The Blue Journal (5 page)

When police dispatch received the call, Chief Gill immediately summoned Anthony Walker to his office, briefed him on what little they knew, and sent him out to lead the investigation into Elizabeth Knoebel's death.

Walker arrived at the house just after the forensic team and the first wave of uniformed officers. He was pointed upstairs, found his way to the bedroom, and had a quick look around. Kovacevic was already taking some preliminary information from a stocky woman. One of the other officers told him she was the housekeeper. Walker did not interrupt. He walked over to the bed and stood over Elizabeth's body for a moment, staring down at her lifeless face.

“Doesn't matter how many times I see it,” he said to no one in particular, then kept the rest of the thought to himself. He turned away and joined Kovacevic, who made the introductions.

Nettie Sisson was a squat, plain-looking woman he figured to be somewhere near sixty. She had a timeworn face that age had chosen not to favor, and she would have been utterly forgettable but for the hazel eyes that seemed haunted, perhaps by Elizabeth Knoebel's death, perhaps by something else.

“You live here?” Walker asked.

She shook her head.

“Where were you yesterday?”

“I was home mostly, it was a day off.” Her voice was timid and she seemed incapable of looking directly into Walker's eyes. “I only work here three days a week.”

“You married?”

There was an almost imperceptible flinch before she shook her head and said, “I live alone,” which did not exactly answer the question.

“Where?”

She gave her address, a garden apartment complex just outside town. Probably not unlike his own place, Walker noted.

“Got all that?” he asked Kovacevic.

“Already wrote it down,” the officer told him.

Returning his attention to the housekeeper, Walker said, “You were the one who found Mrs. Knoebel?”

The woman nodded. She was still avoiding his gaze while also refusing to look in the direction of the corpse on the bed. Walker made it a habit of interrogating witnesses at the crime scene whenever possible. He believed it helped to bring out the truth from people.

“You always have Tuesdays off?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Usually, but not always. Mrs. Knoebel would sometimes change the days.”

Walker turned back to Kovacevic. “Where's the husband?”

“On his way, sir. He's coming back from New York, he was in surgery. They couldn't interrupt him.”

“I understand from the chief he wasn't here last night.”

“They have an apartment in New York.”

“Uh huh.” Walker glanced around the bedroom again. It was decorated with dark wooden antiques and brocade fabrics. Not a very feminine decor, he observed, full of ornate furniture and heavy drapery. “Mrs. Sisson . . . it
is
missus?”

She nodded tentatively. “I'm divorced,” she told him.

“You say you got here about eight o'clock this morning, right?”

“Before eight. I got here before eight.”

“And no one else was here.”

“No.”

“And you didn't touch anything in this room, correct?”

“Yes. I mean, no, I didn't touch anything. I knocked on the door, then I opened it.”

“Uh huh. Why did you open the door? Wasn't it possible Mrs. Knoebel was just sleeping late.”

“Mrs. Knoebel never sleeps late. I always come up here first thing to see if she wants coffee or tea or something.”

“You notice anything strange in Mrs. Knoebel's behavior lately?”

She replied with a vacant look. “Strange?”

“Unhappy, nervous, upset?”

“No sir,” she replied, her voice barely audible now.

“Appear to you that anything is missing from the house?”

She treated him to another blank stare. “I don't know,” she said. “I didn't touch anything.”

“So you said. Well, spend some more time with Officer Kovacevic here. Tell him anything you know about where the Knoebels keep their valuables, jewelry, silver. See if you notice anything that might have been taken. We'll be in touch.”

Nettie Sisson again nodded solemnly. Before she followed Kovacevic from the bedroom she bowed her head, crossed herself, and kissed her bent thumb.

Walker watched her leave, then turned to the coroner. “What have we got?”

Jake, a balding, bespectacled man wearing latex gloves and a grim expression, looked up from the notes he was making. “Time of death, sometime yesterday, probably afternoon or early evening. We can get more specific after the autopsy. One slug to the right temple seems to have done the trick.”

As he listened, Walker moved back to the side of the bed, looking down again at the inert figure of Elizabeth Knoebel. He shoved his hands in his pockets and wordlessly surveyed the bloody death scene. “Go on.”

“You want some general observations?”

“Sure.”

Jake used his middle finger to push his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Her body is in a strange position. She looks incredibly relaxed for someone about to have her brains blown out. The force of the gunshot snapped her head to the side, but otherwise she looks like she just laid down for a nap.”

“You think someone rearranged the body after she was shot?”

“If they did, it was only a minor adjustment. The blood pattern is consistent with her having been shot right here.”

Walker nodded. “What else?”

“Why does she get undressed and go to bed in the middle of the afternoon?”

“You want me to take a guess?”

“Okay, I'll give you that. It just struck me as peculiar, is all.”

“Any evidence of drugs or alcohol?”

“The autopsy will tell us. I don't see anything to indicate drug use, but I assume you noticed the champagne.”

“Uh huh,” Walker said. He had another look at the bucket on the night table.

“Expensive bottle of bubbly,” Jake said. “Unopened.”

“Right,” Walker said with a sigh. Jake, master of the obvious. “Get me what you can on sexual activity before death. Or after, for that matter. I don't see any signs of a struggle, although I noticed there are scratch marks on her neck.”

“Old news,” the coroner replied. “Those marks are partially healed, had to be made at least twenty-four hours before death, probably more.”

