by Chris Culver
“Diana Hughes killed James Holmes in her bedroom. His blood’s all over the place.”
She paused. “Say what?”
“I’m at Diana Hughes’s house. When I arrived, I found two men cleaning the carpet in her bedroom. Diana Hughes hired them to remove what she described as stains from cranberry juice. It’s blood spatter. There’s more on the bed. She broke her husband out of prison, killed him, and now she’s moved on to his business partners.”
She paused again. “I asked you not to go to Diana Hughes’s house.”
“I know. You can arrest me for interfering with a police investigation, but get down here.”
“I’ll call this in and be there as soon as I can.”
“See you—”
She hung up before I could finish. I followed the carpet cleaners’ hoses outside and found them smoking cigarettes inside their van. Both men looked pale, and they moved with the deliberate gestures of actors playing roles they didn’t fathom. I doubted either was involved in a murder, but the police would still have to clear them. Hopefully neither had too many skeletons in his closet.
I had nowhere to sit, so I stayed outside and paced up and down the driveway. Every part of my body buzzed with anticipation. We did it. Diana was our shot caller. We didn’t have enough evidence to convict her yet, but I was sure we’d find it inside her house. Then, once we had Diana, we’d find her accomplices. She couldn’t have done this on her own.
I had just solved the biggest case of my life. It wasn’t through genius or special insight. It was hard work. I might even get a letter of commendation out of this.
Within five minutes of my call, I heard the first sirens. A pair of marked police cruisers screeched to a halt behind the carpet cleaners’ van, and a uniformed officer jumped out of each. I didn’t know what Julia had told the dispatcher, but one officer went to the carpet cleaners, while the second put a hand on my elbow and led me toward his cruiser.
“Ms. Court, I’ve been instructed to take you into custody for interfering with a police investigation.”
I scoffed and rolled my eyes but didn’t move. Of course she’d do this.
“What did Captain Green tell you?”
“I’m just following orders, miss,” he said.
“Did she tell you I’m a detective with the St. Augustine County Sheriff’s Department?”
He stopped and looked at me up and down. “Do you have a badge?”
I closed my eyes. “It’s a long story. Did she tell you I’m her daughter?”
He hesitated. “Family life is your own. If you’re a detective, your CO will talk to my CO and get this sorted out. In the meantime, I need you to have a seat in the car.”
We walked to the car, and he opened the rear door for me.
“There’s a gun in my purse.”
“Do you have a concealed carry permit?”
I cocked my head to the side. “I have a badge in my boss’s desk in St. Augustine.”
“So you don’t have a permit with you.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “No, I don’t.”
He made me sit in the car while he searched my purse. Upon my request, he handed me my phone, which I used to text Julia to let her know the first officers on the scene had placed me under arrest for interfering with a police investigation.
You asked for it. I’ll see you soon.
I wanted to text her something mean in response, but that would have just made her drive slower. Within moments, more officers came to the scene, including two plain-clothes detectives. About half an hour after I arrived, Julia pulled to a stop in the driveway. She saw me in the back of the cruiser but only came to talk after first speaking with one of the plain-clothes detectives.
“Am I under arrest?” I asked.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Travis called the police in Chesterfield to let them know who you are. I would have let you rot in jail.”
I swung my legs out of the cruiser. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“You’re a civilian. You quit.”
“Then I’m a civilian who found something you missed. Is that what you’re mad about?”
She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow. “Don’t go there, sweetheart. I’m angry because we may not have a complete chain of custody on any blood evidence you’ve found inside the house. You know how defense attorneys work. They will look for any weakness in our case, and you’ve introduced a weakness. Did you even have cause to enter the house?”
“Someone is killing people connected to Christopher Hughes. Diana Hughes has a connection to Christopher Hughes,” I said, drawing the inferences. “The front door was open. There were men inside the house. Fearing for Mrs. Hughes’s safety, I entered the premises and conducted a safety sweep. Upon arrival in the master bedroom, I found potential blood evidence in plain sight. It’s admissible in court.”
“That might be true if you were a police officer. Instead, you’re a woman trespassing. Your word won’t carry a lot of weight in court. You should have stayed outside and waited.”
“Two things. If I hadn’t come here when I did, the carpet cleaners would have destroyed the evidence. You wouldn’t have even seen it. Second, I still have a badge. Your concerns are irrelevant,” I said, folding my arms and looking toward the house and then to my adoptive mother. Her eyes were wide open, and her gaze was hard. “While I was solving your murder, what have you been doing?”
She stared at me for another moment with those angry eyes of hers and then looked away.
“I was trying to track down Randy Shepard. He lives and works in Illinois, but we’ve had our eyes on him for a while. He’s a pimp with a sizable business that specializes in young women. We think he also owns some strip clubs, but we can’t tie him to them. I suspect he hired some of your foster sisters once they aged out from the program.”
“And Randy worked with Christopher Hughes?”
“We never knew how, but yeah.”
Even hearing that made me feel ill. It also made things click in my mind in a way they never had before.
