The Dying Room (2 page)

3526 Lenox Road, 7:30 p.m.

The well-kept English Tudor sat in one of Birmingham’s most prominent historic neighborhoods. Deputy Chief Jess Harris Burnett scanned the quiet street as she emerged from Detective Lori Wells’ Mustang. The landscape lighting illuminated the line of yellow tape that marked the property as a crime scene.

“The victim is retired Jefferson County Circuit Court Judge Harmon Rutledge, age seventy-two,” Lori said as she put her cell phone away and joined Jess on the sidewalk. “Chet says it looks as if someone imprisoned him in his library and spent a day or so torturing him.”

“He lives alone?” Jess showed her ID to the officer guarding the perimeter.

Lori did the same. “He’s lived alone since his wife died two years ago. The housekeeper came by this evening to make a grocery list since she does the shopping on Mondays. She discovered the body and made the call to 9-1-1.”

The front door opened and Sergeant Chet Harper stepped back for them to enter. “Sorry to interrupt the baby shower, Chief.”

“I was ready for a break.” Jess hesitated in the entry hall to pull on gloves and shoe covers. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Harper grinned and ducked his head. Jess tried to hide her smile. For such a tough guy, the man was a big softie when it came to his relationship with Lori. They were getting married in June. Jess was the matron of honor, and she couldn’t be happier for the two of them. With Harper’s dark, handsome looks, their child was bound to be gorgeous.

“Thanks, Chief.”

“Bring us up to speed, Sergeant.”

Harper led the way through the massive house. “Cook is talking to the neighbors. Hayes is in the kitchen interviewing the housekeeper.”

The entry hall cut straight through to the back of the house where a set of French doors led out onto a terrace. At the French doors, the hall went left and right. The kitchen was visible down the hall to the right.

“The victim’s library is this way.” Harper gave a nod to the left. As they moved in that direction, he gestured to the first door they encountered. “There’s a basement down those stairs. Looks like it’s used more for storage than anything else. No indication anyone’s been down there recently.”

Jess was grateful trudging down the stairs to the basement wasn’t necessary. The more her belly expanded the less sure-footed she became. Primarily because she could no longer see her feet!
Only three more weeks.
Her nerves jangled with excitement each time she stopped long enough to consider that in less than a month she and Dan would be holding their baby. The notion of seeing Dan with their child in his arms made her heart beat faster. They had chosen not to learn the baby’s gender before it was born. Jess had already decided the baby was a girl. Dan, on the other hand, was equally certain they were having a boy.

Thinking of Dan, she should probably text and let him know she would be late for dinner—not that he would be surprised. As Birmingham’s chief of police, Dan Burnett was well aware that a cop’s job rarely fit a nine-to-five schedule. Jess’s somehow seemed to never fall into any sort of normal timeline.

The elegant library smelled of feces and urine. Sylvia and a couple of forensic techs from the BPD’s Crime Scene Unit were already at work. A good-sized room, the shelves that lined the walls were filled with legal volumes. Rich paneled walls with intricately carved details showed anyone who visited that this was no ordinary room. Great attention had been paid to every aspect of the design and décor of the opulent room. From the coffered ceiling and mahogany furniture to the gleaming wood floors, the space made Jess think of a historic courtroom she had seen in Boston.

The victim was a white male. He wasn’t a large man, but he appeared fit. His hair was a distinguished color, more white than gray. He wore a white t-shirt and khaki slacks that were stained by his body having relieved itself.

Sylvia looked up from her work. “Daddy is not going to be happy about this.”

“Was the victim a friend of your father’s?” Jess moved to the center of the room where the victim was secured to a chair. Nylon ropes bound his wrists to the arms of the chair and his ankles to the chair legs. Another wider band of nylon was used like a safety belt around his waist and held him in a seated position.

“They hadn’t been friends in a long time.” Sylvia removed her thermometer from the incision she’d made just beneath the ribcage on the victim’s right side. “The two hadn’t spoken in years, but I think Daddy always hoped they would one day clear the air.” She read the thermometer. “Taking into consideration his body temp and the state of rigor, I’d estimate time of death at around noon today.”

