by Lisa Regan
“Are you sure that’s what she said?” Josie asked. “Was it possible she said that he might kill her?”
“Oh no,” said Dee. “Sebastian is not like that at all. I mean, if you talk to him for even a second, you’ll see how he worships her. He always has. To be honest, among the other mothers, we always felt it was kind of pathetic. Not that she didn’t love him back. She most certainly did, but she always seemed to love him in a less passionate way than he loved her.”
“Being devoted to someone doesn’t exclude domestic violence or even murder,” Gretchen pointed out.
“I know that,” Dee said. “But I’m telling you that Sebastian just isn’t that kind of person.”
“He’s a wimp,” Heidi piped up. Everyone looked at her. She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, but he is. He’s wimpy as hell. Even us kids couldn’t understand what Mrs. Palazzo saw in him. I mean she was like some big, successful New York City model, and he was like this shy pharmacist who could barely speak.”
“Heidi, really,” Dee admonished. “That’s mean.”
“What?” Heidi said, eyes wide. “I’m not saying he’s not a nice guy. He’s a super-nice guy. He came on a class trip once and bought everyone ice cream. But once he was driving me and Nevin home from our practices—Nevin had baseball and I had softball—and this guy rear-ended him. Mr. Palazzo got out to exchange insurance information, and the dude just ripped him a new one. Like, the guy was just screaming at him when he was the one who hit us! We thought he was going to hit Mr. P. Nevin even started to cry. Then Mr. P just got back into the car and drove off. He never got the guy’s information. He didn’t call the police to report the crazy guy. He didn’t even say anything. Just drove us home like nothing happened with half his bumper hanging off.”
Dee tutted. “It sounds like the other driver was out of control and Mr. Palazzo was being smart by not engaging with him, especially with the two of you in the car.”
Trying to take back control of the conversation, Josie asked, “Dee, do you have any idea who Faye was having an affair with?”
Dee shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”
Gretchen said, “Even if you’re not sure, is there anyone you think it could have been?”
“I truly have no idea,” Dee responded. “But I can tell you that I don’t believe it went beyond the accident. She was already intent on ending it, and once she and Sebastian lost Nevin, well, like all of us, they were a wreck, and I think that unlike some of us, their shared grief actually brought them closer.”
Gretchen nodded. “We’re going to step outside for a few minutes to make some phone calls. I need to get a unit over here to keep an eye on you, Mrs. Tenney. Would it be okay for Heidi to stay with you until we meet with her dad later?”
“Of course.”
Josie followed Gretchen out to the driveway. They stood beside Gretchen’s car while Josie got both Mettner and Noah on speakerphone. Noah said, “We canvassed the houses on the other side of the road. No one’s got cameras and no one saw anything. Dr. Feist says that Faye Palazzo is in full rigor—the same as Krystal Duncan, although in her case, livor is fixed. Probably the same cause of death, although there’s some bruising on Faye Palazzo’s face.”
“I saw that,” Josie said.
“We won’t get a time of death or official cause until Dr. Feist gets her on the table,” Mettner added. “But I think it’s safe to say that this is almost identical to Krystal Duncan’s murder based on the doc’s initial observations: the pink color indicative of carbon monoxide poisoning, the wax in her mouth, the name on the arm. Given the state of her body and the heat out here, she was probably left here early this morning—probably before the sun came up—but as I said, the doc will try to narrow down a time of death after her exam.”
Gretchen asked, “Did you guys get anywhere with your interviews before we called?”
“Not very far,” Noah answered. “We managed to talk to Sebastian Palazzo, though. Like everyone else—Gloria, Nathan, Dee—he’s got a spotty alibi. He can account for some of his time but not all of it during the days that Krystal was missing. Plus, Faye was his alibi for a great deal of the time and with her dead, she can’t corroborate anything he says.”
Gretchen sighed and shook her head. “Noted,” she said. “The neighborhood still needs to be canvassed as we discussed.”
Mettner said, “I’m going to go back over while Fraley stays here on-scene. No sense in both of us being here. The ERT will be here at least another hour or two.”
“Great,” said Gretchen. “We’re going to go speak with Miles Tenney and see if he has any idea why his daughter’s name was written on Faye Palazzo’s body.”
