A Reunion to Die For (A Joshua Thornton Mystery) Page 10

  The attendants were carrying Rex’s body, encased in a black body bag, to the van for transport to Tad’s lab.

  At the sight of the body bag, Rita grasped his forearm and shuddered. “Do you have any idea who did this?”

  “No, but from what you tell me, I guess the first suspect we need to question is the wicked witch of Chester.”

  “Haven’t you read the newspapers or seen the news?” Sheriff Raymond Stains did not try to contain his disgust with the call made to his home in Parkersburg, West Virginia, on a Saturday morning. He was still in his bathrobe and had not yet finished his first cup of coffee. If Joshua had called fifteen minutes earlier he would have roused him out of bed. “The Quincy murder was the biggest crime that Parkersburg has suffered since I’ve been sheriff. Seth Cavanaugh had the intuition and know-how to find the evidence to nail the killers.”

  “I know about the Quincy case. What did Cavanaugh do before that? How good was he before he appeared on Larry King?” Joshua heard silence from the other end of the phone.

  “Why do you want to know?” the sheriff finally asked.

  “You didn’t even know who he was until that case came along.”

  Sheriff Stains responded with a lecture about how he could not possibly take the time to get to know every one of his deputies. Seth Cavanaugh had to be exceptional or he never would have had the know-how to put together how the Quincy brothers had killed their parents for their inheritance and hidden the evidence. This was the mark of a superior detective.

  Joshua hung up the phone, sat back in the chair behind his desk in his study, and examined the detective’s resume. Nothing stood out. It was the resume of an average cop. He had been to the state police academy but graduated with an average class ranking. His only exceptional talent was a ninety-eight percentile in marksmanship.

  He laid the resume on his desk. Someone had to know what Seth’s pedigree really was.

  If it weren’t for the media attention for solving the Quincy murders and the county commissioner’s insistence that he be hired for the position of chief of detectives, Sheriff Sawyer would have promoted Deputy Pete Hockenberry.

  Joshua reviewed the list of references on Seth’s application. Sheriff Stains was at the top of the list. Judging by their jobs, he guessed the rest were friends. He also noted that his partner was not on the list. He dug through the personnel folder until he found the name and phone number of Deputy Kenneth Hanson.

  The phone rang several times before the deputy sheriff from Parkersburg answered. Joshua introduced himself and explained that he was doing a background check on his former partner. “How would you rate him as an investigator?”

  Deputy Ken Hanson responded with a sarcastic laugh. “Did you notice that he did not list me as a reference? That was for a reason.”

  “The news reported that he broke the Quincy case.”

  “If it weren’t for me, he would have gotten himself shot when he tripped over those shotguns.”

  “But—”

  “The only reason Seth got all the press he did about his role—if that is even what you want to call it—in solving the Quincy murders was because a local television reporter he was sleeping with bought every story he would spin about his investigative genius.” Kenneth added, “Between her creativity and his pretty blue eyes, he became a star.”

  Joshua asked, “Are you saying that you would not recommend him as a detective?”

  “Let’s just say he’s not my problem anymore. Now he’s yours. Good luck.”

  Perplexed by Hanson’s referral, or lack thereof, Joshua sat back in his desk chair and swiveled in the direction of the window to gaze out at the lawn. The leaves on the hedge were turning brown and falling to reveal the red of a sports car on the other side.

  Gail’s car.

  He had noticed it parked in the alley behind the house when he woke up that morning. He recognized it from the Henderson home. He checked the time and concluded that it was late enough to call her. When she did not answer, he left her a voice mail.

  “Gail. Josh. How are you feeling? Listen, your car is parked behind my place and I can’t find your keys. I assume you have them. Give me a call if you need me to give you a ride to pick it up. My cell number is 304-555-4684.”

  “Take your time,” Joshua advised his son.

