The Tail of the Tip-Off (15 page)

26

C
ooper, wearing a lab coat, stood beside the corpse as Tom Yancy worked.

Sheriff Shaw had prowled the corridors of the Clam during the game. He didn't have to say why. She knew her boss. He was a good law officer, his methods were laudable, but he also had a sixth sense. Sometimes if he'd just walk around or sit at a crime scene, he'd get what he called “a notion.” Through his example, she'd learned to trust her own instincts. There was no shortcut to hard police work but, still, those instincts could put you on the right track.

“No strangulation. No rape.” Yancy talked, his face not two inches from Mychelle's neck. “No bruises.”

“No struggle?”

“No. The first wound you saw, the one here right under the thoracic cavity didn't kill her. It was this one, not so easily seen.” He pointed to a surprisingly clear stab wound. A few drops of blood discolored the entry point right below her heart. “The weapon nicked her heart but it took some time for it to kill her. She had a strong heart.”

“No similarity at all to H.H.?”

“No. Not in method. She faced her killer. He or she stabbed her once, then twice. Close. The killer was very close. He used a stiletto or thin-bladed knife. Delivered with force. The internal bleeding was much more severe than the external. As I recall, you said there was blood but not a mess of it.”

“Right.”

“She wasn't expecting the blow. There are no fingerprints on the back of her neck. If she had tried to flee, the killer would have reached around and held her by the back of the neck to deliver this wound at this angle. If she'd turned away or he'd grabbed an arm, the wound would be at a different angle, flesh would be torn. My educated guess is this blow was a complete surprise delivered by someone she knew well enough to let him or her get very close.”

“Stiletto.” Cooper thought to herself that this was an odd choice for a weapon, something for opera, not real life or death.

Yancy half-smiled. “Be a lot easier to knock someone off with a butcher knife but a big knife is harder to conceal.”

“Anything else I should know?” Cooper asked.

Yancy shrugged. “She had genital herpes.”

“Did H.H.?”

“I saw no external sign.”

“Do you have any blood left from that autopsy?”

“Down in Richmond. Yes.”

“Better run a test for it. It'll show in the blood, won't it?”

“Oh yeah.” Yancy exhaled. “I wish we'd get that toxicology report on H.H. soon.”

“Amazing what shows in the blood, isn't it?”

“The human body is amazing, how people abuse it and it just keeps ticking. I've cut open people whose livers were like tissue paper. I'd lift them out and they'd disintegrate, I mean come apart between my fingers. And that wasn't what killed the corpse. Makes me wonder.”

“Apart from the genital herpes, anything else?”

“She was in good health. The knife pierced the left lung, as you can see here”—he held down the chest cavity where he'd opened her up—“then nicked the heart. With each beat of the heart the nick tore a little bit more. The blood seeped out.”

“Was it painful?”

“Yes. You can feel your heart.”

“Jesus.”

“Hope she believed in Him. Maybe it gave her comfort.”

“How strong would you have to be to stab her twice like that?”

“Not weightlifter strong but strong enough.”

“A slight person could do it with great force?”

“Sure.”

“H-m-m, well, the usual. Tests for drugs, alcohol, and I guess poison.”

“She wasn't poisoned. The body doesn't lie, Coop. She died by violence.”

Cooper noticed Yancy's blue eyes. “More than any of us you see what we do to one another. I see it in a different way but you see it in the tracery of the veins.”

“Like you, I try to keep my professional distance and I'd be a liar if I said there weren't people on this slab who didn't deserve it. But a young woman, prime of life, I gotta wonder. Don't take this the wrong way, but if she'd been sexually molested it would make more sense to me. This,” he shook his head, “this was about as far away from sex as you can get.”

27

W
earing a white hard hat, Fred Forrest buttonholed Matthew Crickenberger at the site of the new sports complex. Tazio and Brinkley had just arrived, too. Matthew greeted the wiry man with no affection and none was returned. Tazio said hello to Stuart Tapscott and Travis Critzer who would be in charge of the earthmoving operation. They didn't get a chance to put in another word.

