Kill Six

by C. E. Nelson

  Carlisle walked to the door and turned back. “Is this door kept locked?”

  “Yes, it locks automatically. You need a key to open it, too.”

  Carlisle looked down at the carpet in front of the door but could see no sign anyone had used the door recently. “Can I have your key for this door, please?”

  Cooley unhooked her chain, separating a key with her thumb and forefinger, holding the key ring out to Carlisle.

  “Any alarm?”

  “No.”

  Carlisle inserted the key and turned it before turning the handle and pushing the door open. It was now black outside. Carlisle found the light switch next to the door and flipped the closest switch, a floodlight in the back coming on. She leaned out the door, a fine, cool mist hitting her in the face. Too dark to see much here. She walked to the officer standing by Cooley and asked for his flashlight. Leaned out the door again and passed the light over the cement pad. Footprints here, fairly large, but hard to get a good read on the size because of the rain. They seemed to come and go to the door. Shined her light on the lock and then touched her finger to it. Sticky.

  Carlisle came back to Cooley and said, “Anyone ever tape the lock so the back door would stay open?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible, I suppose. We had some new carpeting installed in some rooms down here this fall. I believe the workers used that door.”

  “Can I keep the key to this door?” said Carlisle.

  “Um, I guess.”

  “You’ll get it back, Mrs. Cooley.”

  “OK.” She worked the key off the ring and handed it to Carlisle.

  “Did you speak to the Maples’ children when they were here?”

  “Yup. Talked for a moment when they showed up, and then when they left about seven.”

  “And what did you talk about?”

  “Oh, the usual. How is my mother? Any changes?”

  “And when they left?”

  “The boy, James, said she was sleeping. I asked when they would be back and he said probably in a few days.”

  “Do you have their contact information?”

  “Sure.”

  Berger popped his head out of the stairway carrying a large plastic sack, holding it out to Carlisle. “Last one.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to bring the crime scene guys over to have a look. Someone may have used that back door recently, possibly taped it open.” She looked at the bag and then back at Berger. His eyes had drifted down to her chest. Berger was single and a womanizer. Carlisle’s happily married friend Hillary Thomas, a sergeant with the Duluth Police, had mentioned Berger had hit on her a few times. “You interview the rest of the staff?”

  “No. Only got here a few minutes before you.” Berger zipped up his jacket. “Coroner should be here any minute. I’ll leave a squad for a couple of hours and notify the husband about her death.” He looked into Maples’ room. “I’d let it go, Carlisle. No harm, no foul.”

  He turned and disappeared up the stairs again, Carlisle watching him go, never even considering his advice. Carlisle’s father had nicknamed her ‘Bulldog’ because when she set her mind on something, she wouldn’t let go. She was certain someone had murdered Laura Maples.

  Chapter 3

  Carlisle spoke to the medical examiner when he arrived. The man was not willing to commit to a cause of death, saying asphyxiation was a possibility, and he’d call her when he had anything definitive. She handed over the bagged pillow to the crime scene investigators and pointed out the sticky substance on the back door and the footprints outside. Carlisle flipped up her hood and followed the tracks to the asphalt driveway where they disappeared. A drop of moisture fell from a tree branch making a hard landing on the crown of her hood before it tumbled off the brim. It landed on Carlisle’s perky nose as she looked down the driveway to the street, but the agent made no move to indicate she had noticed. Whoever had killed Laura Maples had walked. Probably taped the lock to get into the building. Someone planned this murder.

  Carlisle stood thinking about that for a minute before walking up the driveway to the lot and then back in the building. She interviewed the four other attendants on duty and got the contact information for the rest of the staff, including those who had left in the last year, and Laura Maples’ children.

  It was after midnight by the time the crime scene truck pulled out of the lot, Carlisle not far behind. The rest of the staff had put up no red flags and had said that the Maples’ twins visited regularly, spending time with their mother although she likely never knew who they were. Carlisle wanted to talk to them but decided to wait until morning.