  He almost hoped Murphy wouldn’t recognize Billy in the lineup. Then, he wouldn’t have to put him on the stand during Billy’s trial. Even inexperienced defense attorneys were brutal against eyewitnesses. Tori could have Murphy doubting his own assessment of the weather on the day of the murder by the time she was through.

  Murphy studied the group of men on the opposite side of a two-way mirror. They all looked the same to him. Each of the six men was dressed in a black trench coat and wore a black bandanna down over his forehead.

  Billy’s glare dared him to pick him out. His gaze gave him away as their chief suspect.

  Joshua watched Murphy’s eyes while the teenager studied each of the men lined up on the other side of the mirror. He saw his eyes pause when they hit Billy. “Do you see him?”

  “Easy, Mr. Thornton,” Tori chastised the prosecutor from the corner behind them. “You told him to take his time.”

  Murphy sucked in a nervous breath. “He was wearing sunglasses.”

  Joshua nodded to Deputy Darrel Carter, who was waiting on the other side of their witness. The officer spoke into a mike next to the two-way mirror. “Put on your sunglasses.”

  Each of the men put on sunglasses to hide his eyes.

  Murphy groaned. Now, they really all looked the same. They could have been a rock group that called themselves “The Trench Coats.”

  “Maybe number three,” he finally said.

  Joshua’s heart leapt and dropped at once. He had picked out Billy Unger.

  Deputy Carter ordered Billy to step forward so the witness could take a closer look at him.

  Murphy held his breath. “Maybe not,” he mumbled. “The guy I saw was shorter.”

  Tori stepped up behind him. “That doesn’t sound like a positive ID to me.”

  Murphy glanced from the defense attorney to his father. “I’m sorry. I could be wrong.”

  “You have to be positive,” Joshua told him. “If you think this suspect is too tall, then we can’t charge him for Grace’s murder.”

  “We’re through here,” Tori said. “I’m taking my client home.”

  “No, you’re not.” The prosecutor chuckled. “We still have him on armed robbery and accessory to attempted abduction. Both charges are felonies, and he’s an adult.”

  “But you don’t have him on murder. Your witness can’t positively identify him.”

  He told her more for Murphy’s sake than hers, “That’s no big deal. You tell your client not to plan on seeing the light of day in the near future.”

  She turned around and walked out with a sense of success. She had saved her first client from a murder rap.

  The deputy said into the mike, “Okay, men. We’re through here.” They filed out. Another deputy escorted Billy back to his cell. It was not standard procedure, but Joshua draped his arm around Murphy’s shoulder and gave him a hug.

  “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s a positive ID. It would have been wrong for you to ID him when you weren’t sure. You did the right thing by telling us that you weren’t.”

  “They all looked alike.”

  “I know.” Joshua led him from the room. “I don’t think I could have picked him out either. The only reason you picked him was because he had the attitude. He was daring you to pick him.”

  “He’s the one who killed Grace, isn’t he? And I let him get away.”

  “Murphy, we have him on armed robbery and attempted kid
napping. He’s not going anywhere, and eventually we’re going to get him for murder.”

  “Eventually. Maybe. If I had been sure—”

  “Murph—” He wondered if he should tell him the truth. “Son, he has an alibi.”

  “He’s lying.”

  “Is he?” Joshua could have been talking to a colleague, not his son. “His alibi is positive that they were together at the time of the murder. You aren’t positive about him being at the school. Which one should I believe?”

  Joshua returned home to switch from the Corvette to the van and retrieve the rest of his children to go to brunch.

  On an impulse, he stopped on the way to the restaurant to invite Tad to join them. While he ran up the steps to his cousin’s apartment, the kids stayed in the van to argue over what music to listen to on the CD player.

  After letting himself in with his own key, Joshua called to Tad while he made his way through the living room cluttered with patient files and other things.

  Dog ran in from the bedroom and jumped up on the visitor to beg for a petting. “Where’s your master?” he asked the dog as if he could answer.

  The mutt had no interest in responding. He continued to paw at Joshua until he gave him a treat from the kitchen cupboard.

