“Must have been awful,” Savannah said, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, it was! Terrible! It was all in his eyes and nose and ever’where.”
The three sat in silence for a moment as Savannah and Dirk considered what they’d just heard, and Brody, having unburdened himself, relaxed.
Finally, Savannah said, “I want a root beer float. Can I make one for anybody else.”
Hands shot into the air as both guys said, “Me! Me! Me!”
Savannah went into the kitchen, got out the glass mugs, then called, “Dirk. Could you come give me a hand?”
“Sure” was the speedy reply.
A second later, she heard Dirk walking toward her and Brody say, “She don’t need no help makin’ floats. She just wants to talk to you behind my back.”
Dirk walked into the kitchen, shaking his head. “That kid’s too smart for our own good.”
“No kidding.”
She glanced toward the living room and lowered her voice. “You know what this means, don’t you?” she said, all levity aside.
“Yes. Carolyn was right there in the room when it happened, just like Brody. If he heard what he heard and saw what he saw, so did she.”
“Carolyn lied to me. She outright lied.”
She waited for him to say, “I told you so,” or to give her that annoying, knowing look that he assumed at times like this.
But he didn’t, and she thanked him for it, because she really wasn’t in the mood.
It really hurt to be lied to, especially by someone you trusted.
Chapter 32
The next morning, Savannah had taken Brody to school and returned home to find Dirk on the phone in the kitchen, looking excited. Or, at least as excited as Dirk ever looked that early in the morning.
She gave him a questioning glance and received a thumbs-up.
“Are you absolutely sure?” he asked the person on the other end.
Savannah wasn’t certain what the person replied, but she heard the tone of voice, loud and brusque, and recognized it as belonging to Eileen, the cantankerous head of the county CSU lab. Whatever Eileen was saying to Dirk, it wasn’t even civil, let alone cordial.
“Okay, bye,” he replied, equally curt, when she was done. He hung up the phone and told Savannah, “Hey, hey! Good news.”
“Not for Eileen, apparently.”
“That woman’s a nuisance. Gets all miffed over nothin’.”
“Nothing . . . as in . . . ‘Are you sure you did your job correctly? ’”
“I never said that to her.”
“Subtext, darlin’. Subtext. What’s the good news?”
“They found pentobarbital on that fancy green glass that was broken there by the hearth.”
“That is good news! Any prints?”
“No-o-o. Don’t rain on my parade here. I haven’t finished celebrating about the pento on the glass.”
“Sorry. Far be it from me to—”
There was a knock on the door followed by the sound of a key in the lock.
“Tammy,” they said together.
As Savannah’s assistant, Tammy had been given a set of house keys and told to come and go as she pleased. After all, the house doubled as a home and an office for the detective agency.
“And Waycross!” they heard him yell. “I’m here, too!”
Savannah and Dirk looked at each other, surprised. Since when did Waycross, who worked at a specialty garage, wonderfully restoring old classic vehicles, go anywhere other than his job at this hour of the morning?
“We’re in the kitchen,” Savannah called out. “Come on back.”
“You guys come in here!” Tammy said. “Hurry! We’ve got some good stuff to show you.”
Their enthusiasm was contagious, and Savannah and Dirk hurried into the living room. Dirk scooped Vanna Rose into his arms, as Tammy and Waycross began to pull three of Savannah’s dining chairs up to the desk.
“I’m so glad you forwarded me those videos from the movie theater,” Tammy said. “Last night, Baby Boo-Boo was teething again, so we didn’t get a lot of sleep. But since we were awake anyway, we got to work on the case, and we found awesome stuff!”
Savannah and Dirk sat in the extra chairs, as Tammy directed them, and Waycross squeezed into the chair between Tammy and the wall.
Tammy flipped on the desktop computer and said, “Waycross spent hours looking at the videos that the security lady at the theater gave you.”
“Hours?” Dirk was confused. “Why would it take hours? They went in and watched the movie and came back out when it was over.”