  She arrived back at her apartment at one. About to put the key in the lock, she noticed the light under her door. Her dad had forever complained about her mother not turning off lights, wasting energy, and Carlisle had listened. She always turned off the lights.

  But now they were on, and she thought she could hear noises inside. She had been shot at and held a prisoner in this apartment in the past and had made no friends in the criminal population since. Backing away and calling the police was probably the safe alternative, but that would just leave her open for ridicule if it turned out to be nothing. Besides, it wasn’t in her nature to back away from anything. She reached for the door handle and turned the knob. It was unlocked.

  Gun in front, she pushed the door open slowly and quietly, stepping into her entryway. Definite noises now, ahead and to her right, in the kitchen. Carlisle edged to the open entry to the kitchen and peered around the wall. A large man stood at the counter, turning to look at her.

  “Hi.”

  He was big with wavy black hair and aqua-green eyes that seemed to be ocean blue tonight. He was Jeff Pearson, Carlisle’s boyfriend of almost a year.

  “Thought I’d clean up a bit. Place was kind of a mess when I got here.” He looked at the gun still in her hand. “You going to shoot me?”

  “Jeez, Pearson. You got to let me know when you’re coming.”

  “Sorry. I tried to call you earlier but just went to voicemail.”

  Carlisle pulled out her phone, remembering she had turned it off when she got to the nursing home.

  “My fault. Turned my phone off.”

  “What were you doing? Seeing another guy?”

  “No, an old lady.”

  “Huh. Never would have guessed old ladies turned you on.”

  “This one didn’t. She was dead. And I think someone killed her.”

  “Sorry.”

  Carlisle put her gun in her purse, her purse on the counter, and walked up to Jeff, putting her arms around him. “What are you doing here?”

  Pearson and his sister had sold their parents’ food business a few years earlier but retained an interest in the company which produced frozen pizza, pasta dishes, and other items. He had been at a conference on frozen food for the last five days. “I just couldn’t go to another seminar on the best way to freeze pizza. Besides, the models wearing pepperoni slices were only giving out samples of anchovy pizza. Not a good smell.”

  “Were they cute?”

  “I’ve never thought of anchovies as cute.”

  “That’s good. It would be tough on my ego if you dumped me for a fish.”

  “Never happen. A good steak maybe, but never a fish.”

  “That makes me feel better.” She leaned against him. Carlisle was tall, but she had to stand on her tiptoes to give him a kiss.

  “I know something else that could make you feel better.”

  “What’s that?” Carlisle’s blue eyes were sparkling.

  “I think maybe we should discuss that in the bedroom.”

  Carlisle woke at six, tired but relaxed. There was a twinge of guilt about what she and Pearson had done, not being married and all, and she said a quick prayer asking God to forgive her. As she finished her prayer, she thought she was pretty sure she and Jeff would be doing that again, wondering if she shouldn’t add another prayer about the next time, but decided just to wait u
ntil it actually happened. Better to be sure.

  Pearson was gone. She’d heard him leave earlier but hoped she was dreaming. She sat on the edge of her bed, pulled the curtain back, trying to see if it was still raining. Too dark. It was only October, but she was already tired of running inside at the Y. She knew she could run outside if she went to work later, got there by nine like everyone else, but she liked to be there early. Liked to get going, with no one there to interrupt.

  After a run at the Y, a shower, and her usual yogurt breakfast, Carlisle was at the BCA building a little after seven. She made coffee, opened a new bag of sunflower seeds, popped some in her mouth, and opened a case file for Laura Maples. At almost nine, the office alive now, her new partner of four weeks, Mike Lerner, wandered in. Lerner was new to the office, from Lacrosse. He was in his early thirties, short, husky, with buzz-cut brown hair.

  “What’s shakin’, boss?” said Lerner as he sat in the chair next to Carlisle’s desk, his jacket hanging from his hand.

