by C. E. Nelson
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“But when? How?”
“I can’t really answer that right now. We’re still in the early stages of our investigation.”
Bishop was totally in a daze, the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. This had to be some kind of dream or a bad joke. Or a good joke.
“Mr. Bishop?” said Hartman, moving in front of Bishop as he leaned into the tape.
Bishop felt a hand on his bicep and followed it back to Hartman.
“Mr. Bishop. Sir? I’d like to ask you a few more questions but I can’t let you in the house, sir. Maybe you should go sit down in your vehicle for a moment?” Hartman nodded to the uniformed cop who clasped Bishop by the elbow, leading him away.
The cop let go of Bishop’s arm as they reached his car, opening the door for him. Bishop sat and pulled his legs inside. The cop shut the door.
“The detective will be with you in just a moment, sir. Why don’t you roll up your window and start your motor to get the heat going?”
Bishop heard the man but was having a hard time getting the message. The death of Fran had him confused. He knew he should be happy, he’d have enough of the inheritance now to pay his bills, but what the hell was going on?
“Sir? Are you all right, Mr. Bishop?”
Bishop shook his head quickly up and down. “Yeah. I’m OK.” The cop walked away, and Bishop drifted off, trying to make sense of what he knew. With the cops here, obviously, his sister had not just died of a heart attack. Something had happened. Someone had killed her. Or she had killed herself. But that made little sense. She had called him just two days ago. But maybe Dan and Helen’s deaths just got to her? Possible.
Suddenly Hartman was at his window, rapping on his roof-top, startling him.
“Mr. Bishop. How are you doing?”
“Uh, OK.”
“Did your sister have any other relatives that we need to contact? Your parents?”
“Our parents are dead. I’ll let her brother know.”
“OK, and how about Mr. Naulty’s family? Do you know if he had siblings? Parents that are still alive?”
“Is Bill dead too?”
“I’m sorry.”
“The boys?”
“The boys are fine. They are with friends.”
“How did they die?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t talk about that at this time,” he replied. “So, Mr. Naulty’s family?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know them.”
Hartman stared at Bishop for a moment before asking for his phone number, handing him a card. “Do you know anyone who would want to harm your sister, Mr. Bishop?”
Bishop turned away, looking out the windshield at the leaves now falling, shaken from their branches by an increasing wind from the north. He felt cold now and crossed his arms over his chest. He had no idea.
Chapter 30
Grace Canton took Monday off. Called in sick even though she felt fine. She’d never done that before. By the time she got home Sunday, she had been a swirl of emotions. The drive back had not been nearly as stressful as the trip to the Naulty’s, but combined with the harrowing experience of the earlier trip, it left the muscles in her neck and shoulders rigid. Pain ran up the back of her neck, moving around the sides of her head, pounding together in her forehead.
Oddly enough, at the same time as she was hurrying to her kitchen to find aspirin and pour a glass of wine, she became aware of another feeling just emerging. Joy. Not a full-blown elation yet, that would come later when the wine and aspirin kicked in, but like a tiny ray of sun peeking through the clouds. In an hour, another glass of wine and the aspirin had pushed the clouds away, and Canton found herself singing along to a Bonnie Raitt CD in her kitchen. When her cat wandered into the room, she picked him up and danced with him in her arms until his squirming forced her to let him go.
She nearly finished the bottle by the time she went to bed. Afraid she might have a headache in the morning, she had taken two more aspirin with a large glass of water before going to sleep. There had been no headache in the morning. The rhapsody of the night before had lessened, but now, after calling in sick, she felt something else – empowered. It was like she had been imprisoned, chained, and now the shackles were gone. It was a whole new world as they say.
There was a decision to make. Well, three really. The first was immediate. The Dan Bishop funeral was this morning. In Two Harbors. She kind of wanted to go, just to see that Dan was really dead. And the faces of the remaining Bishop brothers. Wanted to see them suffering. But she hadn’t killed Dan, had she? She missed out on that, someone else getting the pleasure. Made her a little sad and angry. And then there was the drive. She knew she could do it but after yesterday’s experience, it was not something she wanted to do if she didn’t have to. She would pass on the Bishop funeral.
Helen Johnson’s funeral was next. To attend or not to attend? She didn’t expect the remaining Bishops would know about Fran this morning, but surely, they would have heard about her before Helen’s funeral. Would they be getting a little nervous that their time was to come in short order? They would have to be thinking about it. About someone hunting them. Someone coming to kill them. It made Canton smile and then she giggled.
But then she wondered about the police. If the Bishop brothers were thinking they were next on someone’s list, would the police be thinking the same thing? Would one or both of the Bishops go to the police about it? Ask for protection?
“Hmm.” Maybe she could go and observe. Not go in, but see if there were any police around. That would be daring. Exciting. But would it be the smart thing to do? Need to think about that.
And that brought her to her final decision. Who would be next to die? Tom or Ken? It seemed to her it only mattered in that the remaining Bishop would be the hardest to kill. He would be on guard. And may be guarded too. A real challenge. But there was no doubt that whoever would be next, it would be to her benefit to do it quickly.
