Ice (A Chris Matheson Cold Case Mystery Book 1) Page 5

  Silence fell over the room while they waited for Chris, who had become lost in his thoughts, to resume.

  “And you met Sandy at the diner?” Francine asked.

  “She worked the lunch counter.” Chris shifted in his seat. Uncomfortable discussing the painful topic made his body ache until he had to get out of his seat. “Her brother, Carson, was the cook.” His voice trailed off. He stared out the window into the darkness. The leafless trees reminded him of eerie skeletons.

  Elliott stepped up behind him. “You said you did her a favor.”

  Chris started at the sound of his voice. Turning around, he studied each of their faces—searching for clues that they believed him.

  “Sandy had a crush on me. I knew it. She’d hang out and talk to me while I ate.” He sucked in a deep breath. “She was shy and awkward.”

  “Was she pretty?” Jacqui asked.

  Chris shook his head. “She wasn’t ugly. She was plain looking. But she was nice. She was a sweet kid. That’s how I saw her. A kid.”

  “A kid who was in love with you.” Bruce’s wicked tone prompted Chris to step toward him, only to have Elliott stop him with a hand pressed against his chest.

  “It’s the truth,” Elliott said.

  Chris shook off the offense. “I did nothing to encourage her. I was a senior in college. My application to the FBI had been accepted, and I was getting ready to graduate when she gave me a Valentine’s Day card and a little teddy bear with a heart. I had been so wrapped up in my studies that I hadn’t even realized what day it was. She asked me to be her date for senior prom.”

  “And you accepted.” Francine was breathless.

  “From what I could see, she didn’t date. She had no social life,” he said. “She had to work up a lot of guts to invite me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I felt like if I said no she would’ve been absolutely crushed. So I said yes.”

  “And then she got pregnant,” Jacqui said.

  “It wasn’t me,” Chris said. “I took her to the prom. I took her home afterwards. I didn’t even go inside their house. I kissed her good night on the doorstep—that’s it. Then six weeks after I moved to Quantico, Dad calls to tell me that I’d been slapped with a paternity suit.”

  “Did she say you were the baby’s father?” Bruce asked.

  “I guess that’s what she told her mother,” Chris said. “Ethel Lipton was leading the charge—suing me for child support and charging me with statutory rape since Sandy was only seventeen at the time. She offered to settle out of court for a bunch of money, but my lawyer shot that down real fast.”

  “All you had to do was wait for the baby to be born and do a blood test to prove you were telling the truth,” Bruce said.

  “That’s why Sandy’s disappearance was the worst thing that could have happened. With her and the baby gone, everyone assumed I got rid of her because the blood test would have proven I had taken advantage of an underage girl. If that happened, the FBI would have canned me like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  “She could have been raped,” Francine said. When Chris opened his mouth to object, she shot up her hand. “By someone who threatened to harm her or her family if she revealed who he was. She loved you, but she feared the rapist more.”

  “In which case, the rapist wouldn’t want the blood test done because it would have brought out the truth,” Jacqui said. “When did you take her to prom?”

  “April,” Chris said.

  “And she was nine months pregnant when she went missing in January.” Jacqui counted on her fingers. “So she got pregnant the same month you took her to prom.”

  “And he was in the area when she disappeared,” Ray said.

  “She went missing on the same day I left to go back to Quantico after coming home for Christmas break.”

  “Did you see Sandy when you were home?” Francine asked him.

  “Sandy’s mother alleged he went to their house and threatened Sandy the day before she went missing,” Ray said.

  All eyes turned to Chris.

  “I did not threaten her,” Chris said. “Yes, I did go to see her. I tried to talk sense into her to make her tell the truth about nothing happening between us.”

  “You were angry,” Elliott said.

  “Yes, I was. This whole thing was tearing the town apart,” Chris said. “There were folks who believed that all law enforcement was crooked, who were convinced that I had raped Sandy. Then there were people who considered Ethel Lipton to be trash. She saw her daughter’s condition to be on par of winning the lottery. On that day, I had run into a couple of friends of mine at the store. One had been my best friend since grade school. He wouldn’t even acknowledge me. When I got home, he called to tell me he was still my friend. He just couldn’t be friends with me in public because his wife, who I had dated for close to a year in high school, thought I had done it.” He sighed. “I lost it. I went over to Sandy’s house and let her have it—but I didn’t threaten her. I told her that as soon as the baby was born we were going to do a blood test and the truth would come out. The world would know she and her family were liars.”

  “That was when Ethel Lipton threw you out of her house,” Ray said while referring to his data.

  “Her, Carson, and a couple of guys were there, too,” Chris said.

  “What guys?” Francine asked. “Young or old.”

  “Middle aged,” Chris said. “Well, back then I would have put them at middle aged. One was older—fifties at least. The other was in his mid-thirties or so. Very well dressed, too. I didn’t even know they were there when Sandy let me in. Then, when she started crying, her mother came running out of the kitchen and they followed her. The older guy comforted Sandy. The other guy kept hanging back like he didn’t want me to see him. Carson escorted me outside. He said Sandy was imagining things. He said at first he thought she had made up the pregnancy—until the doctor had said it was real.”

