Done to Death (15 page)

She'd been paged at home, the Middletown dispatcher unaware of Detective Perez's history with Grenville. ‘Kevin.' She looked at Chief Simpson, remembering how she'd first met him. It was something of a surprise to find he'd replaced the prior police chief, Hank Morgan, who was eminently qualified and unfortunately corrupt, in that small-town ‘it's just how we do business' kind of way. She thought of something Hank once said about Kevin:
In the valley of the blind man, the one-eyed man is king
. ‘Kevin, you need someone to sit with her. She's very high risk.'

‘OK,' he said, not offended by the reminder. ‘I'll make sure of it. You going to the house?'

‘Yeah.' She got off the bed and, away from Rachel, whispered, ‘I need to see the body before they move it.'

‘I'll meet you there,' he said and, before she could say it again, ‘and don't worry, I'll get a sitter.'

The ride north of Grenville to the Parks' estate in Shiloh took eight minutes. It was a clear night with a half moon and a country sky bright with stars. Jamie drove while Mattie accessed the case file for Lenore's murder. ‘No weapon was recovered,' she said.

‘So what does that mean for jurisdiction if the one used on Richard Parks turns out to be the same gun?'

‘Good question. Answer is, it depends.'

‘On?' the young detective asked.

‘Whether Rachel confesses. That would be easiest. Just take our time, make sure all the proper psych evaluations take place and see if she tries for an insanity plea.'

‘It's a tough standard,' Jamie said.

‘Yes and no, but she's doing a good job so far. No attempt to conceal anything. Acting nuttier than a fruitcake. If she keeps it up …'

‘Interesting,' Jamie said, as she turned down the private road to the Parks Mansion. ‘So on the surface it's text book. She schizophrenic or something?' She slowed as they approached a quaint two story red-brick building close to the road and next to an open security gate. The lights were on. ‘This can't be it …'

‘No,' Mattie said. ‘It's some sort of guest house, maybe for the help. And no to Rachel being schizo, at least not likely. It's something else. At the very least, she's a cutter.'

‘You got to wonder what's wrong with these people. With that kind of money, you'd think they'd be happy.'

‘You never know,' Mattie said as they rounded a curve and got their first look at Lenore's imposing weathered-brick mansion, four stories high with white-mullioned windows and copper gutters. Shaped like a U with two large wings, it reminded the detective of something out of Masterpiece Theatre. This wasn't a house for real people … at least not for any she knew. The surrounding trees were artfully illuminated and edged by walls of pruned azaleas, their peach and purple blooms muddied like bruises in the artificial light.

The road ended in a circular drive where two of the state's crime scene vans were parked by a tiered marble fountain. Behind them was the Medical Examiner's Bronco and three Grenville cruisers.

‘What do you think a place like this goes for?' Jamie asked.

‘Millions, no idea how many.'

‘And this is just one of her houses.'

‘Yeah.'

‘In
The Post
they said Lenore's estate is close to a billion dollars. So if the son is dead and the daughter goes to jail, or gets locked up in Whiting Forensic, who gets the money?' Jamie asked.

‘Excellent question,' Mattie said. ‘Always keep your eye on the cash.'

Jamie pulled in behind a Grenville cruiser and the two got out.

Mattie cringed as a familiar male voice called to her. ‘Detective Perez, we really must stop meeting like this.'

‘Hello Arvin,' Mattie said.

The short, fat and balding Medical Examiner stamped out his cigarette and headed toward them. ‘If it isn't the two loveliest detectives in the state of Connecticut.'

‘You know that could be considered sexual harassment,' Jamie said.

‘Only if you object and tell me to stop,' he said.

‘I object, please stop,' Mattie said.

‘Naah.' He waggled his eyebrows. ‘You want to look at a dead body?'

Mattie chuckled. Arvin was a lech, but over the years he'd been helpful and never crossed the line into being truly creepy. ‘It's why we're here.'

‘We have so much in common.' He led them up the broad stone steps. ‘If only you could see beyond my ageing exterior to my inner beauty.'

