MASS MURDER (34 page)

McCready handed a piece of
paper to Giorgio. “What is it?”

“It’s what they call a query lette
r
. I asked Beth Tomlinsen about it. Writers send them out to agents and editors offering up their work.
If the agent is interested, they’ll ask for the whole manuscript.”

“But we don’t know if Mallery Olsen ever read this.”

“Actually, we do,” McReady countered as he found another piece of paper.
“I went through her computer files this morning and she logged in Marsh’s query
.
I found a copy of her response.”
He handed the second sheet of paper to Giorgio.

Giorgio skimmed both copies.
“Not only was he lying about not knowing her, this might have given him a reason to want her dead.”
He handed it to Swan.

Swan read a snippet out loud.
“
Your descriptions are mundane.
Even your clichés are cliché.
Ouch!”

“There’s more,” McCready continued with a burst of enthusiasm.
“One of the attendees saw Marsh arguing with Olsen just before the dinner.
This person couldn’t hear what they said, but Olsen walked away in a huff.”

Giorgio pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.
“Marsh swore to me he didn’t know her.
Perhaps he isn’t the beleaguered conference chair he claims to be.”

“I’ll do some more checking on Marsh,” McCready offered.

“Add Colin Jewett to your list,” Giorgio said as McCready wrote down the name.
“And give Cory Poindexter the once over too.
I d
idn’t like him, or his answers.
And don’t forget to check the social media sites, for all of these guys.
”

The door opened and a uniformed officer entered.
He stepped over the dog to hand Giorgio a note.

“The medical examiner faxed this over.
Said you’
d probably want it right away.”

The officer left and Giorgio read the documents.
Swan and McCready waited
until Giorgio
f
inally looked up.

“He hasn’t pinned
Dorman’s
time of death down but thinks it was sometime between six and ten
o’clock
Saturday night.
Looks like we have two murders in almost the same location at almost the same time.”
He handed the sheets over to Swan.

“And only about sixty possible suspects.”
Swan sighed, glancing at the report.

“Perhaps the murders
aren’t connected
.”

Giorgio and Swan looked up to where McCready held Olsen’s folder close to his chest like a college stude
nt about to make a book report.

“Think about it,” he said.
“The murders were completely different.
Whoever killed Olsen wasn’t afraid of the body being discovered.
In fact,
the body was
left in the closet where someone was
bound
to find
it, making
a big
news s
plash.
On the other hand,
Dorman
was buried.”

“Hurriedly, I might add,” Swan added, catching on.

“Right,” McCready agreed.
“So, in one case, the body was placed where it would be found. In the other, the body was hidden.”

“Two different murderers,” Giorgio mused.
“Could be.”

“But
is it
just a coincidence they were murdered on the same night?” Swan asked skeptically.

“Why not?” McCready defended his theory.
“You said yourself there were sixty people on the premises that night.
We don’t have a motive yet, just opportunity.”

Giorgio looked at Swan.
“Do we have
anything back from the lab yet?”

“No.”

“Then ride them.
I
need
to know
about t
hat wine glass
and
the
wine
bottles.
Also
that cigarette butt.”
He looked at McCready.
“And I want to know everything you can find out about
Dorman
.
Why he would have gone to a writers
’
conference.
Who would have even suggested it to him?
Did he know Olsen or anybody else on that list
?
Canvass his neighborhood, his acquaintances, even people at work.”

“Right,” McCready gave a mock salute as he left.

“Here’s something else,” Swan interrupted, reading the third page of the fax
.
“
It says
Dorman’s
injury was consistent with being hit from behind.
What if he met someone out there to buy drugs?
They got in an argument
;
he turned to leave and was
hit from behind.” Swan handed the fax back to Giorgio.

“Maybe.
Okay, catch McCready and get him to check up on
Dorman’s
bank accounts and his job.
Also, anything we can find out about his personal life.”

Swan got up to leave but M
cCready met him on the way out.

“More information,” the young cop said.
“They found
Dorman’s
car on a street called Eagleton Drive.”

“Where’
s that?”

McCready squeezed past Swan and went to the map on the wall.
He pointed to the base of the San Gabriel
M
ountain
s
.

“Here’s the monastery.
Just west of the property is a residential area, and here’s
Eagleton Drive
.
It cuts off Michillinda and tucks back into a cul de sac.
The backyards
along here
border the Fathers’ property.
The car was parked up here.
Dorman
must have cut in between these two houses and across this hill.
There’s a forest service access road
in there
.
He must have gone through this short stretch of trees, crossed this hill
,
and come up through the garden.
No one would have seen him.”

“Which is what he wanted,” Giorgio added as t
hey all stood surveying the map.

“But why would he attend the conference and then check out only to sneak back onto the property?” Swan asked.

“To provide cover in case someone saw him,” McCready suggested
.

Giorgio gave McCready an appreciative look, thinking the kid was a natural at this
.

“He had to have a flashlight,” Giorgio said.
“Otherwise he would ha
ve killed himself in the dark.”

McCready shrugged.
“Unless he came back onto the property before it was completely dark.”

“No,” Giorgio cut him off.
“If he went to that much trouble to conceal himself, he wouldn’t take a chance of being seen by some n
eighbor
out for a
n evening
stroll.”
Giorgio gestured to the residential area on the map.
“I’m going back up there to see what I can find.”

“But, Joe,” Swan began, “we searched that whole area.”

“If
Dorman
had a flashlight,
where is it?
”
He turned to McCready.
“Keep at it.
I need to know whateve
r we can find out about Dorman
.”

“
Will do
.”

Giorgio got up signaling to Grosvner his nap was over.
“
I’m going to see Marsh first,”
Giorgio said pinning the fax to the bulletin board.
“He has some ‘splaining to do.”

Chapter Twenty-
T
hree

John Marsh lived in a lower middleclass part of Pasadena where the houses were small, box-like structures covered in a variety of pastel stucco.
His pale green house sat at the end of a tree-lined street
and
was badly in need of paint.
An old
Ford sedan sat in the driveway.

Giorgio left Grosvner in the car and knocked on the screen door.
T
he door opened
to reveal
Marsh dressed in baggy blue jeans and a faded red shirt that hung outside his pants.
His hair stuck out at odd angles
,
and he hadn’t yet shaved.
A far cry, Giorgio thought, from the prim and proper image he
’d
presented at the conference.
Marsh seemed surprised to see the detective but pushed open the screen door and invited him in.

Giorgio entered a dingy living room with brown shag carpet.
Stale cigarette smoke hung in the air.
Lopsided stacks of books filled either side o
f the brick fireplace and writing
magazines were scattered across the seventies’ style wood coffee table.
Mismatching table lamps cast a dim glow across a large
, velvet
painting of a
scantily-clad woman with big breasts leaning against a vintage car while a pack of hungry wolves circled around her
.
It was a cheap and tawdry piece of artwork, lending a cheap and tawdry feel to the room.
It reminded Giorgio of the small apartment where his uncle had lived after his aunt died.
Although it was clean enough, the lack of personality
and
musty smell, worn furniture
,
and dirty
magazine
s
spoke volumes about his uncle’s state of mind.
Either Marsh lived on a meager income or had a dim view of his prospects in the world.
Giorgio suspected both.