An Intimate Murder (The Catherine O'Brien Series) (3 page)

“A normal sized, dirty green, car of unknown make and model.”

Bernice smiled plaintively and nodded.

“Did you happen to see if it was a man or a woman driving the car?” Louise asked.

“A man.” She rocked back on the ottoman bracing her hands on her knees to keep from tipping backward. “Well, I guess it could have been a woman. The side windows were dark like a limo.”

“A normal sized, dirty green, car of unknown make and model, with tinted windows, driven by a man or possibly a woman.”

I read back the details with all the enthusiasm of a drive up window cashier. The only thing missing was the phrase, “do you want fries with that?”

Bernice tilted her head as if trying to read the writing in my notebook. There was no way she could read my chicken scratch handwriting. Hell, there was times I couldn’t read my own handwriting. She pointed to the page.

“Tinted
side
windows.”

I scribbled a note near where she had pointed, which seemed to appease her. Louise on the other hand was not amused by my charade.

“Thank you, Mrs. Leigh,” Louise said. “We’ll send someone by with photographs of cars for you to look through.” She reached into her pocket and drew out a business card. “If you think of anything else please call and let us know.”

Bernice snatched the card from Louise’s hand as if Louise were only joking and might take the rectangle of cardstock back at any moment.

“Oh, I will.” She held the card close to her chest as if it were her most prized possession.

Five seconds after we left, she’d be on the phone all right, to all her biddy friends. There had been more excitement today than in all her previous days combined was my guess and now she was helping the police solve a murder. Bernice Leigh, alleged kin to Janet, would probably tell her friends how she was the Angela Lansbury character in
Murder She Wrote
and Louise and I were the bumbling detectives who couldn’t find the right path with a neon-sign pointing the way.

Once outside, my entire body, which had been on point since my tact slipped, sagged with relief. Parts of me sagged more than others, and I made a mental note to buy a new bra. Soon.

“Well at least we were able to get something from her.” Louise pulled her jacket closed to ward off the chilly wind that gusted down the street. “She should be of some help.”

“She’s lying through her teeth.” I slung my purse up over my shoulder and started down the front walk toward the street.

“What?” Louise jogged up next to me. “I didn’t get a sense that she was lying. What did she lie about?”

“There is no way she’s related to Janet Leigh. Leigh isn’t even Janet Leigh’s real last name. It’s Morrison or something like that.”

“Catherine, try to focus on the investigation,” Louise said and gave me the warning look I had artfully avoided in Bernice’s house. “Did you get a sense she was lying about what she saw today?”

“Oh, that. No, she’s as honest as she can be about that topic.” I pointed back toward the house. “Did you see the binoculars in the front window? If someone comes home drunk and pukes in their flower bed she could give you an exact description of what they’d eaten for dinner.”

Louise blanched and then looked back to where the outline of Mrs. Leigh was already in the window watching us trot away. The shadowy figure waved and we waved back.

“She saw everything,” I said. “Bernice Leigh is the eagle eye of the neighborhood. She might have seen more than she knows. I say we give her a couple days to get the excitement out of her system and then pay her another visit.”

“Agreed.” Louise folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at me.

“What?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking that maybe we should have Gavin come in every morning and get you all worked up. You seem to function better with an edge of sexual frustration.”

I tried not to smile, but she’d given a great zinger and it deserved acknowledgment. I snuffled out a laugh.

“We’d have to put him on payroll as an Investigative Boy Toy.”

Louise gave a giggle. “Investigative Probe.”

“That’s so disgusting, Louise.” I gasped in shock. “I love it! He’s hired.”

We shared a laugh at Gavin’s expense. Of course, I would have to tell him about it later so I could watch the sexy flush that creeps into his cheeks. He can never understand all the things that women share, from chaffed nipples to sexual problems; women share everything, usually to the complete embarrassment and utter dismay of their spouse.

I had to agree with him on some levels. There’s a strict two-year waiting period before I share the most intimate details of my life with other women. I’d been at parties where a complete stranger will tell me about their chaffed nipples, their tragic childhood, their sex-life, and the results of their last pap-smear in the first ten minutes of a conversation. A clear-cut case of too much information.

“Where are we heading now?” I asked.

The smile on Louise’s face evaporated. “The part I’m not looking forward to.”

She turned her gaze across the street to Pam Hind’s house, a caravan of cruisers still parked in front. Two uniformed officers were trying valiantly to keep the press at bay, but eventually they would be gone and the news-wolves would be on her doorstep asking for any gory details they could get on an exclusive basis.

A couple of the press hounds must have scented us because they turned and looked toward where we stood. I could see their mental-wheels turning. If they were unable to breach the lines to Pam Hind and the Luther’s son, they would settle for a quote from Bernice Leigh.

“The son,” I said.

She nodded. “I hate talking to kids who have lost a parent. This kid lost both parents in one day.”

“I wonder if he’s called any relatives to be with him,” I said. “He’s going to need someone to help him sort out the details.”

Hell, I’m thirty-three years old and I’m not sure I could deal with the stress of planning a funeral for both of my parents.

We crossed to Pam Hind’s house, dodged the reporters’ questions with a quick “no comment”, and ducked under the barricade tape.

“How long do we need to be here?” The younger of the two uniforms complained. “My wife is making my favorite dinner tonight.”

“You’d better call her and tell her to put a plate in the microwave for you,” I said. “You’re going to be late.”

He grimaced but before he could protest a dark haired woman, wielding a mini-tape recorder ducked under the tape. The young officer intercepted her with the ease of Viking’s lineman.

