by Leslie Wolfe
“And you think that makes it all right?” she asked, her voice a little tamer, although she still seemed to be in a horn-tossing mood.
“No, ma’am,” he replied calmly. “But I don’t believe Mr. Smith’s killer should be given the time to flee the state and vanish, just because I used the wrong words to ask you a question.” He held her gaze candidly, letting silence set in for a moment; heavy, meaningful.
“All right,” she eventually said, ceding, her words almost whispered on the wings of a sigh. She circled the desk and sat on the couch, crossing her legs and showing her long, tan thighs from underneath a short skirt that rode up, so tight she must’ve slipped it on with a shoehorn. “What do you need to know?”
He smiled and tilted his head slightly. “Using my words?” She nodded while her smile widened. “I need to find out what brought him here, to see you,” he said, still careful with his choice of language despite her invitation. “Please know that anything you choose to share with me will be kept in the strictest of confidence. All I want to do is catch his killer, nothing else.”
She seemed to think for a moment while her eyes absently wandered toward the window. Outside, the gray skies poured water incessantly, as if the ocean had moved up there somewhere, the floodgates breaking open under the weight of it all. For a moment, the rapping of raindrops against the window was the only sound tearing through the silence.
“He seemed delusional,” she eventually said, her words justifying her hesitation to speak. “He could’ve been schizophrenic even.”
“You’re not sure?” he blurted, surprised. In his opinion, she should’ve known.
“It’s not that simple, cowboy,” she said with a quick chuckle that immediately vanished off her lips. “He only showed some of the symptoms, not all of them.” She must’ve noticed his frown because she continued to explain. “Yes, he seemed delusional, and that’s a symptom of schizophrenia, but so are others that he didn’t show. He wasn’t an addict, and he wasn’t looking for drugs. His speech wasn’t disorganized, quite the opposite. He was articulate and calm.”
“What was he looking for, if not drugs?”
“He wanted advice,” she replied simply. “But the situations he wanted advice about seemed, well, delusional.”
“Did he say he was in danger of being killed or hurt in any way? Was that the theme of his delusions?”
“No, not even close,” she replied quickly. “And no, he didn’t mention any concern for his well-being or immediate danger, any enemies or things like that.”
“What was he delusional about?” He saw her reaction and quickly added, “Anything I could use to find his killer or establish motive?”
She shook her head with zeal. “No, Detective, nothing like that. He talked about conversations with imaginary beings about things that weren’t real.”
Great. A complete whack job, regardless of what Dr. Edgell wanted to call her patients. Whatever his name, it seemed the man had been crazier than a bullbat, a lot of cobwebs gathered in the corners of his attic.
“And you have no idea what his real name is?”
She shook her head, her layered hair sending a whiff of jasmine perfume in his direction that seemed to engulf him, a little dizzying. “I’m sorry, Detective.” She stood with ease and walked to the door, opening it for him. “If I remember anything…?” she asked, her voice trailing off in a flirtatious smile.
He put on his hat and arranged it quickly, running his fingers along a section of the brim. “Just call the Franklin County Sheriff’s Office, Dr. Edgell, and ask for me, Detective Young.” He nodded quickly, rushing through the door, glad to be out of the office, away from the cloud of jasmine perfume and lavender and her smile.
Outside, he stood by the glass doors leading to the medical center where the rain didn’t reach, happy to be breathing the fresh, moisture-filled air, chilled as it rolled off the slopes of Mount Chester—and thought of Dr. Vella Edgell. In any other scenario, she was quite a catch. Beautiful, sophisticated, intelligent, and, most of all, interested. In any other scenario, except the one in which he was hoping to see Kay later that day.
Carefully choosing where his footfalls landed to avoid the biggest puddles and glad he was wearing his boots, he rushed to the SUV and climbed behind the wheel. John Doe was still that, a John Doe, and the only thing he had learned about him was that he was delusional.
