by Rick Polad
“That’s not too hard. Unless there’s family we don’t know about, Margaret is the only person she was close to. How much?”
“Around a half mil.”
“Nice. Margaret know yet?”
“Not from me.”
“You think she knew?”
Rosie shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“That takes more heat off Charles if she did. Gives her a motive, and she obviously has a key and a missing knife. And as far as I’m concerned, Charles doesn’t have a motive.”
“Sure he does—money.”
He looked at her with wonder. “Come on, Rosie. He could have taken that money anytime; he was alone in the house. He didn’t have to kill her for it. He could have worked two more weeks and made that much. The guy had a gravy train—why ruin it?”
“Yeah, doesn’t make sense, but not everything does. Maybe he got tired of working for it. But the hooker/father angle could be a motive.”
“Sure. But a stretch.”
She shrugged. “I’ve seen bigger.”
Rosie finished her drink and said, “Here’s something interesting.” She then told Spencer about how Miss Brock had met and hired Margaret.
“Anything new on Laura?” asked Rosie.
“Well, our relationship has changed a bit.”
Rosie’s eyebrows went up. “You have a relationship? Would you like to explain that?”
“Not really. But she’s definitely looking for her sister. And she definitely is not a prostitute.”
Spencer told her about Laura’s team and the large man Stretch had seen on the street. “And this is interesting. Since Charles has been in jail, the man hasn’t appeared.”
Rosie set down her glass. “It is. So is Laura and her team. Don’t think I like you involved in that, for several reasons.”
Spencer shrugged. “Just standing on the street watching the crowd.”
“Right. How’s the bump on your head?”
Spencer smiled. “I’ve switched sides.”
“Uh huh. Well, make sure your new side doesn’t get you thrown in jail.”
“Nothing illegal about standing on the street.”
Rosie nodded, skeptically. “Be careful, Spencer.”
“I will.”
“And call if something happens. Don’t go charging in on your white horse.”
“Definitely.”
Rosie wasn’t entirely convinced.
They paid on the way out. On the way to Rosie’s car, Spencer asked if they were going for their usual Saturday morning run.
“I’d better take a rain check. I’m working Friday night and it might be late.”
“Okay. Maybe we can do something over the weekend. Give me a call.”
He waved and walked away before she could reply.
Chapter 83
Rosie picked up Steele and they headed for Margaret’s. The rain had stopped and breaks in the clouds were letting in a little sunshine. A slight wind had picked up out of the west. On the way, Rosie warned Steele about the Spencer situation and asked him not to mention it.
His reaction was not expected. “Hey, I like the guy. I’m all about private enterprise, and you gotta admire creativity.”
Rosie liked the guy, too, but lately she had been wondering. They had had one great night, and it looked like that didn’t mean anything more to Spencer.
Steele rang the doorbell. Margaret answered, looking worried and nervous. Certainly not the calm, collected person she had been on the last visit. She led them into the kitchen. This time she did not offer tea.
On walking into the kitchen, Rosie looked for the knife block. There was indeed an empty slot. She’d save it for last.
“What is it you want to talk about, Margaret?”
With a worried glance at Steele, Margaret said, “I thought it would be just you.”
“Steele, you mind...” He was gone before she could finish.
Margaret took a deep breath and folded her hands on the table. “Detective Manning asked why I accused Mr. Lamb.”
Rosie cringed inwardly at the detective.
“I really do not have a good reason, and I do not want the wrong man to be in jail. I told Miss Brock that it was not a good idea to give a key to someone you do not know. She just laughed and said she was a good judge of character. I do not want Mr. Lamb to be in jail if he did not do it.”
“That’s good, Margaret. We don’t either. But there is other evidence besides your statement. And that’s why we have juries. They decide if someone is guilty after a trial.”
Margaret locked eyes with Rosie. “That’s not really why I asked you to come.”
Rosie waited.
“He also asked who did the other work in the house that was not finished. I said I did not know, but I do.” Her face suddenly filled with sadness, and she started to sob.
“It was my son—Joseph.”
“That’s okay, Margaret. Why are you upset?”
“Because Miss Brock told him not to come back.”
Rosie felt an immediate rush of emotions—mostly sadness. Margaret seemed overwhelmed, but Rosie wasn’t sure why. Margaret seemed to be trying to control herself but her lower jaw was shaking and her face had lost all color. Rosie had seen that look in people’s eyes before, but didn’t understand why it was happening now. She felt like she was interfering with something very private. Most of her wanted to leave, but the detective needed to know why.
“I’m so sorry, Margaret. Can you tell me why that happened?”
Margaret got up to get a napkin to wipe the tears flowing down her cheeks. After a few minutes she had recovered some composure.
“I told Miss Brock about my son. He was in college and needed a job. His father taught him how to fix things. I wanted him to have a job instead of being always with his friends.”
Rosie told her that was a good idea and waited.
“Miss Brock said she needed work done at the house and would pay him. She was such a wonderful person. But my son would not be home sometimes when we had to catch the bus. I told him many times. I made up excuses for him.”