Fred folded his arms across his chest. “Don't think because I'm shorthanded that you can get away with anything.”

“Oh, come on, Fred, I'm not trying to get away with anything. I've always gone by the code, exceeded code.” Matthew's voice betrayed a hint of disgust.

“You're all the same,” Fred sneered. “I'm hiring someone real soon and I'll have him up to speed in no time. You'd better toe the line. Going to be my special project, right here.” He tapped the frozen earth with his foot. “Going to drop by just about every day.”

“You can do whatever you want,” Matthew, his face florid, replied.

“That's exactly right.” Fred, no trace of humor, jutted his chin out. “Think you were damned lucky to get your environmental impact studies passed. UVA.” He sniffed, implying the studies were accepted because this was a UVA project.

The truth was the opposite. Any time the university sought to expand or build, the county faced the hue and cry from non-university people that the school, like a giant gilded amoeba, was smothering the county. Any UVA request going before any county board or the county commission itself bore unusual scrutiny. Also, any university project was certain to be reported in the newspaper, radio, and on TV. The public then would respond.

Fred knew that. He wanted to get Matthew's goat. If the opportunity presented itself for Fred to needle Matthew, he took it.

“You've got a copy of the study, Fred. Read it yourself.”

“Did. That's why I said you're lucky.”

Stuart Tapscott, an older and wiser man, had to walk away. Travis, in his thirties, followed Stuart's prudent example. They didn't want to say something they would later regret.

Tazio stuck by Matthew. Brinkley stuck by Tazio.

“Get that damned dog out of here.” Fred pointed a finger at the handsome animal.

“No.” Tazio stared Fred straight in the face.

“You'll do what I tell you or I can make life interesting.” He practically licked his lips.

“It's not against code for me to have a dog with me on the job. And you push me, I'll push right back. Go bully someone else.”

“You think because you're a woman and black I'll go easy on you? Think again. You're all the same, you architects, big construction people. You think you're better than us. Make more money. We're just clock punchers. I know what you think. How you think. Get away with whatever you can.”

“Leave Tazio alone, jerk,”
Brinkley warned as he put himself between Fred and Tazio.

“That dog's growling at me. I'll call Animal Control.”

“He's clearing his throat.” Matthew, feeling unflappable today, smiled. “Fred, run along. We've got work to do.”

“I'll go when I'm goddamned good and ready.”

“Suit yourself.” He turned his back on Fred, put his hand under Tazio's elbow, guiding her to a spot ten yards away where a peg with surveyor's tape was in the ground. Brinkley remained next to Tazio but looked over his back.

Fred followed them. “Design will never work. Too much glass. Too expensive to heat.”

“It will work. Not only will it work, it will be less expensive to heat and cool than the building currently in use, and this building is twice the size, thanks to my design”—she squared her shoulders—“and thanks to modern materials.”

“Glass will pop out in the first big storm. Pop out like what happened to the John Hancock Building in Boston.”

“Fred, we haven't even broken ground, why don't you plague someone else? You can't find fault with dirt.” Matthew winked at Tazio.

“Yeah, leave my mother alone.”
Brinkley seconded the motion.

“I can declare the foundation inadequate. Shifting substrata.”

“Go ahead. I've got a geologist and an engineer to prove you wrong. Go ahead, Fred, get on the wrong side of UVA. You aren't going to find one thing amiss, you're going to delay construction, cost the university money and, buddy, I wouldn't give a nickel for your social life in this town.”

“Scares me.” He feigned fear then said with malice, “I know how to cover my ass.”

“Is that why Mychelle is dead?” Matthew verbally slipped the knife right between his ribs.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean!” The cords stood out on Fred's thin neck.

“That you were banging her, buddy, and it got too hot. You just did her in.”

Face contorted with rage, he spat, “You son of a bitch. Liar.”

“You were in love with her. I've got eyes.” Matthew had the whip hand now.

Tazio and Brinkley watched with lurid fascination. Stuart, Travis, and the other men stopped what they were doing to watch and listen, too, since Fred hit the screaming register.