  Joshua found Tad sprawled out on his bed in his underwear. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyes were shut. He was the picture of tranquility.

  “Hey, cuz, what are you doing? I’ve come to take you to brunch.”

  “You paying?” Tad asked with his eyes shut. If he was determined enough, he could continue the conversation in his sleep.

  “If you insist.”

  He opened one eye and raised an eyebrow. “That was easy.”

  “I’m too tired to fight with you. I was up half the night.”

  “So was I.” Tad shut his eye again.

  “Anyone I know?”

  “I wish. I was working.”

  Joshua slapped one of his feet. “Are you coming?”

  “Yeah, give me a minute.” Tad sat up with the effort of an old man and staggered into the bathroom.

  “You must have had some night.” Joshua observed the messy bedroom.

  Tad didn’t live this way due to lack of money. Simple was his lifestyle. He didn’t think that he needed more than the one-bedroom apartment over his medical office and a motorcycle. Even when he had spent all his money on booze and pot and cocaine, he hadn’t lusted for material possessions.

  He called out of the bathroom over running water, “I did an on-scene examination on Rex Rollins early this morning.”

  “Rex? Phyllis’s husband?”

  “Late husband. Someone blew him away at the State Line last night.” Tad stepped into the bathroom doorway with a loaded toothbrush in his hand. He caught Joshua holding up a pair of red lace women’s panties. “They’re a friend’s.”

  “What’s she wearing now?” He dropped them onto the top of his dresser. “How did Rollins get himself blown away?”

  “Have you talked to Gail about her book?” Tad went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

  Joshua didn’t mention the writer’s late-night visit. Tad would make some sort of joke in reference to his one-night stand with her. “Yeah, we got into a fight about it. I caught her over at the Henderson place making a case for Grace’s and Tricia’s murders being connected. She got them all upset.” From the bathroom doorway, he watched Tad brush his teeth. “I’m reopening the Wheeler case.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Tad rinsed his mouth by sticking his head under the faucet and spitting out the water after letting it flow into his open mouth.

  “I owe it to Tricia to find out what really happened.”

  Tad tossed his toothbrush into the cabinet. “That all happened a long time ago.” He stepped around Joshua to return to the bedroom. “Even if you can find out what happened, it’s going to be near impossible to find enough evidence to get a conviction.” Noticing the scratch above the collar of his shirt, he paused. “What happened to your neck?”

  “What?” Forgetting about the wound Gail had inflicted on him, Joshua rubbed his neck. When his fingers touched the scratch, he shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

  “Looks like it drew blood.” The doctor examined it. “Did you disinfect it?”

  “Yes, Daddy. Will you get dressed? I’m hungry, and I want to know what Rollins got himself into that got him killed.”

  Tad picked up two pairs of jeans in search of the cleaner pair. He made his determination by sniffing them to see which one smelled less offensive. “The bartender at the State Line told me that Rollins was bragging to everyone last night that he had written a book about a woman he called the wicked witch and her getting away with murder.”

  Joshua couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t you have to be able to read before you can write?”

  “I didn’t say it was a good book. Think about it. Rex was soon to be the former Phyllis Barlow’s ex-husband. He was really mad when she shot him a couple of weeks ago. She lived next door to the Wheelers when Tricia died.” He slipped on a pair of jeans with faded knees.

  “Come on, Tad! This is Rex we’re talking about. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but the man was a drunken blowhard. He was always bragging about something or other. He heard that Gail was writing a book about solving a real murder and saw a way to make a quick buck.”

  “Just because a man is a drunk doesn’t mean that he is incapable of knowing anything. Some of my best information comes from drunks and addicts. When you’re in a bar with a friend and you see a drunk next to you, do you lower your voice, or do you pretend he’s not there?” He answered his own question. “You tell yourself that it’s just some drunk. You’d be surprised what people say in front of them.”

