Vengeance is Mine - A Benjamin Tucker Mystery (6 page)

After a few deep breaths, I composed myself and returned. Netter looked at me, and I nodded. “I’m good,” I said.

“Dr. Huffman—now there’s one ghoulish son of a bitch—he examined the head after it was retrieved from the cemetery,” Netter said. “X-rays indicated a massive skull fracture. We believe Plum bludgeoned her to the point where she became incapacitated, and then he removed her clothing which was found over here in front of the closet. There were small blood spots on the upper part of her blouse. Then we believe he raped her and strangled her to death.”

Netter pointed to the blood stain on the floor. “This is where the decapitation act took place. It’s bloody, yes, but not like it would have been if she’d still been alive when he did it. At least there’s some small comfort in that.”

“Very small,” I said.

He continued. “Blood spatter analysis indicates he was on the right side of the body—observer right, not Clancy’s right. He was kneeling perpendicular to her, close to her upper left arm, with the decapitation cut to his right, indicating he’s probably right-handed. You can still see the two circular areas, almost clear of blood, where his knees were positioned.”

I examined the area and pointed to a different kind of stain on the carpet about two feet below the bloody area. “What’s this stain?” I asked.

“That’s where she urinated and defecated after death.” He saw the look of shock on my face and said, “They don’t tell you that in the movies, do they? Anyway, the forensic guys removed the feces.”

Netter pointed to the left of the bed. “Over there you can see blood smears where he dragged her body to that side of the bed. That’s also consistent with him needing his stronger right arm to lift her up onto the bed.” He pulled out a cigar and stuck it in his mouth. “Yep, the son of a bitch is right-handed all right.”

“You’re not going to light that thing in here, are you?”

“Nah,” he said. “Sometimes when I’m agitated, it soothes me.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Like a nipple?” I asked.

He laughed. “Exactly!” He walked into the master bath and turned on the light.

The room was also decorated in powder blue, but instead of carpet, it had beige ceramic tile. It was about nine feet square with an enclosed toilet area, a whirlpool bath, and a walk-in shower. The vanity had a cultured marble top with his-and-her sinks under a plate glass mirror that covered the wall above it. The majority of the vanity, part of the mirror, and one sink were stained with blood. I took photographs from every angle and looked at Netter, who nodded, confirming my thoughts.

“Yep, the son of a bitch took the time to clean up right here in the bathroom,” he said. “Even cleaned the saw too.” He pointed to the right. “Those stains there match the teeth of the saw blade.”

We turned out the light, and the two of us walked back into the master bedroom. As I continued my visual examination of the room, I focused on the night stand. I opened the drawer, photographed the contents, and closed it. “No condoms,” I said.

“She had a tubal ligation.” Netter put his hands on his hips, frustrated. “I know you’re not scheduled to report until tomorrow,” he said, “but if you’ve got anything, anything at all that could explain how he got into this house, I need to hear it.”

I sighed. “Well, I can think of three possibilities right now. One, we know there was no forced entry, that’s obvious. All the windows and doors were locked except the front door, which was unlocked but had no tool marks on it. So how did he gain access? Agent MacKenzie said this guy is probably good with his hands, with tools, so maybe he’s a locksmith. He could have been inside waiting for her.” Netter’s face said he hadn’t thought of this possibility.

“Two, Clancy could have brought him home with her, but that scenario just doesn’t feel right.

 “Three, Clancy could have let him in, which is what I’m beginning to suspect. If Plum came to the front door, and he was someone she knew, she might have invited him in.

“Or he could have given the impression he was someone who could be trusted—a priest, delivery man, fireman, police officer. I took Maggie to a costume party last Halloween, and I dressed as a police officer. Everything I needed was available on the internet—police uniform, baton, handcuffs, even a variety of fake badges.

“Or he could be a diminutive individual,” I added. “Maybe he was disguised as a woman who appeared unthreatening.

“You know,” I said, “Ted Bundy used to wear a bandage or a fake cast to give the impression he’d been injured. We could be dealing with something similar here.”