“That’s true, guys,” Savannah told them, “and that’s not all. Ryan got somebody at the bureau to check their cell phone records, and they were both in there the whole time.”
“Their phones were there,” Tammy said. “Maybe you should have the jury re-examine the evidence as to determine whether both Melissa and Jerry were there the whole time.”
Tammy brought the selection of videos up on the screen. Waycross pointed to one that covered the parking lot.
“Okay,” he said. “This is them arriving in the big Beamer.”
The group watched as a man and woman got out of the luxury vehicle and walked up to the front of the complex.
Once the lighting became brighter, they could see that the woman had Melissa’s distinctive, platinum blond bob.
As soon as the couple entered the front door, Tammy switched videos to show the interior of the lobby.
“Here’s them coming in,” Waycross said, pointing to the screen and the two entering the complex. Now it was quite clear that the woman was Melissa. She was wearing a sequin-spangled T-shirt, tight jeans, and knee-high boots, and she carried a large tote that seemed oversized for her petite body.
The man beside her matched the DMV picture of Jerry Becker, as well as the additional photos that Tammy had downloaded.
Waycross followed them across the screen with his finger, as they bought tickets, popcorn, and sodas. Then they briefly stood in a short line, displayed their tickets to the security guard at the end of the queue, and continued on, out of sight.
“Okay, Tams,” Waycross said, “bring ’em up on that hallway camera.”
Tammy did as he said, and once again, Waycross followed their brief journey down a passageway and into one of the multiplex’s six theaters.
“There ya go,” Dirk said. “They’ve got their munchies and drinks. They’re about to settle in for the long haul.”
“So you’d figure,” Waycross replied. “But watch this.” He tapped on Tammy’s shoulder. “Fast forward it for us, sweetie, all the way up to nine-o-seven.”
She did, and at first, all they saw was an empty hallway. But as Tammy advanced the video to the spot Waycross had indicated, he pointed excitedly to the screen and said, “See there! She’s coming out of the theater and into the hall. All by herself.”
“Maybe she needs to use the can,” Dirk said, obviously bored and unconvinced of anything.
They sat and watched as she strolled down the hallway and disappeared through a doorway with a female restroom symbol above it.
“What did I tell ya?” Dirk said. “Potty break. That’s all it is. Did you see the size of those sodas they bought? Big enough to take a Jacuzzi in. No wonder she has to go.”
“Would ya please fast forward it to nine-o-nine, darlin’?” Waycross asked his wife. “Get ready to freeze it, too.”
Tammy did as he directed. When he yelled, “There!” she stopped it.
Savannah and Dirk leaned forward to get a better look at the figure on the screen.
Someone had just exited the restroom. This woman was dressed in jeans, short booties, and a black hoodie, which she’d pulled over her head.
“Okay. Who’s that?” Dirk asked.
Savannah caught her breath. “It’s her. It’s Melissa.”
“No way,” he said. “Our gal’s wearing a sparkly T-shirt and those up-to-the-knee boots.”
�
��Those are the same boots,” Tammy said. “You recognize them, don’t you, Savannah? Didn’t you tell me you like Antonette Lillyan boots?”
“I love them, and I’ve been wanting a pair of those fold-down ones for ages!”
Savannah turned to Dirk. “Seriously, honey. Listen. Us girls know our boots and those are the same ones. The hoodie covers the rhinestone shirt and the hood covers her hair. Plus she’s got dark glasses on now. Who’d wear sunglasses in a movie theater at night?”
Waycross intervened. “If you need further proof,” he told Dirk, “watch this.”
He instructed Tammy to go back to the lobby cam, and sure enough, only a few seconds later, the hooded woman walked through the room and out the front door.
“Now back to the parking lot!” Waycross pointed to the woman with the black hoodie getting into the same BMW that the Beckers had just arrived in.
This time, even Dirk was on board. “Don’t tell me. Later, she returns in the same car, probably a few minutes before the movie ends.”