“Never! Never. I ought to kill you. I ought to tear your tongue outta your head.”

“You're awfully emotional for a man who wasn't in love with a woman. Awfully emotional for someone who says he's innocent.” Matthew was unfair, but then Fred had been unfair to him.

Fred placed his feet apart, doubled his fists. “Loved that girl like she was a daughter. You'll turn anything slimy, Matthew. Way your mind works.”

“Well, I ask myself, why would someone like Mychelle get killed? Sure can't be anything to do with her job. She was an irritant but not a major problem, and there's nothing she can offer any of us, good or bad, to get herself killed. That leaves a few little things, drugs or some kind of sordid affair. I pick the sordid affair and you are the most likely candidate, although why she'd bother with you is beyond me. Then again, I don't claim to understand women.”

“Sick. You're sick.”

Tazio quietly said, “Fred, you must have an idea who killed her.”

The normal color returned to his face. “No. I don't have any ideas. Sick. Makes me sick. You make me sick.” He turned his eyes again to Matthew.

“Sex or drugs,” Matthew simply said, his voice almost victorious in tone.

“She didn't do drugs. I'd have known. Can't hide that.”

“You can for a while, but I agree, Fred, sooner or later it comes out just like alcoholism leaks out.”

Tazio noticed the surveyor's tape flutter as a little wind kicked up.

“She was a good girl!” Fred's eyes looked haunted.

“That leaves sex.” Matthew shrugged. “Hey, she wasn't my favorite and neither are you, Fred, but I do hope Sheriff Shaw finds her killer. I'm just glad it wasn't you—if you're telling the truth.”

“Never forgive you for this,” Fred vowed.

“Do I care? You're as likely a candidate as anyone else. You were around her all the time. You're married. She's not. Younger. You're older. Hey, it's not such a far putt.”

“I don't cheat on my wife,” Fred, angry still but in control, answered. “You do. Matthew, you're a lying sack of shit. Always was. Always will be.” He pointed his finger at Tazio. “He'll be on you like a duck on the fly.”

“I resent that.” Matthew took a step toward the slighter man.

“Maybe you were the one? Huh?” Fred stuck Matthew right back.

“Not my type.”

Fred paused a moment. “That's true. For once you told the truth.”

“But I'll tell you who was sleeping with Mychelle. H.H.,” Matthew said.

“Know that for a fact?” Fred didn't want to believe that since he hadn't liked H.H., either.

“Two and two make four.”

“Prove it,” Fred immediately responded.

“She could meet him at his construction sites. Nothing untoward about that. Right? She maybe got inconvenient. He dumps her. She kills him. Anne kills her or maybe Anne killed them both. Justice is served.”

“You are so full of it.” Fred laughed loudly.

“Okay. Your version then.”

“I don't have a version. I don't know.” Fred looked at Tazio. “Maybe she told you something. Women talk.”

“No, Fred, we don't all talk. I knew her from the job and that was it.”

“Yeah,”
Brinkley supported Tazio. He would have agreed with her no matter what.

Fred waited a few moments. “Matthew, you shut your filthy mouth. Remember that.”

As he strode away Matthew chuckled to Tazio, “Buffoon.”

28

T
he pale sunlight illuminated the thin, low clouds, lining the bottoms with gold. Thicker clouds hovered on the horizon, their majestic curling tops hinting at another change in the weather.

Cooper questioned Sharon Cortez at Dr. Shulman's office, but sensitive to the social currents of country life, the two women went back to the operating room. The stainless steel table, the sink, everything shone. The operating table was the color of the low afternoon clouds.

Dr. Shulman's wife, Barbara, took over the reception duties while Sharon was in the back. Apart from a squad car being parked out front, no one need know what was going on and Barbara was quick to point out that Deputy Cooper was a great friend to animals.

The light, changing fast, threw shadows onto the floor.

“Now, Sharon, I have to ask these questions. Everything you tell me I'll tell Rick, as you know, but that's as far as it goes.”

“What if there's a trial?” Sharon was no fool.

“I'll give you a heads up. Your question tells me you know why I'm here.”