Jess considered the wall directly in front of the victim. Other than the floor-to-ceiling window that towered behind his desk, most of the walls were filled by bookshelves. This space, however, had been reserved for a grand portrait of the judge. The portrait had been removed and set on the floor a few feet away. Great care had been taken in filling the newly emptied space with photos and newspaper clippings. The brass light that would have spilled a warm glow over the painting now highlighted the photos and newspaper clippings, many of which were less than flattering to the judge.

“It looks as if someone carried out a little payback.”

“Well.” Sylvia peeled off her soiled gloves and reached for a fresh pair. “The judge certainly had a reputation for controversial rulings.”

“There’s significant bruising.” Jess covered her nose with the back of her gloved hand and leaned forward for a closer look at the victim. “Are those Taser marks on his neck?”

Sylvia had lifted his t-shirt to access his torso. She gestured to his abdomen. “The bruising is maybe a day old. These,” she indicated the marks on the right side of his neck, “are definitely Taser burns.”

“To disable him maybe.” Jess crouched down next to Sylvia to inspect his neck, wrists, and hands. “I don’t see any indication that he fought his attacker before he was restrained, or that he attempted to free himself from his bindings.”

Sylvia pointed to his upper arm and the needle mark visible just above his elbow. “I’m guessing the killer kept him drugged, at least to some degree.”

“Any children or close friends?”

“A son who lives in Nevada.” Sylvia stood. “As for friends, the judge didn’t have any real friends that I can think of. He had associates.”

Pushing to her feet, Jess suppressed a groan. That move was becoming more difficult all the time. “The sooner you can give me cause of death, the better.”

“Once we get him to the morgue,” Sylvia assured her, “the judge will go straight to the head of the line.”

Jess thanked Sylvia before joining Lori at the collage of unflattering newspaper articles. “I’m guessing this wasn’t meant to be a tribute to all the judge’s accomplishments.”

“I don’t think so.” Lori tapped an article with its accompanying photo and then another and another after that. “All of these are cases the judge presided over, which created considerable controversy. I remember reading about him. Most people considered him a hard-ass with no compassion.”

“So this may have been a family member of a defendant who feels the judge ruled the wrong way.” It certainly wouldn’t be the first case of revenge Jess had investigated.

“Or someone who wanted it to look that way,” Lori offered.

Jess surveyed the articles once more. “These clippings aren’t new.” She pointed to the yellowed edge of one. “Someone has been collecting and keeping these for years.”

“So our killer’s animosity has been building over an extended period of time.”

“Until he decided it was time to act,” Jess agreed. “Let’s begin with these cases. See if the killer was trying to tell us something.”

While Lori photographed the scene for their case board, Jess moved around the rest of the room. None of the books appeared disturbed. The desk was uncluttered, the drawers organized and neat. No computer, not even an iPad. After a bit more poking around, she went in search of Harper. She found him in the corridor headed her way. “You find anything?”

He shook his head. “The rest of the house is undisturbed. Not one thing appears out of place. Our perp was careful.”

“Did the housekeeper notice anything missing?” Jess suspected the answer would be no. She was reasonably sure this was not about financial gain.

“Hayes finished taking her statement.” Harper hitched his head toward the other end of the corridor. “He walked through the house with her, but she didn’t spot anything missing or disturbed.”

“Good. Did you find any indications of forced entry? A window maybe?” If the judge had welcomed his killer into his home, then the suspect pool could be narrowed somewhat. Then again, this was the south, most people invited folks into their homes whether they knew them or not.

“I checked all the windows and the doors,” Harper said as they moved toward the opposite end of the corridor. “I didn’t find any indication of forced entry. The judge’s car is in the garage. There’s jewelry in the master bedroom. A hundred bucks and several credit cards in his wallet on the bedside table. The keys to his Cadillac are on the hall table. His gun cabinet is unlocked and stocked with weapons and ammo.”

“Apparently, our killer wasn’t interested in easy cash,” Jess noted. Harper’s findings confirmed her conclusions that robbery was not the killer’s primary motive.

“If he was he sure left plenty behind,” Harper agreed.