Did someone shoot him because he was a schizophrenic who’d turned violent? Or did his delusions drive him to do something he shouldn’t have done? In any case, someone had stood behind him and pulled the trigger of a nine-mil handgun, ending his life. As to whether the killing had been justified or not, he had difficulties believing that it was, given he’d been shot cowardly in the back while he was sitting down. Either way, it wasn’t his job to establish his own guilt or innocence, just to find the person who’d squeezed that trigger.
The only problem was that he had no idea how to do that.
21
Interview
“Hello, I’m Detective Kay Sharp,” she greeted the two visitors. “If you could follow me, please.” She didn’t wait for an answer; instead, she started walking toward the second interview room, tucked in the back of the building, behind the holding cells. It was traditionally reserved for the loudest of perps, the filthiest of drunk and disorderlies, and the most violent offenders, but the front interview room, cleaner and in better shape, was taken by Erin and her monster doodles. Kay’s priorities were clear; the highbrowed duo could rough it for a while. It might even do them some good.
She opened the door and invited them in. Marleen Montgomery froze in her tracks, taking in the view. The stains on the floor where perps had unloaded their stomachs or relieved themselves in protest, leaving behind enduring odors as evidence of their contributions, the dirty walls inscribed with the occasional profanity, the dented and bent metallic furniture, the scratched, stainless-steel table surface with loops for securing handcuffs during suspect interrogations. She turned to Kay, visibly upset.
“Really? You want to talk in here?”
“We’re a small precinct,” Kay said calmly, her voice stern, unapologetic.
“Come on, Marleen,” the old man said, “let’s get this circus over with.”
Marleen held her ground. “Where are the girls?” she asked coldly, demanding, but Kay replied with a vague hand gesture, inviting her to take a seat.
She gave the bent and dirty piece of furniture an apprehensive look as if she’d been asked to take a seat on the electric chair. Avery Montgomery was less perturbed; he sat down without any regard for the state of cleanliness of the chair and dragged it closer to the table, its legs screeching against the concrete, sending echoes against the dirty walls, and making Kay grit her teeth.
Once seated, Marleen fidgeted in place, struggled a little to undo the knot of her scarf, then she finally settled, while Avery still bounced his foot rhythmically against the floor, the heel of his shoe tapping it occasionally with dull sounds.
“Are you bringing the girls to us?” Marleen asked.
“The girls are in protective custody,” Kay replied, taking a seat across from Marleen and Avery.
“What the hell for?” Avery asked, his tall brow ruffled by a deep, angry frown. When he spoke, his white beard moved as if he were a mall Santa Claus with badly fitted makeup, thanks to his sagging jowls.
Kay shrugged, putting just enough feigned indifference in her gesture to sell what she was about to say. “Standard procedure. They are what we call loose ends. Their mother’s killer could learn from the media that there were witnesses to the murder and could be inclined to take measures to correct his oversight.”
Marleen’s jaw dropped a little, but no words came out.
“They’re witnesses?” Avery asked, his voice now lower, less bellicose.
“But, first of all, please allow me to express my condolences for your loss,” Kay said. Both seemed somewhat surprised as if not expecting that, as i
f they’d forgotten all about Cheryl’s death.
“Ah, yes, thank you,” Avery replied, the fastest of the two to think on his feet.
“Are we being interrogated, Detective?” Marleen asked, her eyebrow raised, her mouth a tense, thin line. “This is unbelievable. I’ve never been so insulted in my entire life. And this place is… unspeakable.”
Kay allowed the flicker of a smile to tug at the corner of her mouth, knowing how that would infuriate the woman. “We’re only having a friendly conversation, Mrs. Montgomery. If you were being interrogated, you’d know it.” She paused for a beat, then added coldly, “And your rights.”
That hit hard, leaving silence in its wake like heavy fog, filling every corner of the room.
“When can we take the girls home?” Avery asked, his voice courteous, almost friendly. What a change from only moments ago.
Kay paused as if she was considering it, then asked, “How are you related to Cheryl and these girls?”
Marleen shook her head in disbelief and groaned.