“Good police work.” Sharon ruefully smiled.

“Some. Want to tell me about your relationship with H.H.?”

Sharon ran her finger along the rounded lip of the operating table. “Started a year and a half ago. Ended at Easter.”

“Were you in love with him?”

“Oh.” She hesitated, glanced out the window, then said, “I was. I hate to admit it, but I was.”

“He must have been special.”

“I guess that was it, Coop, he made me feel special. He didn't mind spending money on a girl, you know what I mean? He'd never see me without bringing flowers or earrings, something. He bought me a gorgeous leather coat, three-quarter length so you know that wasn't cheap, and anything I wanted done around my little house, he did it. Of course, he could fix anything. His business, I guess.” She shrugged.

“Were you angry when you broke up?”

“Yes. He broke it off. Said his marriage couldn't take the strain and he loved his daughter.”

“You were never tempted to wreck it for him? To call Anne? To take your revenge?”

“Sure. All that ran through my mind. Couldn't do it.” Sharon curled her fingers inward, then relaxed them. “It wasn't that I didn't want to hurt him, I did. But you know, I couldn't do that to his kid.”

“That speaks well of you.”

“Thanks, but if I'd had a grain of sense I'd never have gotten involved with a married man. It's a sucker play.”

“I'm not sure that sex and love are amenable to logic.” Cooper smiled.

“I think they are. I think it's like alcohol if you're an alcoholic. No one puts a gun to your head and says, ‘Take that drink.' Same with attraction. You don't have to give in to it.” Sharon put her hands in her pockets. “That's what I think. I was stupid. And you know why I was stupid? Not just because he was married but because I knew he played around.”

“Did you know any of the other women?”

“Not well. But, sure. And I suppose you've questioned them, too.”

“Yes.”

“Any of them look like killers to you?” Sharon sarcastically said.

“Looks are deceiving.”

“Ain't that the truth.” Sharon looked outside the window again. “Front coming in. See it?”

Cooper walked to the window. “Bet the warm weather will march right out with it, too. Jeez, it's been a hell of a winter and there's three months to go.”

“We've had the peepers come out in February.”

“Sharon, this isn't going to be that kind of year,” Cooper remarked. “But I admire your positive attitude. Tell me, can you think of anyone who would like to kill H.H.?”

“Sure. All the women he wined, dined, and ditched. But they didn't. I mean, how often do women kill?”

“I don't know because I think women are much smarter about it than men. I don't think they get caught. But having said that, I think women don't kill as often.”

Sharon snorted, “Right. We get some poor sap to do it for us.”

Cooper turned from the window. “Mychelle Burns.”

Sharon lifted her shoulders. “Nada.”

“What about Paula Zeifurt?”

“Oh, Paula. She brings her Yorkie here. Isn't she one of Anne's friends?”

“Uh-huh.” Cooper nodded her head.

Sharon whistled. “That's cutting it close. You know, it really pisses me off, excuse my French. I would have liked to have been special. Truly special and not just one more filly passing through the stable.”

“You said he made you feel special.”

“He did, the bastard!”

“Then you were at the time.” Cooper thought for a minute. “Some people deal with stress by drinking or drugging or running away. H.H. needed the excitement of an affair. That was his avocation.”

“You're probably right. Maybe it was my avocation, too.”

“Well, I'm not a moralist, I'm just a law enforcement officer, but it seems to me we make life awfully hard for people. We expect them to be perfect. I don't know one perfect person on this earth.”

“I'm not a candidate.” Sharon smiled, her good humor returning somewhat.

“One last question. You must have stuff in here that can kill people. Like the stuff you use to euthanize a dog, for instance?”

“Yes. But for a human you'd need a lot. What I'm saying is you couldn't administer the dose surreptitiously.”

“Thanks.” Cooper shook her hand and left waving goodbye to Barbara who called after her.

“The Opera Guild is performing Verdi next week. You ought to go.”

“Thanks, Barbara. I'll try.” And much as Cooper appreciated the offer she thought she'd seen enough tears for the time being.