“She sure does. Comes sidlin’ back in ten minutes before it’s over. He gave Tammy a little nudge. “Show it to ’em, darlin’.”
Tammy complied, and they were able to see the hooded woman return, go inside, show her ticket to the guard, hurry into the bathroom, and re-emerge dressed in her glittering T-shirt, with something black rolled up and stashed beneath her arm.
“Her boots are pulled back up again, see?” Savannah said. Then, to Tammy she added, “They really are the greatest design, don’t you think? So versatile and—”
“Do you mind?” Dirk snapped. “People workin’ here.”
“Sorry. Continue.”
Dirk turned to Waycross. “I assume you actually sat there last night and watched every minute of that hallway video to make absolutely sure that the Melissa Becker, who was dressed in the gaudy T-shirt, did not come out of that bathroom until the very end there.”
“Nope. Other than her going in, the hooded lady coming out, the hooded lady going in and sparkly gal coming back out, there was no one in or out of that restroom.” Waycross leaned back in his chair and locked his fingers behind his head. “Not bad for a cotton picker from McGill, huh?”
“Not bad at all,” Savannah said, excited.
Dirk seemed less excited. In fact, he looked downright put out.
That boy sure can’t stand to be wrong, she told herself.
“But Ryan said their phones show they were there the whole time,” he grumbled.
“Duh, sugar,” Savannah said. “You must be dog-tired and not thinking straight. She handed her husband her phone and left without it.”
“Do you really think that little tiny gal left her husband in that theater, got in the car, drove to the clinic and burgled it, then drove back?”
“I most certainly do! It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
He growled.
“Then how do you explain what you just saw on that video?”
Dirk thought it over, stopped grimacing, and said, “No way a man’s wife gets up to go to the bathroom in a movie theater and doesn’t come back for two hours, without him getting up and finding out why. He knew exactly what she was doing. He was in on it, too.”
“Don’t be surprised if we find out that he coerced her to do it,” Savannah said. “He was extremely jealous of Stephen and furious because he seduced his wife. He made her quit her job so that she wouldn’t be seeing Stephen anymore. Maybe that wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Perhaps he didn’t want anybody to see Stephen Erling ever again.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, the four of them and Vanna Rose had relocated to the dining room. Fresh coffee was flowing, and cinnamon rolls were in the oven.
Thinking was hard work, and Savannah wanted to make sure that everyone had plenty of carb/caffeine energy on board and were up to the task.
“That only gives you a momentary boost you know,” Tammy told her. “A quality, vegetable-based protein and a high-complex, high-fiber carb would energize you for hours.”
“Okay,” Savannah said, resisting the temptation to get into a discussion with Tammy about how the quality-of-life factor should be considered when choosing one’s diet.
There was a good reason why nobody made chocolate Easter bunnies stuffed with kale or Christmas fudge with liver sauce.
Case closed.
“I hope you don’t mind me showing you these printouts I made instead of sitting at the computer,” Tammy said as she walked over to the table and began to spread papers all over it. “But between not sleeping and staring at a screen all night, my eyes just need a break.”
“No problem, Tams,” Dirk said, looking over the array. “What are these anyway?”
“Social media pages. You can learn almost everything you’d ever want to know about someone—and a lot of stuff you’d rather not know—on social media sites. I studied Melissa Becker’s page to get a view into what makes her tick. Then I checked out Patrice Conway’s for the same reason. I discovered. . . drumroll, please . . . they’re friends.”
“Friends?!” Savannah was flabbergasted. “Those two?”
“How?” Dirk said. “Melissa worked for Stephen, Patrice for Carolyn. Did they meet at a party or something?”
“Actually, I was able to hack into Patrice’s account and use her password to read her private messages. I printed them out.” She looked around the table and picked up a certain stack. “A lot of it is just boring nothingness. But read the exchanges between her and Melissa, starting several months ago, when they were both still working for the Erlings.”