  Carlisle wasn’t sure yet what to think of Lerner. She was four years younger than him, and the lead agent. He always had a smile on his face and nothing seemed to bother him. The guy was married, his wife a nurse in town, but Carlisle got the feeling that he wouldn’t mind hitting on her.

  “We have a new case.” Carlisle went over what she knew about Laura Maples’ death and what needed to be done. "I’d like you to talk to the husband. I’ll take the kids. The ME said he would call when he finished with his examination.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Lerner stood and pointed a pudgy finger toward Carlisle’s chest.

  Carlisle looked down and then brushed some shells from her sweater.

  He picked up a stray seed on her desk and held it out to her. “You know, it’s that time of year when the mice start coming inside. These things are going to be like rodent attractors.” He tossed the seed in Carlisle’s trash can. “Just saying.”

  Carlisle watched him wander off to his cubicle and then looked at the seed-littered floor around her desk. She didn’t like mice. She lifted the seed bag out of her desk drawer, looked inside just to be certain she didn’t have any visitors and made sure the zip-top on the bag was closed. Didn’t really think that would keep the mice out, but it made her feel better.

  Carlisle got hold of Janet Maples as the woman was entering the UMD library. With Carlisle only minutes away, Maples agreed to wait for her just inside the library doors.

  A woman with long blonde hair sitting on a cushioned red block in the library foyer waved to Carlisle. Carlisle, in the black rain jacket and blue jeans she told Maples she would be wearing, nodded, and then walked to where Maples sat, showing her ID, and then sitting opposite the woman.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice and let me again say how sorry I am for your loss.”

  Maples was about Carlisle’s age, thin, with a friendly face. “No problem and thank you. To tell you the truth, it’s kind of a relief.” She seemed to think about what she said and added, “I suppose that sounds cruel?”

  “No, I get it. Alzheimer’s is tough. I had an uncle who died from it not long ago.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  Carlisle got the feeling she knew this woman, at least had seen her somewhere before. “So, what do you do, Miss Maples?”

  “Librarian, at the library downtown. Working on my master’s.”

  “You and your brother visited your mother last night?”

  “Yeah. We had a bite before and then went to see mom. About six-thirty when we got there. Should be in the book.”

  “The book?”

  “Yeah, the log book. Every visitor signs in and out.”

  Carlisle kicked herself for not thinking about that the night before. Have to get a look at that. “And how did your mother seem?”

  “The same. Didn’t know us. Her attention would drift off, and then we’d cover the same ground again. She finally started to just doze; so we took off. About seven.”

  “You came together?”

  “Yeah. James drove from Parfettis. Dropped me back there after we left.” Maples studied Carlisle. “So, why all the questions?”

  “There is a possibility that your mother did not pass away as a result of her condition. She may have been murdered.”

  Maples was leaning forward but now sat up straight. “Really? Murdered? I mean, she was going to die any day.”

  “I know, it’s odd, but until we hear from the medical examiner we won’t know for sure. That should be later today.” Carlisle watched the woman for a moment. “I don’t suppose you know of anyone who might want her dead?”

  “Mom? She was like the sweetest, most gentle woman you could meet.”

  There were tears brimming in Maples’ eyes now, and Carlisle handed her a tissue from her pocket.

  “Sorry, I know this is hard, but I had to ask.”

  “I get it.” Maples looked over Carlisle’s shoulder and waved at a tall man with dark hair in a jean jacket. “My study partner. I need to go.”

  “OK, thanks for your time.”

  They both stood, Maples picking up the backpack on the floor by her stool as she did, the women then shaking hands. Carlisle watched the pair disappear into the library unable to shake the feeling that she knew Janet Maples.

  James Maples picked up on the first ring as Carlisle got in her car.

  “Mr. Maples? This is Agent Danny Carlisle of the BCA. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your mother.”

  “Umm, you know she is dead, right?”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry for your loss. Is it possible we could meet and talk this morning?”

  “I’m on my way to Duluth to be with my father. Where are you?”