Josie looked back to the Cammack house as the front door opened. Heidi stuck her head out. “Hang on,” Josie told Gretchen, pointing to Heidi.
“We’ll keep you posted,” Gretchen told Noah and Mettner before hanging up.
Heidi was already halfway down the driveway. Josie said, “Is everything okay?”
“I know something,” Heidi blurted out. She looked back at the house but the door remained closed. “I don’t know if I should tell.”
“You know something about what?” asked Josie.
“About Mrs. Palazzo’s affair.”
“Okay,” said Gretchen.
“But I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. I mean, I don’t want to get my dad in trouble.”
Josie said, “Because you think that your dad was having an affair with Mrs. Palazzo?”
“No. Because I know that he was, but listen, this doesn’t mean that he killed her, okay? He would never do something like that. They were actually—I think they were in love. But they stopped after the accident. Mrs. Tenney was right about that.”
Josie asked, “How do you know your dad and Faye Palazzo were having an affair?”
Heidi rolled her eyes. “Because I’m not stupid, okay? Everyone always treated me like I was, but I’m not. I hear everything. I always heard everything. Adults figured I was either too stupid to know what was going on or that I just didn’t care ’cause I was a kid. The way my dad works all the time—and I mean all the time—is the same as it was before the accident. The other parents were always driving me places or feeding me or having me over until he got home. It was like this whole neighborhood raised me. Like I’m some charity case or something—except my dad has plenty of money. I mean, he ought to, since all he does is work and never has time to spend any money.”
Gretchen asked, “Did you overhear your dad and Faye Palazzo talking about an affair?”
“No,” said Heidi. “They used my backpack to pass notes.”
“What?” said Josie.
“Yeah. There is this super small pocket in my backpack that you could never fit anything in. Well, I mean, you could put like, an eraser, in it or whatever but other than that it was useless. On the days that I would go to Mrs. Palazzo’s house after the bus dropped us off—until my dad got home from work—he would put a note in that little pocket. While I was at their house playing with Nevin or hanging out with him, she would take it out, read it, write a response and then send it back.”
“How do you know this?” Josie said.
“Duh. Because I saw them do it. I mean, the first time I found a note, I didn’t know what it was. I was in school. It was something about meeting in our spot at two o’clock. I didn’t know what that meant. I thought maybe it was from my dad’s stuff and somehow got into my bag? I don’t know. I wasn’t that bright then. I meant to ask him about it that night but then I forgot and when I was over at the Palazzos’, I walked past the kitchen when Mrs. P thought Nevin and I were out back and saw her taking it out. Then I watched her read it, write something on it, and put it back.”
“You didn’t ask either one of them about this?” Gretchen said.
“Well, no. Like I said, I was a dumb kid. I made sure to read her note before my dad did but all it said was ‘OK’, and I was still really confused so I didn’t bring
it up. But I kept track after that of the notes they left for one another. They were super boring, though. It was just all about when they could meet in some spot. Except the last one.”
Josie said, “What did the last one say?”
“That she wanted it to be over,” Heidi answered. “I still have it if you want to see?”
“Where?” Gretchen asked. “Where do you have it?”
“At my house. I can take you there. It’s just a block over.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Corey and Heidi Byrne’s home was much like all the other ones in the neighborhood, a well-kept, two-story stucco house with a generous front lawn and a two-car garage. The landscaping was more practical, with bushes that stayed green all year and didn’t lose their leaves. They would only require a minor amount of pruning. For someone who allegedly worked as much as Corey did, this seemed like a win-win. Heidi found a key under a flowerpot next to the front door and let them all inside.
“Wow,” said Josie as they walked into a huge open concept area. Where there might have been walls, there were instead thick beams throughout. Hardwood floors gleamed. The huge space seemed to be divided into four corners or areas: living room, dining room, kitchen and what looked like an office area with a desk. Several papers were stacked haphazardly on the surface of the desk.
“Yeah,” Heidi said, watching them take it in. “Everyone who sees it has the same reaction. He’s been working on this on and off for my whole life. Sometimes we’ve got walls and sometimes we’ve got this. He keeps changing it. I used to think that he couldn’t decide what he liked, but now I think he just has to be working on something or he’ll go crazy. Come on.”