I shrugged. “I guess it could also be someone impersonating one of those Jehovah’s Witness guys. They always want to come in and
spread the word
. But they don’t use the King James Version of the Bible. I believe they use something called the New World Translation.”

Netter had been silently taking it all in. He looked at his watch. “I have to get back to give my daily statement to the press,” he said. “You about through here?”

I retrieved my briefcase, and we left through the front door. As Netter locked up, a Channel Fourteen News team was setting up to prepare a short segment for this evening’s news.

Netter pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit his tobacco nipple.

CHAPTER 8

There were only three of us for dinner: Julie, myself and Roberta. It was spaghetti and meatball night, and it was excellent as usual. We started with a caprese salad with fresh basil from Roberta’s kitchen windowsill herb garden. The entré was accompanied by her normally wicked garlic bread, kicked up to a ‘to die for’ level, with more garlic and butter and parmesan cheese than either Maggie or Nora would tolerate. Since they were both absent, we skipped the wine and had iced tea.

It was after six o’clock and time for the broadcast of
Carolinians In the News
. I turned on the TV in the great room, and we all sat down to watch the big screen. We suffered through a short segment on the progress of a new toll road extension before my segment came on at six fifteen.

Channel Fourteen had done an excellent job editing the sequence, and as promised, the banner with the number for the tip hotline was shown at the bottom of the screen. They had also eliminated any remnants of my screwups. In fact, I looked calm, cool, and collected, and remarkably, came across with an air of intelligence. I was relieved and sort of proud and couldn’t wait for Maggie to see the segment when it repeated at ten fifteen.

I had no sooner turned off the TV when Roberta asked, “Do they pay you a lot for this task force work?”

She knocked the wind out of my sails. “No, I’m performing this work pro bono.” The look on her face told me she didn’t understand. “I’m doing it for free … no pay,” I said.

She pointed her finger at me. “You need to get a real job, a job that pays money, so you can support your family!”

This conversation had suddenly become a replay of several discussions I’d had with Jennifer before our divorce. “I do have a real job,” I said defensively. “I’m an author, and as you can see by that interview, a successful, charming, highly intelligent author.”

Roberta scoffed. “You write stories. Stories! That is not a job for a man with a family.” She crossed her arms and slowly shook her head. “I don’t like this
boprono
. Poor Miss Maggie.”

I lowered my face into my hands. “Roberta, please, not the poor Miss Maggie speech again … I’ve heard it so many times.”

“And you should hear it,” she said. “You should hear it every day. This is how you repay her? She took you in out of the cold like she would a stray dog!”

I raised my head and looked at her. “Out of the cold? It was August when I moved in here.”

“You are not a man!” she said. “You leeve off of a woman … you leeve off of your wife!” She stood straight and proud. “My father was
a man
.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “Your father worked a hundred hours a day just to bring food to the kitchen table.”

“He did! He did! He worked in the fields!” She spread her fingers out straight in front of her. “He work his finger to a bone, so me and my brothers and sisters had something to eat!”

Julie, who had been sitting quietly on the sofa watching the interaction, piped up and saved me. “Roberta,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I asked Ben to help me with my homework, and it’s getting late.”

Roberta huffed, and headed for the dining room to begin cleaning up, mumbling something in Spanish as she walked away—something that sounded like
perro callejero
.

When I heard the water running, I faced my grinning stepdaughter. “All right,” I said. “You saved me. But you haven’t got me fooled for a minute. You want something. What is it?”

“I want to drive your car this weekend,” she said.

I looked at her, flabbergasted. “What? Are you nuts? I’m not letting you drive my car! You’re only fourteen years old!”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to tell Roberta I don’t need your help after all,” she said, batting her eyelashes.

She began to get up, but I snagged her arm. “No, no, wait … just wait! Let’s not be hasty about this. There’s a thing called compromise.” We sat there staring each other down. She was holding all the cards, and she knew it.

“Okay,” I said, “but only on Saturday … for half an hour … and I pick the place. And I have to be with you.”

She looked at me for a minute and then stuck her hand out. “Deal!” she said.