“I’d like to speak with the housekeeper now.”

As if he’d read her mind, Lieutenant Clint Hayes exited the kitchen and headed their way. “We’re ready for you, Chief.”

Harper hitched a thumb toward the front of the house. “I’ll catch up with Cook and see how the neighbor interviews are going.”

‘Thank you, Sergeant.” Jess shifted her attention to Hayes. As always he was dressed as if he were headed to a GQ cover shoot. Harper and Cook still teased him from time to time about having stock in Armani and Ralph Lauren. “What do we have, Lieutenant?”

“Valerie Neely, sixty-seven.” Hayes led the way to the kitchen. “She’s worked for the judge for twenty years.”

“Hopefully, she knows some of his enemies.” When a man ended up dead and it wasn’t about money or a woman, he most certainly had at least one enemy.

Valerie Neely was a short, stocky woman. She dressed for function and wore her gray streaked hair in a serviceable bun. Five minutes into the interview, Jess decided she’d missed her calling as a drill sergeant.

“So you made dinner for the judge on Friday?”

Valerie nodded. “Fish with rice and broccoli.”

Jess tapped her notepad with her pencil. “Why don’t you make your shopping list on Fridays, Valerie? You work long hours all week, why take part of your Sunday evening to come by.”

She shrugged stooped shoulders. “The judge likes me to check on Sundays. I like my job so I do things the way he wants. I knew something was wrong as soon as I opened the door. It was unlocked and the security system was off.”

Jess could understand her reasoning about the job, though keeping her boss happy had never been Jess’s strong suit. The housekeeper’s statement helped determine the timeline they were working with here. As late as seven on Friday evening the judge had been fine. Whatever happened, it took place during the thirty-six or so hours that followed. Accurate timelines were essential to solving any case.

“Valerie, you’ve been immensely helpful. I have just a few more questions.”

The older woman’s patient gaze remained on Jess. “Fire away. I’d like to get a few things done around here. The judge...” Valerie cleared her throat. “His son shouldn’t come home to find his library... like that.”

“I’m afraid the whole house is part of our crime scene, Valerie. You won’t be able to touch anything or even come back inside after this interview until we release the scene. That could be a while.”

Valerie heaved a burdened breath. “Well, get on with it then. I’d like to be home before bedtime.”

Jess looked over her notes. The housekeeper had already stated the judge had no enemies that she knew of. No friends either. She didn’t get into his business, she insisted. He rarely had company or phone calls when she was on duty. He saw his son and grandchildren once a year around Christmas. He visited the cemetery each Sunday morning and left a single long-stemmed rose on his wife’s grave. Otherwise, he read and piddled in his garden. He’d already planted potatoes and prepared beds for the other vegetables he enjoyed. The gardens, Valerie explained, had been his wife’s passion. The judge insisted on caring for the gardens just as his wife had.

“Do you review the judge’s mail?”

Valerie shook her head. “I take it from the mailbox and lay it on his desk. He goes—went through it himself.”

“But you had it in your hands from the street to his desk,” Jess countered. “Surely you looked at the return addresses occasionally.”

A noncommittal shrug lifted the stern woman’s shoulders. “Utility bills, cable, insurance, stuff like that.”

“Nothing that looked suspicious to you?”

She executed another firm shake of her head. “No, ma’am. Just the usual stuff everyone gets and the occasional junk mail.”

“No visitors who seemed unhappy with the judge? Was there ever a time when he was threatened by someone relative to a case? Did he ever receive any hate mail?”

“None that I was aware of. He kept his business to himself.”

“Did the judge have a cell phone or computer of any sort?”

“Absolutely not. He hated them. Before he retired, he used to complain that even his staff was lost without all their computers.”

There were times when Jess hated them, too. “How was the relationship between the judge and his son?”

“The judge always said the best thing that happened to his relationship with his son was when the boy moved out west. They haven’t argued since.”

“So the judge and his son weren’t on good terms?”

Valerie chuckled. “Obviously you didn’t know the judge. No one was on good terms with him. You want to know who his enemies were? Pull out the phone book for the greater Birmingham area and pick a name.”