Trying to make this easier for Margaret, Rosie said, “So Miss Brock let him go because she couldn’t depend on him?”
Margaret shook her head and looked totally defeated. Staring at a spot on the table, she corrected Rosie. “No, she told him to leave because he took money—from her safe.” Her eyes didn’t leave the spot.
Rosie had developed a trust for this woman. She was sure Margaret was exactly as she seemed—trusting and kind and honest. She could not imagine how that had affected a mother.
“I told her I would pay her back, but she would not let me. I told her I would get my coat and leave, but she would not let me. I told her I could not come back and face her, but she said that would be even worse for her, because she needed me and was my friend. She was sorry. But she was not sorry that she lost money—she was sorry for me.” The tears started again.
“I’m sorry for you too, Margaret. That must have been very hard. Did you talk to your son?”
Margaret looked up and met Rosie’s eyes. “I couldn’t. When I got home he was gone. He took his things.” She looked away.
“Do you know where he is?”
She just shook her head, trying desperately to control the sadness.
Rosie didn’t want to be there, and she certainly didn’t want to ask the next question. Trying to find an easy way, she decided just to ask.
“Margaret, there is one more thing I need to ask.”
Margaret nodded.
“We are looking for the knife that killed Miss Brock.”
Looking up at the ceiling and silently mouthing something, Margaret looked totally defeated, but said nothing.
Rosie ignored the feelings that were filling her with sadness. “There’s an empty slot in your knife block. Do you know anything about that?”
It took a minute, but she finally said very quietly, “I know it is gone.”
“W
hen did you notice it was gone?”
“I noticed a few days after Joseph left when I needed to use a knife. But it may have been gone before that. I do not know.”
Rosie didn’t need to ask—she knew Margaret had put two and two together. Her knife was missing and Miss Brock had been killed with a knife.
Rosie had no idea how to deal with someone who was totally deflated. She just needed to do her job. “Margaret do you have a picture of Joseph?”
Margaret was very matter-of-fact. “I will get you one.” She left the room and returned a minute later. She handed the picture to Rosie and said, “It is my fault that Miss Brock is dead.”
“No, Margaret, it isn’t. We can’t be responsible for other people’s actions. You were trying to do something nice. And we don’t know anything for sure yet. We need to find Joseph. Are there friends he might be with?”
“I do not know. He had friends that I did not know.”
“Could he have taken your key to Miss Brock’s house?”
“I do not know. I always left it on the table by my bed.”
“Did you ever notice it was missing?”
She shook her head.
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes, it is on my table in the bedroom.”
“Let’s go look.”
The key was still on the table. Rosie told Margaret she needed to take it and got Steele to put it in an evidence envelope.
On her way out, Rosie said, “If you hear from Joseph, please call me.”
Margaret nodded without emotion. “Is he going to be arrested?”
“No, we just need to talk to him.” Rosie didn’t want to tell her that it certainly didn’t look good for Joseph. He had better motives than Mr. Lamb—anger, revenge, and money. “Try not to worry Margaret. I’ll call you if we hear anything.”
Margaret sat down with another nod.
Rosie filled Steele in on the way back to the station. She needed to call the D.A.
Chapter 84
Hello Jan, Detective Lonnigan.”
“Afternoon, Detective. What have you got?”
“For starters, maybe the wrong man. I paid another visit to Mrs. Rivera this afternoon. Her son worked at the Brock house and was fired for stealing money. By the time Mrs. Rivera got home, the kid had cleared out and she hasn’t heard from him.”
“Nothing’s ever easy, is it?”
“It gets worse. There’s a knife missing from Mrs. Rivera’s kitchen.”
“So, another suspect.”
Rosie gave a short laugh. “Well, maybe two. Mrs. Rivera is the sole beneficiary in a half million dollar will.”
“Wow. Any more?”
“That’s not enough? What do you think about Lamb?”
“I think a judge would laugh at us. I’ll call Tucker and tell him we’ll drop the charges. I think I can get that done today. I assume you’re looking for the son?”
“Yes, and we’ll keep an eye on the house.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Rosie thought about Spencer and knew he would get the latest from Ben. She also thought about calling him and telling him she could make the Saturday morning run. But she needed to do some thinking and put that on hold.
* * *
Ben answered his phone at three, Thursday afternoon.
“Hi Ben, it’s Jan.”
“Hi Jan, I was expecting to hear from you.”
“You were? How does that happen?”
“Too complicated. Something new?”
“That you don’t already know?” Jan asked sarcastically.
“Gotta hear it from you, Miss Brent.”
Jan sighed. “Someday, tell me how you know things before I tell you.”
“Someday.”
“Okay. We have a new suspect.” She told him about the knife and the son. “There’s enough to release Mr. Lamb. Can you be in court at 4:30?”
Ben was elated. “Sure. He’ll be thrilled he’s getting out and won’t be transferred.”
“I’m not saying he’s not still a person of interest. Some strange things there.”