Canton walked to her refrigerator and removed a piece of pink notepaper held to the surface by a small magnet shaped like a fish. Six names with addresses. Four names crossed off. She took the note to her computer, calling up Google Maps. Ken Bishop was in Duluth. Not far actually. She knew where he lived without searching. Google told her that Tom lived north of town. She zoomed in on his road and switched over to the satellite view. Zoomed in on his house. Very rural. Neighbors, but lots of space between filled with trees. She could pull into his driveway, and no one would see.
Canton tried to remember Tom from the funeral. He struck her as a little backwoods, rough. His tweed jacket was fuzzy, worn on the cuffs, and out of date. She had only had a few words with him, finding out he was single. The man had been more uncomfortable talking to her than she had been trying to have a conversation with him. His eyes never looked directly at her, and he excused himself after only a short chat. An introvert. Tom would be next. And it would have to be soon. There had been nothing in the news in the last week about Laura Maples, about how she had died. But if someone had killed her, and then killed Dan Bishop too, well, that was a concern. She didn’t want to be cheated out of any more. And the police would catch on soon. Maybe today?
Tom Bishop was parked in front of his garage, motor running, looking at his garage door. He didn’t have a garage door opener. He’d thought about it more than a few times, especially when it was raining or snowing. But garage door openers cost money, and he’d have to pay someone to install it because he wasn’t very good at those things. It sure would be nice though. Like today when he didn’t feel like he had the energy to do much of anything. He’d just buried a brother, and he’d be burying another sibling tomorrow. Three in less than two weeks. It was just too much. Bishop released a heavy sigh, pushed his car door open with his foot and stepped out. A car pulled in behind.
Carlisle and Lerner exited her car at the same time.
“Mr. Bishop? I’m Agent Carlisle of the Bureau of Criminal Appreh
ension and this is Agent Lerner. Can we speak to you for a moment?”
Bishop looked at Carlisle’s ID and handed it back. “I guess. Let’s go inside.” He opened his car door, turned off the ignition and closed the door. He led the agents across the yard to the door on the breezeway between the house and the garage and then to the door to the house. The agents waited behind him while he unlocked the door and pushed the door open.
The door opened into a small kitchen made to feel smaller by the cabinets and woodwork stained a dark brown. Bishop tossed his keys on the butcher-block laminate counter and then hung his jacket on the back of one of four chairs surrounding a small round table. The table was only big enough for the four chairs that came with the fake oak set when he bought it years ago.
“You want some coffee?”
Bishop walked to a coffee maker in the corner next to the sink, picking up the carafe to look at what was left from breakfast.
“No, thank you,” said Carlisle. “We just have a few questions.”
Bishop poured most of what was left of the coffee into a cup and popped it in the microwave. Stood by the microwave watching the cup turn inside, like it was the most interesting thing in his life. The microwave binged, he pulled out the cup, sipped, and then turned back toward the agents. “Sit down.” Bishop didn’t wait for a reply, pulling out the chair with his jacket on the back and sitting. He looked up at the still standing agents. “Is this about Dan and Lisa or Helen?”
Carlisle glanced at Lerner and then pulled out a chair to sit. Lerner remained standing.
“Mr. Bishop, we’re very sorry for all your troubles.”
“Thanks.”
“Can you think of any reason someone would want to kill your brother, his wife, and your two sisters?”
Bishop sat stunned, forearms on the table, head bowed like he expected an answer to come floating to the surface of his coffee. “Oh, God. Laura. I forgot about Laura.” Bishop took a sip of his coffee but said nothing more.
“Mr. Bishop,” said Carlisle. “Can you think of any reason why someone would want to harm your siblings?”
He remained focused on the cup cradled in his hands. “No, no one. I brought it up with Ken, but he doesn’t think there’s any relationship between the deaths.”
“Ken?”
“My brother.”
“And why does he think that?”
“He said it was a coincidence with Helen dying of a heart attack and Laura from Alzheimer’s.”
“And you don’t think that’s the case?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I can’t think of why anyone would want to kill them. They were all good people.”
“What about you, Mr. Bishop? Do you know anyone who would have a reason to harm you and your siblings?”
Bishop looked at Carlisle with tired eyes. “I’ve thought about it, but I just can’t think of anyone who would.”
“OK, so let’s think about this a different way. Who would know you and all of your siblings?”
“Family, I suppose. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Dan and Fran’s boys.”
Bishop went back to staring at his coffee. Carlisle wanted to push him more, but the man was having trouble coping, and she knew he had another funeral tomorrow. She glanced up at Lerner who shrugged.
“Thank you, Mr. Bishop,” said Carlisle as she stood. She removed a card from her pocket and slid it across the table. “Please call if you think of anything. We are sorry for your losses, sir.”
Bishop looked up, nodded, and then let his head drop. Carlisle and Lerner walked out to her car and got in.
“He doesn’t know his sisters were probably both murdered,” said Lerner.
“No. The guy is a wreck. I didn’t think he needed any more bad news right now.”
“Probably right,” said Lerner. He looked over at Carlisle who was lost in thought. “Don’t worry. You’ll figure this out.”
Carlisle turned her head. “What about ‘we’ figuring this out?”