I shook her hand. “My god, you’re getting more like your mother every day. Anyway, I’m headed for the demilitarized zone before you swindle me for anything else.”

Julie stayed to help Roberta clear the rest of the table while Oscar and I retreated to the guesthouse.

We entered and Oscar waddled over to his bed, exhausted from whatever dogs do all day. He lay on his back with his feet in the air, watching me as I powered up my computer and checked my cell phone messages. There were two. The first was from Amanda Jane.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said excitedly. “Mom and I watched you on TV. You were very handsome, and you did great. I’m so proud of you. Even Mom seemed happy that your book is doing well. Hugs, bye.”

Of course Jennifer was happy my book was doing well. The bitch was trying to get half of the royalty money. The thought of it burned me, but I was pleased I’d impressed my daughter.

Julie had bounced into the guesthouse and was sitting at the breakfast table doing her homework when I checked the second message. It was from Howard Price, my agent. I figured it couldn’t be any worse than the chat I’d just had with Roberta, so I dialed his number.

The conversation went better than I expected. I came clean about my writer’s block and the difficulty I was having developing the story line for the novel. Surprisingly, Howard wasn’t upset at all and insisted I drop the novel and concentrate solely on the search for Jack Plum. “I smell a blockbuster bestseller here, Ben,” he said. When I hung up, I was relieved that the cursed novel was no longer hanging over my head.

Oscar was now draped across Julie’s lap with his head hanging over her leg, and she was absently rubbing his back as she read something on her iPad. I sat at my computer and began creating the presentation I would give at the task force meeting the following morning.

An hour later, Julie finished her homework and returned to the main house with Oscar. I continued refining my presentation and then downloaded the final version onto a flash drive.

It was past nine thirty when I entered the master bedroom suite. I knew Maggie was home because water was running in the bathroom. A few minutes later, I had a bottle of chardonnay uncorked and breathing, and the gas log burning in the fireplace.

The sitting room was very quiet, and my thoughts went back to the eerie silence in the Clancy home. I shuddered at the thought of it. Jack Plum
was
a monster, regardless of what Lainie MacKenzie said.

Maggie came in to join me in the sitting room, wearing an elegant full-length, silky white nightgown and huge, fuzzy-pink UGGs slippers. I handed her a glass of wine and took her in.

“My god, you’re beautiful,” I said. “A radiant angel.” I put my arms around her and kissed her. “Just what the hell do you have on your feet? Those don’t look like they came from Marshak’s.”

“Shut up! The feet on this radiant angel are screaming,” she said. “How’d the interview go?”

“Excellent. It’ll be rebroadcast in a few minutes, and I think you’ll be impressed.” Maggie plopped down next to me and sighed heavily as I flipped the TV on to Channel Fourteen and programmed the DVR.

“God, I’m tired,” she said.

I gently kissed the top of her head. “I have to ask you, is all this wealth and power really worth it? Don’t you ever want to just kick back and enjoy life?”

She leaned against me. “It’s worth it, Ben. It’s worth it to me. There’s something about leaving this empire to Julie that keeps driving me to do more and more. Please understand.”

“Well I’m sorry, I really don’t understand it. But you do whatever you need to do, and I’ll be right here to support you. Just remember that none of this means anything to me. I only care about you and Julie and Nora.”

“And Roberta?” she asked.

“Roberta’s my prime suspect in the Headless Corpse Killings,” I said.

Maggie poked me in the arm. “That’s not very nice,” she said. “Besides, I know you love her in your own way.”

The rebroadcast of
Carolinians In the News
came on a few minutes after a replay of Netter’s daily briefing on the task force efforts to find Jack Plum.

After my interview was finished, I looked at Maggie, “So? What do you think?”

“Why didn’t you get your haircut?” she asked. “Your hair’s pretty shaggy lookin’.”

CHAPTER 9

Wednesday morning was sunny, and the temperature was already in the high fifties. I’d escaped the house without a lecture from Roberta and was enjoying the drive, listening to Stevie Ray Vaughan.