  “There’s no one else in the statement witnessing you threatening Sandy except Ethel Lipton and her son Carson,” Ray said.

  “The case against Christopher would have gotten more traction if these two men had come forward to confirm him threatening Sandy,” Bruce said.

  “You’re right,” Chris said. “Why didn’t they make a statement to the police?”

  “Because they didn’t want anyone to know they were there,” Francine said.

  “We need to find out who those two men were,” Elliott said. “Do you remember what they looked like, Chris?”

  “Let me think about it. I was so focused on Sandy and fighting off her mother that I didn’t really pay attention to them. I remember thinking that the younger of the two men, the one hanging back toward the kitchen, looked like a lawyer. As a matter of fact, I kind of assumed he was their lawyer. But I found out later that Ethel had hired that worm Sinclair.”

  “Let’s work on finding out who they were and what role they played in all this,” Elliott said.

  “What do you remember about the night of the prom?” Francine asked.

  “Was there anyone hanging around Sandy who seemed particularly interested in her?” Elliott asked. “Maybe he followed you when you took her home.

  Chris shook his head before saying, “Victor Sinclair.”

  “I know him,” Francine said. “Jefferson County Prosecutor. He’s also an idiot.”

  “His daughter goes to school with mine,” Chris said. “She’s the one who announced to the middle school that I’m a rapist and murderer.”

  “But he attended that prom,” Bruce said, “and showed an interest in Sandy?”

  Chris nodded his head. “I realized real soon after we got there that Sandy had let her imagination go a little wild. She introduced me as her boyfriend. Her friends were in awe that quiet little Sandy had a boyfriend in college. She was on cloud nine and I let her stay there.”r />
  “You didn’t call her out,” Francine said with a smile. “You really are a nice guy.”

  “I was graduating and moving to Virginia. What harm would it do me to let her live her fantasy for just one night? I played Prince Charming to her Cinderella.”

  “What role did Victor Sinclair play?” Francine asked in a low voice.

  “He asked her to dance not long after we got there,” Chris said, “and she turned him down—saying emphatically that she had reserved all dances for her boyfriend. He didn’t look happy at all. He kept lurking around—so much so that I did suggest to Sandy that she dance with him, but she refused. She told me she didn’t want to encourage him.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I had forgotten about that.”

  “That’s what your daddy used to say happens with cold cases,” Elliott said. “If you let them get cold enough, then they turn into ice. Most folks think that once a case turns ice cold that it’ll be impossible to solve it. But all it takes to melt ice is for someone to put a little bit of heat under it.”

  Chapter Five

  Want pancakes for breakfast tomorrow am? Get pancake mix & milk after mtg.

  After members of the Geezer Squad had finally called it an evening, Chris let out a sigh of exhaustion when he read Doris’s text.

  Damn!

  Ray had managed to get into the police computer system to download the case files and forwarded digital copies to their email accounts—including Chris’s.

  Energized by the details of Sandy Lipton’s disappearance, the group worked until almost ten o’clock when Elliott noticed that it had started to sleet.

  The meeting ended with each member volunteering to use his or her own expertise to tackle the missing person’s case. Jacqui promised to search databases in the neighboring states for Jane Does who matched Sandy’s description.

  Francine decided to check into Victor Sinclair’s relationship with Sandy Lipton. “He’s obviously got an ax to grind since he’s still pointing the finger at you after all these years,” she said while packing up her tablet and notebooks. “It wouldn’t hurt to find out his agenda.”

  “He thinks I took advantage of Sandy and then killed her,” Chris said.

  “Or he raped her himself because she rejected him and he’s blaming you to divert suspicion.” She blew him a kiss which made Chris smile. “Keep your chin up, handsome. The Geezer Squad’s on the case. Before you know it, we’ll find out who did what to your friend and clear your name while we’re at it.”

  Bruce slapped Chris on the shoulder on his way out the door. “What’s the first rule of the Geezer Squad?”

  “Never talk about the Geezer Squad.”

  “Especially to your mother.” Bruce shook his finger at him. “Don’t you forget. I’d hate to have to order Elliott to kill you. Your pa and I were really good friends—even if he was a cop.”

  “And you were a prosecutor.” Chris recalled that his father never did like lawyers. The legal system made him jump through too many hoops—only to have perpetrators set free due to a technicality—even when everyone knew they were guilty.

  “Well,” Bruce said with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “no one’s perfect.”

  Chris took note of Bruce’s plaid shirt under his worn winter coat and tattered fedora on his head. He didn’t look like any lawyer he’d known in Washington. “How long have you been retired?”

  “Twenty-two years,” Bruce said. “I retired at forty-five, too—after my wife got pregnant.”

  Chris’s mouth dropped open.

