise glanced at me and lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow as if to ask, what now. I pressed my eyes closed, took a deep breath and resigned myself to what I was about to do.

“If you agree to not press charges, I will let you read the file. I will also work with you to come up with an acceptable story about the Grandmother’s murder.”

Jane cackled with laughter. “I can just see what you’d allow me to publish. No way.”

I was not at all qualified to negotiate with this woman. My favorite line from
Born Yesterday
(the Judy Holiday version not the sucky remake), “do what I’m telling you” kept running through my brain. I wanted to shout at Jane,
just do what I’m telling you
– a far from diplomatic response.

“Okay.” I rubbed my hands together like a miser about to dive into his booty. “Let’s be reasonable here.”

From the corner of my eyes, I saw a grin split Louise’s face. She knew that
let’s be reasonable
was code for, please do things my way.

“What exactly will it take to get you to forget the spit shower?”

Jane unlocked her seatbelt and slid forward to speak directly into my ear.

“I want access to that file and I want to be allowed to publish the story I want to write.”

“Alright, a counter offer. This is what negotiating is really all about. Now it’s my turn to make another offer.” I smiled. “Okay, try this one on for size. You don’t press charges. You get to read the file.”

Jane and Louise nodded in unison.

“You get to write the story as you want to write the story.”

Jane nodded.

Louise cast a look of doubt in my direction.

“Then I get to edit the story.”

I nodded.

Louise nodded.

Jane cast a look of doubt in my direction.

“Take it or leave it,” I said. “It’s either that or your paper goes to press without a Jane Katts exclusive.”

Jane flopped back against the seat.

“Take the deal Jane,” Louise said. “There won’t be any more counter offers.”

Jane stewed in the back seat for several minutes, likely trying to decide how much she could get away with before I would start to wield my veto power. The smug smile on Louise’s face told me that I was about to win the negotiation.

“Deal.” Her hand snaked between the seats palm up. “Let’s see the file.”

I tucked the file back into my purse. “After Katie Dolan has answered our questions and is safely on her way home.”

“You think I’ll welch?” Jane’s tone was incredulous.

I considered the question for a long moment. “I think anyone who would bluff with a pair of twos, just might welch.”

Jane Katts fell silent and stayed silent for the remainder of the trip. From the glimpses I caught of her in the visor mirror, she looked like she was already writing her story.

Cheryl Patton rocked Katie Dolan back and forth like a mother comforting her child. Katie’s sobs trailed down to soft snuffling and coos.

“Miss Dolan,” Louise said. “Have you contacted your attorney?”

Katie’s wide eyes turned to Louise’s face. “No. That cop I rode in with said I wasn’t under arrest. He said I was only here for questioning.”

“That’s correct,” Louise said. “You do know that we’re here to ask you about the murder of your cousin?”

Huge, glassy, tears rolled down Katie’s cheeks. She nodded, and then sniffed up a huge wad of snot.

I prepared myself to dodge another loogey assault. This time however she swallowed and went on weeping. I slid a box of tissues toward her. Katie eyed me suspiciously then pulled two tissues from the box.

Louise turned on the tape recorder.

“We’d like to ask you some questions about Susan and Jonathan’s murder,” She repeated for the benefit of the tape.

“I don’t know anything except she got what she deserved.” Katie wiped her nose up toward her hairline the way a small child would, turning her nose into a snout as she did.

“Katie,” Cheryl Patton interrupted before we could clarify what Katie had meant. “You can’t say such things. These police officers will think that you hurt your cousin.”

She spoke as if she were talking to a three-year-old. I wondered how far from the truth that assessment really was. Even if Katie had something to do with the murders of Jonathan and Susan Luther, from the dull-eyed stare Katie gave Cheryl Patton, we might be looking at a valid diminished capacity plea. It would certainly explain why Katie’s father had put all her money in a trust administered by her cousin.

“Miss Dolan,” Louise continued. “You threatened your cousin’s life. She filed charges against you for terroristic threats.”

“She was being a big baby,” Katie said. “I didn’t hurt her. But Susan said I had to learn not to talk to people that way, so she had me arrested.”

Tears welled in her eyes again at the thought of her arrest. Cheryl put her arm around her and soothed her like a small child.

“You have to understand,” Cheryl Patton said. “Katie has threatened everyone, but she doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s harmless.”

“She spit at us,” I said.

Jane Katts watched from behind the two-way glass since we forbid her from attending the interrogation. I might regret reminding Jane about the spitting, but it was relevant to the questioning.

“But she didn’t hurt anyone.” Cheryl chuckled as if people went around spitting on each other every day. “Katie couldn’t hurt anyone. She doesn’t have the strength or the malice. She threatens people, yes, but she could never follow through. She doesn’t even drive. To commit a crime she would have to get to the scene and leave again. How would she have done that? By cab?”

“It’s my understanding, Miss Dolan, that you were left a large sum of money by your father. Is that correct?” I asked.

Katie nodded. “Over two hundred million.”

Cheryl sucked in a deep breath and her eyes went wide. Evidently, Cheryl had been under the impression that poor Katie Dolan was, in fact, poor.

“Your cousin was the head of the trust for your inheritance?” Louise lifted one of the pages in the file she held before her as if to confirm this information.