“Hush, dear, they can’t possibly know who everyone is,” Avery whispered her way quickly as if trying to control the woman’s reactions, as if afraid she’d make matters worse. “They only want what’s best for the girls,” he added, turning a smiling face broken into a million wrinkles toward Kay. “Am I correct, Detective?”
“Absolutely,” Kay replied, then waited for him to answer her question.
He paused, seemingly confused as to why Kay was silent, then appeared to remember he owed an answer. “Ah, yes. Cheryl married my grandson, Calvin. He died, unfortunately, in a work accident.”
“And Mrs. Montgomery? Is she your—”
“She’s my daughter-in-law,” Avery quickly replied before Kay could finish her question. “She’s Dan’s wife.”
“Was Calvin Dan’s son?”
“Oh, no, goodness gracious,” Marleen blurted, and Avery immediately glared at her. “Thankfully, my son’s still alive.” For a moment, she seemed terrified that her son could’ve shared Calvin’s fate somehow.
“I have three sons,” Avery said proudly, thrusting his chin forward, his beard fluttering in the air, smelling faintly of cigars and cologne, the expensive kind. “Mitchell is my eldest; he’s Calvin’s father. He also has a daughter, Lynn. She’s twenty-six, still a child barely out of college. Dan,” he said, looking briefly at Marleen, who nodded, seemingly deferring to Avery without a word, “is my middle child. They gave me a wonderful grandson, Victor.” His eyes sparkled with pride when he said his name.
For some reason, hearing him speak, Kay’s mind wandered to Betty Livingston and her craziness about firstborn daughters. She waited, but Avery didn’t continue, leaving out one son. “And the youngest?” she eventually asked.
“Ah, yes, that’s Raymond.” The pride brought by Victor’s name on his face vanished quickly, leaving disappointment and shame, his voice faltering, trailing off as if he wanted his words and the man’s name to go unnoticed. Whatever Raymond had done to fall from his father’s graces, it wasn’t forgiven yet, and it would probably never be.
“Thank you for clarifying that,” Kay replied. “It’s safe to assume you would become the girls’ legal guardian, Mr. Montgomery, but we are still ascertaining if Cheryl indicated her guardianship preference in a will.”
Marleen scoffed. “Cheryl? A will? Well, good luck with that. She never thought of anyone but herself, that one.”
“Marleen, for the love of God, be quiet,” Avery whispered, his voice strong. The woman clammed up and lowered her gaze.
“Would you mind sharing with me your whereabouts on Monday night? Say, from about eight p.m. to midnight?”
That blew a fuse on Marleen’s remaining self-control. She pounded against the table angrily, raising her voice to a shrill. “Now we’re suspects?”
“Standard procedure, ma’am. You do realize that before we consider entrusting you with the safety of these girls, we must first clear you of any suspicion.”
“Of course,” Avery replied in her place, his tone pacifying, while his blue eyes shot darts at his daughter-in-law. She seemed to have grown fed up with being silenced, no longer lowering her brow under his stare. “Well, I was having dinner with the mayor on Monday night. The folks at the ski lodge can confirm, and, of course, the mayor himself.”
“Until what time?” Kay asked, smiling encouragingly.
“We played a game of cards after that with a couple of his friends and spent some time discussing the politics of the moment, state and nation.” He scratched his beard with steady hands, his knuckles knotty, a telltale sign of arthritis. “Say, until about eleven-thirty or so? The club people might know better; my car was valeted; they might have records.”
Kay thanked him with a nod, then turned to Marleen. “And you, Mrs. Montgomery?”
Keeping a stiff upper lip, the woman eventually replied, scowling at Kay. “I hosted my book club at the house. They didn’t leave until late—after ten sometime.” Her voice was choked with anger. “You mean to tell me you’ll embarrass me in front of all those women by checking my alibi with them?”
“Well, is there anyone else who can vouch for your whereabouts? Your husband, maybe?”
She shook her head. “He left on a business trip last Thursday. And I let the help go home early that night.”