Mattie ignored his prattle as she took in her surroundings. The house, she realized, was something of a fraud. Her prior outings to Grenville, where the antiques industry was king, had educated her. The built-to-impress Georgian-style mansion was a reproduction, likely built by some wealthy Manhattanite at the turn of the twentieth century.

The front door was wide open. Mattie, Jamie and Arvin paused on the threshold and put paper booties over their shoes.

‘Holy crap!' Jamie said, as they took in the grand hall with its sweeping double staircase and thirty foot coffered ceilings. In front of the stairs was a massive marble table, its surface a Pompeian mosaic of semi-precious stones.

‘He's upstairs,' Arvin said, unfazed by the extravagant house. At the second floor landing he led them past a photographer who was documenting blood spatter in the carpet. ‘This way,' and he brought them into a sitting room that could have been featured in
L
magazine if it hadn't been for the dead man lying curled on the floor in nothing but a pair of baby blue boxers. ‘He was shot a single time.' Arvin knelt beside Richard Parks' muscular body and pulled a pair of blue polypropylene gloves from his back pocket. ‘This,' pointing to an area of dried blood between the man's shoulder blades, ‘is your exit wound. And this …' he pulled out a small LED flashlight and handed it to Jamie. ‘Hold that,' and he repositioned himself on the front side of the body. ‘See, right there? Just right of the sternum is a powder burn, so very close range. I'd say no more than three feet.'

‘But the blood in the hall?' Mattie asked, letting her senses drink in the scene. She wondered how much had already been altered by the crime scene team. She inhaled deeply. She'd smelled this before.
Right, Rachel's perfume.
She looked toward an open door at the back of the room. It led to a bedroom. Without touching anything she peered through. The four poster bed was unmade, the bedding rumpled and pillows mashed.
Someone was having fun.
‘He wasn't shot here.'

‘No, he took a long walk.' Arvin said.

‘Show me.'

Arvin got up and led them back through the house. Mattie's gaze took in the lavish surroundings, like walking through an antique store where everything was well beyond her detective's salary. She noted the work that the crime scene team had already done. The trail of blood droplets protected by small white cones. They led from the suite where Richard was found to a second, almost identical set of rooms in the opposite wing.

Arvin led them back, through a sitting room with leather chairs and couches, to the bedroom. ‘There,' he said, indicating a ragged circle of blood on the white linen. It was roughly half a foot in diameter; the center was still moist and there was a pucker where the bullet had pierced the bedding.

‘He was shot in bed,' Mattie said, picturing it. ‘Kind of early. You'd think a guy his age would still be up.' She looked over the surface of the mattress, past the blood. ‘No obvious indentation on the other side. I'd say he was alone.' There was a tablet computer on the bedside table, a phone in a charger, a set of keys and a black alligator wallet. ‘Was the light on or off?' she asked.

‘Off,' Arvin said.

‘This has all been photographed?'

‘Yes, but not dusted.'

Mattie nodded, and let the tips of her gloved fingers peek into Richard's wallet. Credit cards and several crisp hundred dollar bills. The bedroom windows were closed, the curtains open. She looked out on to the backyard. Like the front, several of the taller trees were illuminated, and she caught the glitter of moonlight on a body of water in the distance. There was a French door with a lever handle. She noted two sets of contact sensors, one for the security system and the other needed by building code for any door that opened into an area with a swimming pool. She stood and watched for the red light on the latter; it didn't come on. No surprise, as most people disconnected the battery to avoid the jarring siren.

She pressed down on the door handle. ‘Has this been unlocked?' she asked.

‘They know to leave things as they are,' Arvin said.

Mattie grunted, ‘Yeah, right,' and she stepped out into the cool spring night. She felt Jamie behind her. Even in the dark, the view was spectacular. Manicured lawns and gardens, the sounds of frogs, crickets and a swollen spring river in the background. Off to the right was a pool with a cabana. She walked the perimeter of Richard's second floor deck; there was a staircase that led down. Her thoughts ticked through the shoddy security and easy access into and out of Richard Parks' bedroom. Chances were good the security system had been entirely off.

‘So why didn't he just pick up the phone and call for an ambulance?' Jamie asked. ‘Why go to his sister's room?'