  “Why would Phyllis kill Trish? They didn’t exactly run with the same crowd, but they weren’t enemies, either.”

  Tad slipped a gray long-sleeved sweatshirt on over his head. “You know, Rex did a lot of work for Margo throughout the years.”

  “And her lawyer was representing him on violating that restraining order,” Joshua mused.

  “Why would Margo’s lawyer defend him?” Tad saw a suspicious look cross his cousin’s face. “Didn’t Margo and Trish have a feud?”

  Joshua shook his head at the notion of Rex Rollins having any knowledge of Margo committing Tricia’s murder. “Margo is miles out of his league. What could he possibly know about the murder if she did it?”

  Unable to give him an answer, Tad shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that Rex Rollins was in the State Line bragging about writing a book about a killing and shortly afterwards two bullets went through his head.”

  Tad’s words stuck in Joshua’s craw until he couldn’t go on without knowing everything. At brunch at Elby’s in Calcutta, located on the other side of East Liverpool, he called Seth on his cell phone during the children’s claim-to-be-the-last-trip to the buffet during a feeding frenzy.

  “You’ll get my report when people stop killing each other long enough for me to write it,” the detective said in response to his question about Rex Rollins’ murder.

  “Can you give me the highlights?”

  “Come to Grant and Second in Newell and I’ll give them to you.”

  In Newell, Joshua found the fire department cleaning up their equipment from putting out the fire that destroyed the top floor and roof of the boardinghouse in which the late Rex Rollins had lived. “What happened?” he asked Seth when he found him sitting in his cruiser.

  The detective answered without humor, “I believe they call it a fire.” He reported, “Rollins lived on the top floor of this rooming house. Fire started shortly after one o’clock. The doc said he was killed between midnight and one. Guess where it started?”

  “His r
oom. Anyone hurt?”

  “Nah, landlady smelled the smoke and got everyone out. The top floor and attic were destroyed. The bottom floors only got smoke and water damage.”

  “Anybody see or hear anything?”

  “Can you let me do my job and send you the report when I’m done?”

  “From what I’m seeing, the effectiveness of your job performance leaves a lot to be desired.”

  Seth made a remark in reference to the previous night, which now seemed like an incident in the distant past to both men. “If I didn’t have kids playing Clint Eastwood, I’d be more effective.”

  The fire marshal came from inside the house and told the detective that he could investigate the remains of Rex Rollins’ room.

  Joshua was turning to leave when the marshal, assuming that he was there to survey the crime scene, offered him a hard hat. Not wanting to argue any further with Seth, he hesitated, and then decided that he wanted to see what was inside.

  An elderly woman dressed in a tattered bathrobe held together by multicolored patches darted out of the crowd of spectators. She grabbed the detective by the arm with a boney claw. “When can I get my stuff?”

  “As soon as they say it is safe to go inside.”

  She squinted at Joshua with suspicion. “Then why is he going inside?”

  Seth answered in a tone devoid of respect, “This is Joshua Thornton, the county prosecutor.” He gestured with his head toward the old woman. “This is Bella Polk, the owner of the boardinghouse.”

  “I’m sorry about your home.” The lawyer’s most charming grin had no effect on her.

  “I knew something like this was going to happen,” she said in raspy voice.

  Joshua did not doubt that the detective investigating the case heard her statement. Yet, Seth dismissed her and went inside the house without any comment.

  The prosecutor treated her remark as a clue. “Why?”

  Bella explained, “There was trouble brewing ever since my husband started renting out rooms here. That good-for-nothing didn’t want to get a regular job like a real man, and the other tramps who lived here were no better. He always said that they were down on their luck and that letting them flop here was Christian charity. Christian charity, my ass! Tramps, perverts, and degenerates!” She looked around to see if anyone was listening. “I even caught some queers a few times.” She giggled. “There was a couple that swore they were straight, but I knew better. Why would two grown men share a room if they weren’t fairies? One night, I waited until it was late and I sneaked—”