“That was why Christopher wanted us around,” I said. “If he were just after sex, he could have bought it from prostitutes. He brought us in because he was recruiting for his buddy.”
“That’s one theory we worked on,” said Julia. “Christopher was part of the pipeline. He used his position as a foster father to find vulnerable young women, whom he then pushed on his pimp friend for a cut of the profits.”
I closed my eyes. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Don’t say that aloud,” she said. “People are still investigating your shooting.”
I nodded and looked around the scene. There were half a dozen police cars in the driveway, and already uniformed officers were knocking on the doors of houses nearby.
“When I lived here, Diana and Christopher had sensors on every window and door. Nobody could walk into this house unnoticed. That means Diana let the victim inside and took him to the bedroom. The victim trusted her, and she killed him.”
“You seem sure Diana is the killer.”
I nodded, more to myself than to her, as my thoughts coalesced.
“Christopher was a monster, but he couldn’t think his way out of a paper bag. The moron showed up at my house in the middle of the night and acted surprised when I pointed a shotgun at him. He didn’t build his business on his own. He had help.”
Julia crossed her arms. “What are you thinking?”
“Diana was the shot caller—and not just today, but twelve years ago, too. I’ve read your files. Twelve years ago when Megan went missing, your entire case against Christopher rested on my allegation that he had raped me and that he had raped Megan. You didn’t even have enough for an indictment, but then Diana gave you everything you needed. She saw an opportunity to stop your investigation, and she took it. She set her husband up and put him away for life before you could dig into her. Now, she’s killing off her husband’s business partners.”
Julia said nothing for a moment. Then she nodded. When she spoke again, her voice was low and almost sounded defeated.
“Why do you think she’d do that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she thought they would turn on her. Maybe they had evidence against her. Maybe she was tired of sharing the profits. The why doesn’t matter. She worked with Sherlock to get Christopher out of prison, and then she killed them both.”
Julia swore under her breath and looked down. “It’s plausible.”
“You going to pick her up?”
Julia raised her eyebrows and looked up. “We need to find her first, but yeah. In the meantime, I need you to write an after-action report of what you did today. Go home. Even if you are a detective, this isn’t your case anymore.”
My mind was already ahead of her, so I nodded.
“Yeah. I’ll head out.”
I started to walk toward my truck, but Julia stepped in front of me. She crossed her arms.
“I know you.”
“I know you, too, Julia,” I said, feigning a smile.
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re planning something. I can see your brain working.”
“My brain is always working. It keeps me alive.”
“No, no, no,” said Julia, shaking her head. “You can’t joke your way out of this. You know where Diana is.”
I blinked a few times and started to say something, but Julia held up a finger and stopped me.
“Reconsider whatever story you planned to tell me,” she said. “I’ve known you for a long time. Please don’t lie.”
I considered what to say.
“It’s a long shot,” I said.
“Okay,” said Julia. “Go on.”
“Diana used to own a health food store in Ladue. Christopher mentioned it once.”
Julia blinked and shook her head. “We looked into Diana’s finances. She didn’t own anything. It was all in her husband’s name.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I’d say you missed a few things.”
Julia exhaled a slow breath. Then she looked toward the uniformed officers on the scene before turning to me.
“You’re right. Get your firearm. We’re going for a drive.”
43
The drive from Chesterfield took about twenty minutes. Diana Hughes’s store occupied the entirety of a two-story Queen Anne Victorian off Clayton Road. The building had a large porch with hanging plants and a lush front lawn. From the street, it looked like a cozy bed-and-breakfast, but it was a business built with blood money. I hoped Diana was inside because I wanted to see her face when we put cuffs on her wrists.
We parked in the lot, and I met Julia behind my truck.
“This looks like an antique store,” she said. “You’re sure Diana Hughes owns this?”
“She did twelve years ago,” I said. “How thoroughly did you investigate her?”
“Are you questioning my police work now?”
“No. I’m wondering how hard you went after her,” I said. “Is she going to run if she sees you?”
Julia thought for a moment. “You take point. If she’s here, she won’t want to see me.”
“Okay,” I said, checking the weapon in my purse in case I had to use it. “Please watch my back and make sure I don’t get shot.”
She nodded, and we walked to the store together. The front porch creaked as I stepped onto it. Dried herbs hung from hooks on the porch’s ceiling, while a rocking chair swayed in a breeze. A galvanized steel watering can full of flowers rested by the front door. Everything on the porch had a price tag.
I walked into the building while Julia stayed outside. Cased openings led to rooms on the left and right. A door straight ahead was closed, while a velvet rope blocked off the stairs. Herbs in glass jars lined the walls of the parlor to my left, while there were teas and coffees to my right. People were talking somewhere, so I followed the sound of conversation to a small coffee shop in what would have been the home’s kitchen. Three older women sat around a cafe table, sipping drinks. Each of them had a paper bag overflowing with flowers and other decorative items.