Savannah sat down and began to read. “Oh, wow!” she said. “In these messages, Patrice is furious at Melissa. She’s accusing her of being the ‘other woman,’ of causing Stephen to end it with her.”
“If Patrice had only known. Melissa was like the other, other, other woman,” Dirk grumbled. He picked up some of the papers. “Look at this one. They seem to be friends now. Laughing about what they’d like to do to him. Hmm . . . colorful stuff here.”
“Do they mention feeding him poison?” Savannah asked, half joking.
“Not for a few more weeks,” Tammy said, quite full of herself as she pointed to some more printouts. “They’re actually discussing an ‘old mongrel’ that they want to put down. Debating how much pentobarbital it would take and where to get it.”
“I see it here,” Savannah said. “Patrice says, ‘I can get some at work. They won’t miss it.’”
Dirk leaned over her shoulder and read, “‘Even if C asks about it, I think I could tell her what we need it for, and she’d give us all we want. She said last night she’s sick of him, wants to be rid of him.’”
Dirk looked up at Tammy. “From reading all of this stuff, could you tell if Carolyn’s involved?”
“I don’t think she is. She could have said something like that to Patrice over drinks, girl-to-girl, but it certainly doesn’t mean that she wanted anybody to knock off her husband for her.”
“They killed a man because he fooled around on them both . . . with the other one?” Savannah asked her.
“I think that was Patrice’s attitude. Throughout their correspondence, you could see that she started off furious at Melissa, then after they shared back and forth, she realized what a jerk he was and wanted him dead.”
“How about Melissa?” Dirk asked.
“She talks a lot about Jerry. How mad he is. How he can’t stand the idea that she might hook up with Stephen again someway, somewhere. At some point she must have told Jerry what she and Patrice were considering, and he latched on to it.”
“Hence his cooperation in producing the fake movie alibi,” Savannah said. “That had already occurred to me. Melissa wouldn’t be the only wayward spouse or lover who killed her former sneak-around-squeeze to pacify her real one-true-love and keep him home.”
“He’s leaving her anyway,” Dirk said. “She commits murder for him, and it’s all for nothing.”
“I
don’t understand something,” Waycross said. “If Patrice stole the pentobarbital from the clinic when she was working there, why did Melissa break into the place two weeks before the murder?”
Tammy reached for another stack of printouts. “It’s all right here,” she said. “These are links they sent to each other. Articles about narcissists, serial cheaters, how they never change. Then they progress to sharing links about pentobarbital and executions.”
Tammy found the one she’d been looking for and pulled it out. “Patrice sent this one to Melissa just a few days before the break-in. It’s a link to a story about a nurse who found out she had cancer and tried to end her life with pentobarbital. She failed to use enough, and she survived. If you call being on permanent life support without hope of meaningful recovery ‘surviving.’”
“They were afraid they didn’t have enough and wanted more,” Dirk said, reading on. “But Patrice had gotten fired, so she couldn’t easily sneak back in and get it.”
Waycross waved another sheet around. “Here’s your proof that the husband, Becker, was determined they’d do it. Patrice tells Melissa she thinks they should call a halt to it, that the pentobarbital is too risky, too unreliable if it isn’t injected. She’s nervous about him drinking it and it not taking effect quick enough and doing the job. But Melissa tells Patrice they have to go through with it. Jerry wants her to do it to prove her love.”
They all sat quietly for a while, reading more of the papers, underlining passages, clipping relevant stuff together.
“This is great, Tammy,” Dirk said. “Excellent work on those videos, Waycross.”
“But there’s a problem, isn’t there, with the printouts?” Tammy said. “We can’t use the social media stuff, at least not the private messages, in a court of law, because we aren’t supposed to have them.”
“There are disadvantages to breaking the law while making a case,” Dirk said. “It’ll come back and bite you on the ass every time.”
A Few Drops of Bitters Page 23