‘Could have been running from the shooter,' Mattie said, not happy with that hypothesis.

‘Or maybe he wanted to make sure his sister was safe,' Jamie offered.

Mattie thought of the shell-shocked girl in custody. What if that wasn't an act? This was feeling less and less like a slam dunk. ‘So alone and either asleep or on the computer. The property has surveillance cameras?'

‘Yes, but not as much as you'd think.' Kevin Simpson appeared on the deck. ‘And don't worry, I got a sitter in with Rachel.'

‘Good,' Mattie said. ‘I'll want all the tapes and files. Jamie, you could start in on those. And check to see if the alarms were armed or not. I'd be willing to bet they weren't.' She looked around. ‘So where's the staff?'

‘They come in the daytime,' Kevin said. ‘Clarence is the only one who lives here. He's got the caretaker's house. Been here for years.'

‘Where is he now?'

‘I saw him outside. You want me to bring him in?'

‘You sound like you know him,' Mattie said.

‘We went to school together.'

‘Right,' Mattie said, remembering this was Kevin's strong suit. ‘Why don't you introduce me?'

‘Cool.'

‘Let's go this way,' Mattie said, heading down the outside stairs.

There was a chill in the air, and a soothing blanket of rushing water. Someone creeping in the backyard, even with the moon and the ornamental lighting, would have had little trouble finding cover. She noted the pool area off to the right; the two-story brick cabana would have a clear view of the back of the house. She stepped off the bottom landing and her rubber-soled shoes sank into the grass. She froze and stared at the ground. ‘Maybe not a good idea,' she said.

‘Why?' Kevin asked.

‘Who else has been down here?'

‘Hard to say.' He glanced at his watch. ‘Crime scene team's been here a couple hours. Before them you had the responding officers. They would have done a perimeter search.'

‘You're thinking it might not be Rachel,' Jamie said. ‘She pretty much confessed when she called nine one one.'

‘It's tempting to go with that … but why did he go to her room?'

‘And,' Jamie added, ‘what sort of moron leaves an outer door to his bedroom unlocked?'

‘We do,' Kevin said. ‘At least we used to. Hell, this is the country. We leave our doors unlocked.'

Mattie nodded. ‘And this is a private road, with a gate. So anyone coming here would either have to get through the gate and drive in, or just walk around. Then it's a few hundred yards to the house up the back way, shoot Richard, retrieve your car … or just go back through the woods.' She pulled out her LED flashlight and trained its beam on the lawn that led to the stairs. She ran it off to the right and swept it back. She turned in place, ever conscious of how subtle evidence could be altered and destroyed. She examined the treads on the synthetic wood steps, the grass stains and dirt. Access to Richard would have been easy, but would also have required inside knowledge of his bedroom and the layout of the property. And Rachel hadn't actually confessed.
‘My brother's been shot! It's my fault. It's all my fault.'
‘Let's meet this Clarence guy,' she said.

Mattie, Jamie and Kevin sat around the square oak table in the caretaker's cottage as Clarence Braithwaite poured coffee and passed them each a heavy white mug.

‘So the sirens coming down the road was the first you knew something was wrong?' Mattie asked. Her gaze stayed fixed on the deeply tanned man in black sweats, a
Lenore Says
T-shirt and running shoes. If Kevin hadn't said they'd been classmates she'd have figured the fit dark-haired man to be in his early thirties as opposed to forty or forty-one.

‘Yeah. I was still up and heard them coming. When they turned down I knew something was up. Just didn't think … you know, I thought it was the usual.'

‘The cops have been here before?' she asked.

He glanced at Kevin. ‘This feels …' He shook his head. ‘She had us all sign non-disclosure forms. She was serious about those. I guess it doesn't matter any more.'

‘I'm not following,' Mattie said.

‘With Lenore, if you wanted to keep your job you kept your mouth shut about anything you saw. And trust me, I did not want to lose this gig.'

‘So that's a yes to the cops coming out here?'

‘Cops, ambulances. It was always the same thing. Big fight between Rachel and Lenore, and then Rachel would do some stupid shit.'