“I’ll be happy to do my small part.” Lerner flashed her a big smile. “We on our way to the next Bishop sibling now?”
Why was this guy always so cheerful? Maybe he’s on some happy pills? Maybe I should get some? “Um, yeah. Who’s next?”
“I’d say Ken Bishop. He’s in Duluth. Fran Naulty is over in Superior.”
Chapter 31
Carlisle and Lerner pulled up in front of Ken Bishop’s home. They walked through the gate of the low picket fence to the door and rang the bell. No answer. Carlisle pounded on the door a few times, but there was still no reply. The yard in front of Bishop’s small Cape Cod style home was covered in leaves, the long grass trying to find the sunshine between.
“Let’s try around the back,” said Carlisle.
They shuffled through the leaves to the backyard and to the single garage in the alley. Carlisle pushed open the side door. No vehicle. They made it to the back of the house when Ken Bishop pulled up to the garage, opened the door with his remote, and drove in. He closed the garage door after he entered and then exited out the side door, seeing the agents waiting by his back door.
“Who are you?” he called as he approached.
Carlisle identified the two of them, providing an ID.
“What’s this about?”
Carlisle could see the same haggard look on the face of Ken Bishop, but he also seemed angrier than his brother. “Maybe we could talk inside?”
Bishop looked at Carlisle like he was about to tell her to get lost, but then turned toward the door. “Fine. The place is a mess though.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open, holding the screen door behind him open for Carlisle.
Bishop had been telling the truth. The small narrow kitchen had dishes piled in the sink and on the counter next to it. A mostly empty bottle of whiskey on the far end of the counter. The Formica-topped square table immediately to their left held an empty coffee cup and a small plate covered in crumbs, a piece of crust to one side. Bishop removed the plate and cup, sliding them on the counter, pushing the other dishes to make room. He pulled out a chair and sat.
“What can I do for you?” he said. “You haven’t come at a very good time.” His voice was gruff, gravelly.
“We know you’ve suffered several losses in your family lately, Mr. Bishop. Our condolences.” Carlisle could smell alcohol on the man’s breath.
“Yeah, funeral today and another tomorrow. We’re falling like flies in the winter.”
“Do you think someone might be killing your family off?”
“What? No. I mean Laura had Alzheimer’s and Dan got shot for some reason and Helen, I guess she just dropped dead in her yard.”
“Laura was murdered, Mr. Bishop, and it’s possible Helen was too.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Bishop stared out the window into his backyard as the light disappeared. “Wow.”
“So, do you know anyone who may have reason to harm your siblings?”
Bishop looked up at Carlisle, confusion on his tired face. “I, no, I really don’t. I mean, why? Why kill them?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Mr. Bishop.”
He was looking out the window again, slowly shaking his head back and forth. “I have no idea. You really think that is what is happening?”
“That’s what we are trying to find out, sir.”
Suddenly Bishop’s eyes opened wide, and he looked at Carlisle. “Did you tell Tom this?”
“We talked to your brother but did not mention that your two sisters may have been murdered.”
“That’s good at least. He’s going to freak.” Bishop’s gaze went to the floor, but then he looked up at Carlisle again. “Hey, am I in some kind of danger?”
“We don’t think so, sir, but if you could help us figure out if there is anyone who might want to kill your siblings, it would make us feel a little more secure.”
“No, like I said, I can’t think of anyone. I mean, there aren’t tha
t many people who would know all of us to begin with.”
“Like who?”
“Just family, you know. Nobody else I can think of.”
Bishop seemed to drift off again, staring out the window. Carlisle left her card. She and Lerner walked around the house, back to the car.
“He didn’t seem much better than his brother. Pretty wiped out.”
“Yeah, I guess so, but did he seem a little jumpy to you?”
“No, not really. Mostly dazed.”
“Hmm. It was kind of odd though that he didn’t ask if we’d seen his other sister.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he thinks she’s a little more with it than Tom.”
“Maybe.”
“So, on to Superior?”
Carlisle started her car and looked at the time on the dash. “No, it’s after five, and I think we need to focus on the drug thing. Let’s go back to the office. I want to see if we got any autopsy results or calls from any doctors or relatives.”
They went back to the BCA building, Carlisle telling Lerner to go home to his wife, which he did. Carlisle went to her cube. She pulled up her emails, finding the autopsy report on Sandy Roberts. She had drowned. The woman was alive when her car had gone in the lake. Carlisle blew out a breath. The killer had bound and gagged her but left her awake to watch what would happen. The freezing water seeping in. Roberts struggling as the water numbed her body. Finally sucking it in through her nose. Cruel. The killer or killers had no sympathy. And this had been a warning. A warning to anyone who dared to cross the killer. And maybe it was a warning to her too?
Carlisle leaned back thinking about that, right hand in her seed bag when her phone rang.
“Are you still going to marry me?” said the deep voice.
“I think so,” she said.
“You think so? That doesn’t sound real certain.”
Carlisle looked at her ring. “Do we have to have an engagement party?”
“Absolutely. It’s required. And it’s all set up.”
“It is?” she said.
“Friday at seven. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”