  “I’m a little northwest, close to UMD.”

  They agreed to meet at a coffee shop on Canal Street. Carlisle arrived first, sat in a booth and ordered a coffee, telling the waitress there would be one more. The waitress walked away giving Carlisle full view of the glass pastry case. They had cinnamon rolls, big cinnamon rolls smothered in white frosting. Carlisle’s eyes got big, and she could feel herself salivating when someone blocked her view. She looked up. A tall man in a blue dress shirt, dark blue sport coat, and tan khakis stood before her.

  “Agent Carlisle?” said Maples extending his hand.

  Carlisle stood as far as she could, shook his hand, and sat again. Maples tossed his jacket onto the bench and slid in after it.

  “Cold out there.”

  The man had blonde hair like his sister and the same squinty blue eyes, eyes that looked sad. Eyes Carlisle had seen before. Now it was really bugging her.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Maples.”

  “Thanks. And call me James.”

  The waitress came with Carlisle’s coffee, taking Maples’ order for tea.

  “Anyway, James, can you tell me about your visit to see your mother last night?”

  Maples corroborated his sister’s account. Carlisle revealed that she was investigating his mother’s death as a possible murder.

  “Murder? Seriously?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Good grief. Why? She was about to die, anyway.”

  “Anyone you know who would have wanted her dead?”

  “No. Mom? No.”

  The waitress came with the tea, asking if they would like anything more. Both said no.

  Carlisle knew this guy, and it was nagging at her. Maybe from someplace he worked? “What do you do, Mr. Maples?”

  “James. And I am in administration at Bemer over in Superior.”

  “What does Bemer do?”

  “We own and manage various properties around the area.”

  Nope, not it. Never heard of Bemer. “So, I can’t quite get over the fact that I know you from somewhere?”

  “Yeah? I kind of got that feeling too. You grow up around here?”

  “Until my junior year, then my family moved to Minneapolis. How about you?”

  “Yup,
my whole life. Where did you go to school before you moved?”

  “Denfeld.”

  “OK, me too. What class?”

  “91. And you?”

  “90.”

  “Were you really tall?”

  Lightbulb. “Ok, now I remember. You and your sister were tall too. At least she was.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, she was taller than me until we were juniors. It was a little embarrassing.” He smiled at Carlisle. “You’re still pretty tall, and still good-looking.”

  Carlisle returned his smile. “You thought I was good-looking in school?”

  “Oh yeah, but I never got up the nerve to introduce myself or ask you out. And then you were gone.”

  There was an awkward silence. “Um, so, are you married or anything?” asked Maples.

  “Boyfriend.”

  “Oh, OK. Well, I thought I better try as long as I had another chance.”

  Carlisle felt flattered. “No problem.” Her phone buzzed, and she looked at the screen to see the call was from the medical examiner. “Sorry, Mr. Maples, but I need to run.” She tossed a five on the table, but Maples picked it up and handed it back to her.

  “My treat. And I hope you’ll call me if you get tired of your boyfriend.”

  Carlisle suddenly had visions of the night before in her apartment and was sure her boyfriend had made her tired, but not in the way Maples had mentioned, and felt her face go red. “Umm, thanks.”

  A little flushed, she sat in her car and dialed the number for the medical examiner. “This is Agent Carlisle.”

  “Agent. Dr. Zastro here.” Zastro was sixty, mostly bald, thin with circular wire-rimmed glasses. He had worked for the county for over twenty years.

  “What do you know, Doc?”

  “I know that Mrs. Maples died of asphyxiation.”

  “Suffocated.”

  “Yes. No external marks that I can see.”

  “So, somebody could have put a pillow over her face?”

  “Most probably. There were fibers in and around her mouth.”

  “Hmm. Any idea how long she had to live before she was murdered?”

  “A couple of weeks at best, most likely days.”

  “OK. The forensics guys will want to see if they can match the fibers you have to the pillow we gathered at the scene. I will let them know and send somebody over.”