Kay pulled a small notepad from her pocket and pushed it toward her. “I’ll need their names and phone numbers, Mrs. Montgomery. They’ll understand. If you’re telling the truth, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She handed her a pen that she hesitated for a long moment before accepting and started to write reluctantly.
Kay remained silent while she scribbled, discreetly watching their reactions, their body language. Avery seemed calm, almost relaxed, while she was inexplicably angry. But both of their behavior was off in a big way: neither had asked about Julie or had demanded that the police do everything in their power to find the missing girl. It was as if she didn’t exist to them.
One thing she was certain of: Heather and Erin weren’t going anywhere with those people, not until the gnawing sensation in Kay’s gut ceased stirring her senses up with all sorts of red flags.
When Marleen was done writing the names of her book club friends, she pushed the pad across the table to Kay. “There. Now can I get the girls, so we can leave?”
“The girls are in protective custody,” Kay repeated calmly as if she was saying it for the first time. “They are witnesses in a murder-kidnapping and have been a tremendous help to get us started in solving this crime.”
“Have they, now?” Avery asked, sounding a little irritated. “What on earth could an eight-year-old and a four-year-old have to say?”
“A lot more than you’d think,” Kay replied.
“At least you should let us see them,” Avery said, and Marleen nodded enthusiastically.
Kay considered it for a moment. She didn’t want them to see the state Heather was in, but their reaction to the girls’ presence might prove helpful. She texted Deputy Farrell, instructing her to put Erin in the nap room with her sister and close the door.
“Just a moment, until we set things up,” she said, noticing how immediately they both seemed to relax a little. Then her phone chimed, with a one-word confirmation from Farrell via text message. Done.
Kay invited them to follow her, leading the way. “You’ll be able to see the girls through a window. No direct contact for now, I’m afraid.” She could sense their frustration in their silence as they followed her toward the nap room.
Heather sat on the side of her bed just as she had been since she got there, her back facing the door. Erin scribbled something on a piece of paper, then showed it to Heather, who didn’t react. Deputy Farrell was on the next bunk, holding all the colored markers in her hands and smiling gently.
She watched the Montgomerys as they looked at the girls through the narrow window, their heads almost touching. Marleen seemed overcome by emotion; her eyes wel
led up, surprisingly. Avery was dark and quiet, seeming sad and distraught. She allowed them a couple of minutes, then she invited them to the front of the building.
“This is no place for little girls,” Avery said coldly as they reached the main lobby. “I’m advising you, Detective, the moment I get home I will call my attorney and make sure these girls will be released into my custody immediately.”
“That’s your prerogative, sir,” she replied. “If you bring a court order, then we’ll see what we can do.”
“You’ll see what you can do?” he said, his words spoken in a menacing whisper. “Do not test me, Detective.”
“Are you threatening me?” Kay asked calmly. He instantly took a step back. Behind him, Deputy Hobbs grinned.
“No,” he replied cautiously. “I’m just curious to know what kind of information you could possibly be getting from these children to warrant such determination to keep them here, in these terrible conditions.”
“Yes, I want to know that too,” Marleen jumped into the middle of the tense exchange. She seemed fearful, restless. Her emotional moment was gone without a trace.
How interesting. Was she hiding something?
“Heather has been able to tell us a few things about what happened,” Kay replied vaguely. “You do realize I can’t share the details of an ongoing investigation with anyone? But we have strong leads, and we’re estimating the girls will continue to have a critical role in catching their mother’s killer.”
As she spoke, she noticed Marleen’s anxiety subsiding. Maybe she was hiding something, but not what Kay had initially suspected. Perhaps she was hiding her own fear of being targeted next. Why would she be?
“Were you aware of any problems in Cheryl’s life? Anyone looking to harm her or the girls?”
They briefly looked at each other, then Avery replied, “No. Absolutely not.”
Kay turned to Marleen, but she shook her head.
“Were you close?” Kay continued to probe. It seemed there was a notable difference in the standard of living between Cheryl, the single mom who improvised and saved and thrifted through life to make ends meet, and the two Montgomerys.