  “That was my reaction, too,” Bruce said. “I was a stay-at-home dad while my wife pursued her dream of starting her own architect firm. She’s got a big office in Leesburg. Does pretty good, too. Our son is in his junior year at Virginia Tech. Your dad invited me to join the squad after we became empty nesters. This group is important to all of us. My wife, Miriam would have a fit if she found out what I really do at these meetings.” He poked Chris in the chest. “So keep your mouth shut.”

  Chris made a gesture of turning a key to lock his mouth. With a pleased nod of his head, Bruce went out into the cold. At first, Chris thought the vibrating phone in his pocket was a shiver from the icy wind whipping around his neck. Instead, it was a message from his mother—instructions to pick up pancake mix and milk for breakfast the next morning.

  With a groan, Chris zipped his coat up tight and ran for the blue sedan. The icy particles in the air warned of more coming their way.

  The convenience store at the end of the street did not carry pancake mix. That meant he’d have to drive up the road to the all-night department store in Charles Town.

  Ok, he replied to her text. On my way.

  Her response was instantaneous. Don’t forget to use your bonus card!

  K

  He made his way onto the main road. As expected, the roads were vacant. Everyone was tucked in for the night—warm and safe in expectation of the storm predicted to dump at least half an inch of ice.

  Schools were closed for the next day. Some parents would be lucky enough to have off as well. Families could spend time together. Thus, Doris’s insistence that Chris pick up pancake mix so that they could have breakfast as a family.

  Chris grinned at the thought of a long leisurely morning with his girls as he liked to call them. If the weather cleared enough, Chris would take them out on a trail ride. Maybe he could even convince his mother to join them.

  He had become well aware that he was the only male in the house — even Sadie, Mocha, and Thor were female. He wondered if Sterling figured out what he had gotten himself into.

  Winston understood. Chris’s beloved shepherd went everywhere with him. He loved to ride in the front passenger seat next to his master.

  Sterling could take Winston’s place.

  Chris doubted it.

  There was only one Winston.

  Besides, Elliott had said the police declared Sterling goofy—whatever that meant. He’d never heard of a law enforcement K-9 being “goofy.”

  The department store’s parking lot was sparsely filled and dark—much to Chris’s disappointment. He hated going to the store late at night—not that he made a habit of doing so.

  The odds of being a crime victim increased significantly in all-night store parking lots. The lack of police presence and high risk people who frequented around-the-clock businesses made them magnets for criminal activity.

  After locking the car door, Chris shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. He laid his right hand on the small semi-automatic that he always kept close by. With luck, he’d find the pancake mix, grab a gallon of milk, use the self-checkout, and return home before the roads got too slick.

  The road along the river iced up fast. The Mathesons had chains to put on their vehicles to get in and out without relying on the state plow.

  The last thing Chris needed was to be stuck on the side of an icy road putting chains on Doris’s sedan in the dark in the middle of an ice storm.

  He wanted to go home and climb into his warm bed.

  When he returned to the front of the store, Chris sighed with relief to see that there was no line for the automated cashiers. He hurried to one of the stations and pressed the button to begin checking out.

  “Please scan your frequent shoppers card,” the computerized voice instructed.

  Chris vacillated between saving time from searching his pockets for his keys with the tag to save a few cents or not to.

  He could hear his mother asking him if he remembered to use the bonus card. If he did use it, she’d never ask. So, she wouldn’t know. Yet, it was guaranteed that if he didn’t use it, she’d find out.

  With a groan, he fished through his pockets while the automated voice nagged him to scan the card. Finally, he extracted his keys only to find that the cashier had given up.

  “Please s
can your first item.”

  He pressed the plastic tag onto the reader.

  The cashier ignored him. “Please scan your first item.”

  “After you scan my card.” Chris moved the plastic tag back and forth across the screen to get the cashier to read the bar code.

  “Please scan your first item.”

  “Come on. Scan it already.”

  “Please scan your first item.”

  Muttering under his breath, he dropped his keys into his pocket and slid the pancake mix across the scanner.

  “Get your hands off of me, bitch!” a shrill voice demanded a few stations away.

  “What you gonna do about it, tramp?”

  Chris recognized the voice of one of the women, but was unsure how he knew her. He peered down the row of checkout stations. Kicking and scratching for all they were worth, two women were engaged in a brawl. A male employee and a security guard attempted to pry them apart by wedging their bodies between the fighters.

  A ding and instructions from the automated cashier prompted Chris to scan the gallon of milk. It sounded like the men managed to break up the fight.

  “I’m pressing charges,” one of the women yelled. “I’m pregnant and she assaulted me! Call the police!”

  “You! Come back here!” the security guard demanded when the other woman grabbed a suitcase of beer and hurried out the door.

  Unfastened, her worn winter coat was askew. Its hood dropped down behind her back. Her long hair was yellow from a bad dye job. She reeked of cigarettes and stale booze.

  Chris caught a glimpse of her skeletal face before she darted past him and out into the darkness. It was a mass of wrinkles.