“Agreed. Thanks, Jan.”
“Sure.”
As Ben was picking up the phone to call Spencer, it rang.
“Hey Ben, you got anything yet?” asked Spencer.
“Yeah, just got off the phone with the D.A.” He told Spencer about Joseph. “She’ll drop the charges later today and release Charles.”
“Great! Let’s hope they find the son.”
“Probably not hard. Just a kid.”
“But a kid with a damned good motive and access to the key and the knife.”
“The key?” asked Ben.
“Sure. He worked with Mom and knew Mom had a key. Would have been simple to have made a copy. And now we know why she fingered Charles. She was afraid her son did it, and Charles was the perfect one to blame.”
“Nasty. But it makes sense.”
“And there’s something else. Your people can find out if they look, but Mrs. Rivera is the sole beneficiary of a half mil.”
Ben whistled. “I wonder if she knew about the will.”
“She could have. Brock may have told her, but from her behavior I’d guess not. You still want me to see Mrs. Lamb?”
“If you don’t mind. Maybe you can find out why she behaved that way.”
“I don’t mind. I’d like to talk with her without Charles there. What time is court?”
“He should be out by five, but my guess is he’ll make a bar stop before heading home. But try and get there as early as possible.”
Spencer decided he could see Mrs. Lamb and still get back to meet Stretch at 7:30 for another night on Broadway.
“How about the limo guy at the gas station?” asked Spencer.
“Doesn’t look like we need it.”
“Nope. Talk to you later.”
“Hang on, Spence. We got background on the loving wife. She used to work for Charles’ brother, Steven.”
“That mean anything?”
“No idea. Just file it somewhere.”
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll ask her about that.”
“Don’t be too concerned. Looks like we’re done with this.”
“Yes, but I like things to make sense and not much about this does. See ya, Ben.”
“Yup.”
Spencer made some file notes before heading south. He had expected to hear from Stosh. But since he hadn’t, he reasoned that Stosh was waiting for their Saturday afternoon get-together. He could call and cancel, but figured he’d have to face the music sometime. Might as well get it over with.
Chapter 85
Spencer was waiting at the Lamb house when Sarah pulled in the drive at 5:30. He had immediately noticed the disrepair and wondered about Charles working as a handyman. He certainly didn’t take care of his own house.
As Spencer got out of the car, he thought he noticed movement in the tree next door. Nestled in the limbs of a mature oak tree was a nice tree house. When Spencer was a kid, he and his dad had built a tree house in the wooded area behind their house. He had spent many fun hours in that tree house. Spencer watched but didn’t see anything. Must have been a bird lost in the shadows. Given what he heard about Mrs. Lamb, he wished he could be in the tree house.
Mrs. Lamb answered the door a minute after Spencer rang the bell. At about five-foot four, she didn’t look too tough to Spencer.
“Yes?” she said in a pleasant voice.
“Mrs. Lamb?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Spencer Manning. I’m working with the Public Defender on your husband’s case. Do you have a few minutes?” Spencer expected very little and that’s what he got.
“For what?” The pleasant voice was gone.
“I just have a few questions.”
Mrs. Lamb looked defiant. “Unless you have my daggers, I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
With as much diplomacy as he could muster, Spencer said, “I
obviously don’t, but getting your husband released would get your dagger back.”
After asking for ID, she sighed and reluctantly invited Spencer in. They sat at the dining table. This wasn’t going to be easy. She obviously didn’t want to answer questions over a cup of tea.
“Is it all right if I ask you some questions?”
“You got in didn’t you?” Her face said she wasn’t going to be giving many answers.
“We’re trying to account for his whereabouts early Saturday morning.” No reaction. “Bartender says he left the bar at two. I’m wondering what time he got home.” Still no reaction. “Were you home after two on Saturday morning?”
“Where the hell else would I be?”
“Well, if you were home, do you know what time Charles got home?”
With arms folded and her face as cold as a block of ice, she methodically said, “I have no idea.”
This wasn’t going well. “Please pardon my confusion, but if you were home how could you not know when he got home?”
“I’m a very sound sleeper. And after years of my husband coming home at all hours of the night, I’ve learned to sleep through it.”
Spencer shifted in the chair. “Was he there when you woke up?”
“Yup,” she said with a frown. “Always is.”
Progress. “And what time would that be?”
“A little after 7:30.”
Great. Charles had alibis for all but the time Brock was killed.
“Now I have a question for you,” she said.
Spencer waited, not really wanting to hear it.
“How is this going to get my daggers back?”
Spencer held his strained temper. “If we can show your husband didn’t do it, they’ll release the evidence.”
“And if you can’t show that?”
“Then they hold it till the trial.”
“Jesus. Well, then I’m sorry I can’t help.”
Spencer needed to find something to talk about. The daggers seemed to be the only possibility. “The daggers have been in your family?”
“Yes. The daggers were my grandfather’s, and the silverware goes back further than that. I take good care of it.”
“I can see why. It must have a lot of sentimental value. I can understand that you were upset that one was missing.”