“All right, do your thing. I'll speak with you this afternoon.”

“We won't have all the autopsy results done by then.”

“That's fine, Jake, just call me with whatever you've got. I love the sound of your voice.”

Kovacevic returned and reported that Mrs. Sisson was downstairs in the kitchen with Kevin Chambers.

“Anything on the burglary angle?”

Kovacevic shook his head. “She says there doesn't seem to be anything missing. Silver in the dining room is intact, jewelry boxes upstairs don't look like they were touched.”

Walker nodded, then scanned the room again. The headboard was mahogany, but the dresser and armoire were made of some wood he did not recognize. He noticed that the deep burgundy bedding coordinated with the rich patterns of the drapery. Obviously pricey stuff, but awfully dark.

“Kind of a masculine room, don't you think?”

Kovacevic had a look around, as if seeing the room for the first time. “I guess so.”

“Looks like a man's room.”

“Maybe,” Kovacevic said with a shrug.

“In my experience the bedroom is usually decorated by the woman.”

Kovacevic nodded. “I wouldn't know, sir.”

Walker smiled. “The housekeeper tell you anything else about the Knoebels' relationship I might be interested to know?”

“Not anything specific, although I get the impression from Mrs. Sisson that they didn't have the greatest marriage in town. I've got notes,” he added and began to thumb through his pad.

“All right Kovie, we'll go over that later. Meanwhile, speak with the neighbors. I don't suppose anyone phoned in a report of a gunshot?”

“No such luck, sir. But this is a big piece of property. Wooded. Houses are shut up tight with their central climate control systems. I had a look at the windows. Solid double-insulation jobs. Even if someone heard something, it wouldn't have been real loud. They could've figured it for a car backfiring.”

Walker held up his hand. “Easy,” he said with a grin, “I was only kidding.”

“Right.”

“But it
is
possible someone might have seen or heard something.”

“Jake says it was a late-afternoon shooting. Wouldn't most of the neighbors be at work?” He hesitated. “Assuming the people around here go to work.”

“Don't assume anything, just spend some time with the local gentry.”

“Yes sir.”

A uniformed officer came into the room looking for Walker. “Lieutenant, there's something I think you should see.”

“What have you got?” Walker asked.

“It'll be better if I show you.”

Walker and Kovacevic followed the officer along the corridor, down the stairs, and into the small den on the ground floor. The officer led them toward the laptop on the desk.

“I was poking around, you know, looking for anything that might help, and I saw the computer was on. I just touched the mouse here.” The young officer used his latex-gloved hand to move the mouse again. The monitor revealed the passage Elizabeth Knoebel had been working on less than an hour before she died.

Walker and Kovacevic leaned forward to read. When they were done Walker looked up. “Go to the next page.”

The officer scrolled down, but they were at the end.

“Anything before it?”

The office hit the
Pg Up
button, and the screen displayed the start of the file. They began reading again:

SEXUAL RITES
By Elizabeth Knoebel
NOTES FOR CHAPTER 5
The Power Seduction

Confident men are often attractive men, a combination that makes them the easiest to seduce. A man with a superior ego has the feeling he deserves to be flattered and desired.

Insecure men tend to be suspicious. They have reasons to doubt your interest, to look behind your subtlest advances for other motives. The egotist has no cause to question your attraction to him. He will not worry that you might be after his money or his position or any of his other assets. He is therefore easy game.

One of the more interesting aspects of seducing a powerful man is the control you can exert over him once the seduction is complete. His opinion of himself is so high he could never doubt your desire for him. You can therefore control him by playing to that vanity. He will be trapped by a fatal combination of two forces.

The first is his own desire. Fueled by your sensuality, he will believe not only that he deserves your favor, but that you are fortunate to be his lover. A married man in this category—and most of them are married—will also be certain he can manage the risks. Like most men, he will have that incredible capacity to ignore the obvious consequences of his actions in order to justify a present need. (How else could we explain every husband who cheated on his wife and was then surprised at getting caught? Every one of them thought they could “handle the situation”).

The second factor, somewhat paradoxically, will quite literally bring him to his knees. It will come from your ability to convince him that he is correct, that his attention, his passion, his very being are the things that you lust after, the things you cannot live without.

Remember, you must proceed with caution, for it might cause him to turn away. If overstated, your infatuation will be seen as a sign of instability or desperation. Even a man filled with sexual desire cannot ignore those dangers.

Be prepared for his lies—to you, to himself, to the other people in his life. Still, in the end, the balance of power will have shifted in your favor, as long as you stay focused on the fulfillment of desire.

Our first encounter involved cocktails, suggestive conversation, a chaste kiss, and a subsequent date for lunch in New York. He chose a fashionable bistro on upper Madison Avenue. It was a lovely meal, fueled with wine, and we talked about everything but the truth.

Afterward, we left the café and took a short walk up the avenue. The sky was clear and the autumn air felt crisp and cool as the breeze whipped around us. He had a friend who loaned him the use of his apartment, a small one-bedroom just off Fifth Avenue near the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

We spoke less and less as we made our way to his friend's building. He unlocked the front door to the small brownstone, then led me upstairs.

The apartment was dark, the sunlight shut out by heavy curtains drawn tight across the windows. He switched on the music system in the living room and it began to play a Mozart piano concerto. He poured drinks and placed them on a small round marble table in the corner of the bedroom. It was obvious he knew his way around the place.