She struggled against his embrace without success. “Detectives! Detectives!”

She held her mini tape recorder in both hands straight in front of her as if she were waving a sword.

“Please Detectives, just one quick comment.”

I stopped and whirled around. My boot heel caught in the grout of the faux-cobblestone sidewalk. I listed to the side, and stumbled two steps to the left before catching myself. “I have a comment.”

“Catherine?” Louise touched my arm.

“It’s okay, Louise.”

She let me go.

The reporter shook out of the uniformed officers hands and straightened her jacket. She eyed him with a smug ha, ha look.

“I’ll give this comment to all of you.” I took my place in front of a mob of reporters jockeying for the best position.

“Here it is, and make sure you quote me accurately.”

I paused for dramatic effect and to make sure the reporters had time to set their tape machines and video cameras to record.

“You should all be ashamed of yourself. A child has lost his parents and you want to pick at the remains. All of you should get on your knees, and ask for forgiveness, for the vultures that you are.”

A few audible gasps rolled up from the mass in front of me. Lights blinked off and the video and audio recorders drooped. I even received a “boo” from somewhere near the back, which prompted other boos from those less intelligent to think for themselves.

There was a reason our former governor called the press media jackals. I could have cared less for the Governor’s politics but him and I shared an opinion of the press that few outside of law enforcement, politics, and celebrity stardom could understand.

Before any of them could recover from their nose-tweak, and ask questions that would piss me off, I marched toward Pam Hind’s house. A roar of protests erupted about halfway up the walk.

“Very concise,” Louise said. “I don’t think it will make them go away though.”

“Nothing short of a toxic spill, from a drunk-driving tanker truck, that landed on the front law of the capitol building, and annihilated three bus loads of elementary school students, could move them from a double homicide in an affluent neighborhood,” I grumbled. “It doesn’t mean they don’t need to hear the truth now and then. Not that a one of them has conscience enough to process the truth.”

Louise shook her head and smiled. “Your dislike for the media has reached legendary proportions, Catherine. Someday you’ll have to explain to me where this hatred for all things press related comes from.”

Maybe I would. Someday but not today. Today she would just need to accept that I have my reasons.

Louise charged up the front stoop of Pam Hind’s stone house, her shoes making a quick snick, snick, on the steps with each jog. My boots made a clop, clop, like horses hooves as I stomped up behind her. She rapped lightly on the door.

After a few moments of waiting, my impatience got the better of me and I leaned on the white doorbell. Finally, sounds of life rattled from inside the house. Pam Hind jerked open the door, bent slightly at the waist, head forward like a dog that had gone feral ready to attack. When she saw Louise and me, her expression changed from one of attack to one of complete surprise. She straightened and took a step backward.

“Oh, Detectives. I thought one of the reporters had gotten to the front door.” She jerked her thumb toward the back of the house. “A few have climbed the fence in the alley and have been knocking on the back door looking for a quote.”

My heartbeat thrummed in my ears. I stuck two fingers in my mouth, turned toward the street, and let out a high-pitched whistle, a talent my Father had taught me when I was young. The two uniformed officers guarding the front turned in unison.

I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Send someone around back to arrest anyone they find in the back yard. Charge them with trespassing.”

The older officer gave a brief nod then pulled his radio from his belt, and made a call for help. I gave him the thumbs up sign, which he returned.

“I apologize, Mrs. Hind,” Louise said. “We try but sometime the media’s zeal eclipses their commonsense.”

Pam nodded and tsked as if she knew this instinctively. “Come inside. Chad’s in the living-room.”

The two-story entryway glowed in a sun-golden color that made my entire body feel warm and I shivered off fall’s chill. Three doorways and a staircase merged onto the entryway, like roads converging on a four-way stop. Through the doorway to the right was Pam Hind’s living room.

Chad Luther sat wrapped in a forest-green, polar-fleece blanket in a recliner by the fireplace. The flames licked at the bricks on the surround, as if Pam were worried that a reporter would pull a Santa Claus on her to get a quote.

“Has he said anything yet?” I asked.

“No.” She sighed and hugged her arms as if the chill from my body had transferred to hers. “I tried to talk to him but he just glared at me.”

“Glared at you?” Louise said. “Like he’s in a daze?”

Pam closed her eyes. “Maybe I’m misinterpreting, but the look was actually more like he blamed me. Maybe he’s just in shock.”

“Maybe,” Louise agreed.

We made eye contact for a brief second. In that second, we exchanged more information than Pam Hind could have picked up.

“We need to speak with Chad,” I said.

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to get anything from him,” she said. “But I have no right to stop you from trying.”

Chad Luther turned bleary eyes toward us without seeming to register our presence. An ember snapped from the fire and he jerked his head away from us to stare at the hearth. Louise sat on the sofa across from him.

“Can I get you ladies anything to drink? I have a pot of coffee percolating.”

My addiction’s want sprang to life and though I didn’t think I wanted anything to drink, I heard myself answer, “Yes, coffee please.”

Someday I may need to confront my coffee demons but now I had other, more important problems at hand.

Louise waved off the offer and Pam ambled out of the living room to get the coffee.

“Chad?” Louise reached out and laid her hand on his forearm. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

Chad Luther’s eyes closed and in a deep gravelly voice he said, “Take your hand off me and don’t ever touch me again.”

Louise slowly drew her hand away, as if sudden movement would cause Chad to strike out like a coiled snake.

He lolled his head toward her. The greasy mop of bangs fell over his forehead and into his eyes. He didn’t brush the hair away, which made me believe that’s where the hair usually stayed.