I walked toward the counter behind which a young woman in an apron stood. She smiled at me.
“Our coffee of the day is a Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. It’s a mild coffee grown almost five thousand feet above sea level. It’s rich and smooth. Can I get you a sample cup?”
I looked at the older women at the table nearby. One of them wore a ring adorned with a diamond the size of an almond, while a second carried a Louis Vuitton handbag that cost more than my car. The third woman had a diamond tennis bracelet and earrings that looked as if someone had stolen them from the Crown Jewels in London. I turned back to the barista and leaned forward.
“Just to settle my curiosity, how much does this coffee retail for per pound?”
“One-nineteen per pound, but if you’re a member of our coffee club, you get a ten percent discount.”
I lowered my chin. “I assume by one-nineteen you mean it’s a hundred and nineteen dollars per pound.”
The barista hesitated and then nodded. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “But I’ll stick to Folgers all the same. I’m looking for Diana Hughes. Is she around?”
She hesitated again. “How do you know Mrs. Hughes?”
“Old friend,” I said. “Is she here?”
She blinked but said nothing. I took that as a yes.
“Is she upstairs?”
The girl leaned forward. “Mrs. Hughes enjoys her privacy. She doesn’t like being disturbed.”
“I’m not a fan of disturbances, either, but if you don’t tell me where she is, I’ll call the county police and bring in dogs to search for her. How’s that sound?”
The girl put her hands flat on the counter and lowered her voice.
“I can’t lose this job. I’ve got tuition to pay.”
“At this point, that’s the least of your concerns,” I said. “Where’s Diana?”
The girl closed her eyes and leaned back. Then she pointed toward the ceiling.
“Upstairs?” I asked. She nodded.
“Please don’t tell her I told you.”
I nodded but didn’t break eye contact.
“Clear out the building and go to the parking lot. I’ll call for more officers.”
The girl furrowed her brow. “What’s she done?”
“She’s got blood on her hands. Now clear out the building.”
The barista hesitated but then nodded and stepped around the counter to hustle the older women out of their seats and to the front door. She’d lose her job, but if she played her cards right, she could sell her story to the news. It wouldn’t be all bad.
I slipped my firearm from my purse and walked to the entryway, where I stepped over the velvet rope blocking the second story. The aging hardwood stairs creaked. The second floor had stained hardwood floors with an oriental rug as a runner. Diana Hughes must have heard my footsteps because she came out of a bedroom when I was halfway up the stairs and gave me a small, demure smile.
“You look good, Joe.”
“You, too, Diana,” I said, raising my weapon. “I was at your house this morning. I saw the mess you left on your bed and in the closet. You’re under arrest.”
She blinked, and then her posture softened. “Come on up. We should talk. Girl to girl.”
“We’ll talk, but not here. Put your hands on the wall so I can frisk you. After that, I will put handcuffs on you while I check out the rest of the building to make sure we’re alone.”
She rubbed her wrists and took a step back before sweeping her hand across the hallway.
“By all means,” she said. “Frisk me, secure me, and search. I have nothing to hide.”
As I climbed the steps, I held my weapon in front of me. This was too easy. A woman willing to kill her ex-husband and all of her business partners to cover
up a prostitution ring wouldn’t come in this easily. She had something planned.
“Put your hands on the wall.”
She did as I asked and then looked over her shoulder as she bit her lower lip.
“I didn’t know you were into this kind of thing.”
“Shut up,” I said, running a hand down her back, sides, hips, and arms. She wore a pink pencil skirt that hugged her body and a white, sleeveless button-down shirt. Her clothes didn’t leave a lot of room to hide a weapon. After searching her, I put my pistol in my purse and took out a pair of handcuffs.
“Lower your right hand to your waist,” I said. “Keep your palms towards me at all times.”
“Kinky,” she said. As I hooked up her right wrist, I felt a little better.
“Left hand, please,” I said. She lowered her left hand, and I hooked that up. I put the cuffs on tight, but not so tight that they’d cut off her circulation. Once I had the cuffs on, I wriggled them to make sure they were secure. “Stay here. I want to make sure we’re alone up here.”
“Make sure you check the closets,” she said. “You can never have too much peace of mind.”
“Good tip,” I said, walking toward a bedroom at the end of the hall. Diana Hughes married a moron, but she wasn’t one herself. I didn’t know what she was up to, but she wasn’t the first intelligent suspect I had ever dealt with. The key, I’d found, was to let them think they were in charge. If you give an arrogant asshole enough rope, he’s bound to hang himself.
I checked the rooms one by one and found that we were alone on the second floor. Then I walked out to find Diana leaning against the wall in the hallway as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Despite having cuffs on her, an uneasy pit grew in my stomach.
“Diana Hughes, you’re under arrest for the murder of a still unknown person inside your home. You have the right to remain silent, but if you choose to talk, I can use whatever you say against you in court. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during any interrogation. If you want a lawyer and can’t afford one, the court will provide one at the government’s expense before we question you. Do you understand your rights as I’ve described them?”