She beckoned them across the space to a door that led out to the garage. Josie and Gretchen followed through the door, down a short hallway and through another door into the cavernous garage. There were no vehicles but almost every square inch of wall was covered in tools.
“What kind of work does your dad do?” Gretchen asked.
“All of it,” Heidi said in a disinterested tone. “Well, that’s not true. He doesn’t do plumbing. He says he’s really bad at it. But he builds houses. He knows carpentry, electric, painting—all that stuff. I used to think he worked so much because he needed so much money to raise me and keep us in this nice neighborhood, but now? Now I just think he loves work more than me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Josie said.
Heidi shrugged and turned away, going over to a shelving unit with several plastic bins marked with her name. “Whatever. You don’t have to do that adult thing where you try to reassure me by lying. Before the accident, when I had friends, I saw how other parents treated their kids. I know my dad loves me, but I’m not sure he was ever interested in being a dad.”
She said it without emotion, as if she’d resigned herself to the fact a long time ago. Josie was suddenly glad that she had Mrs. Tenney to rely on now. At fourteen, Josie herself had landed in her grandmother’s care after years of abuse and neglect, and it had made all the difference. Not that there were any signs that Heidi was abused, but it was clear she had been neglected for many years. All her physical needs had been met, but clearly that was as far as Corey Byrne’s care of his daughter extended.
Heidi lifted her heels up and balanced on the tips of her toes, pulling down a mustard-yellow plastic bin. She dropped it onto the concrete floor with a thwap sound. She peeled the lid off and pulled out a blue-and-white backpack that was stained brown in some places and a faded rust color in others. Blood, Josie realized.
Heidi placed the backpack at their feet. “That’s blood from my friends,” she said in a somber tone. “The ones who died in the bus crash. It was already dried on there by the time I got it back. I don’t know who brought it to the house but when I got home from the hospital, it was here.”
Gretchen said, “Your dad didn’t try to clean it off?”
“Actually, he threw it away,” said Heidi. “I found it in our trash. He doesn’t even know I kept it. I think he didn’t want me to see it because he thought it would upset me, but an old bloody backpack? That can never compare to the pictures that are permanently in my head from that day, you know?”
“Yes,” Josie breathed. “I know what you mean.”
“You don’t have to touch it,” Heidi said. Kneeling, she moved the straps out of the way and found a small slit in the back of the bag, right where it would rest against the top of her spine if she were wearing it. It took some digging but eventually she came up with a folded piece of loose-leaf paper. Carefully, she smoothed the creases out, using the tops of her thighs as a surface and then handed the page to Josie.
There were two different types of handwriting on the page, though both were faded, and the creases had worn away some of the ink. One set of messages was made in blocky letters, almost all of them capital letters. The other set was written in a long, flowing cursive hand with tall, graceful loops. There were no names or even initials. Only short sets of instructions just as Heidi had said. Meet me in our spot. Two p.m. Thursday. In the blocky capital letters. Then beneath, simply: OK or sometimes: See you then. This went on for half a page. Then the short, simple responses of the graceful handwriting changed.
This has to stop. I can’t do this anymore. It’s not worth it. They saw us.
Below that was another blocky-lettered message that said: We don’t know that they saw us. Don’t do this.
Then: If we saw them, they saw us. I can’t risk this any longer. I’m terrified. This has to be over.
Finally: Please let’s talk about this in person. Our spot. Two p.m.
That was it.
Heidi pointed to the boxy capital letters. “That’s my dad’s handwriting.”
Over Josie’s shoulder, Gretchen studied it. Quietly, she said, “Doesn’t look like the writing found at the scenes.”
“No,” Josie said, allowing herself a small sigh of relief. “It doesn’t.” She couldn’t imagine what it would do to poor Heidi, after all she’d been through, learning her father was a killer. “Still,” she whispered to Gretchen. “We should check alibis.”
“Absolutely,” Gretchen agreed. To Heidi, she said, “You’re sure this is Faye Palazzo’s writing?”
“Yeah. I mean, pretty sure. I did see her write stuff on the paper and put it back in my bag.”
Gretchen said, “Do you know who the ‘they’ is that they’re talking about?”
“No.”
Josie asked, “Do you have any idea where this ‘spot’ is that they’re referring to?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. No idea. I’m in school at that time. I don’t know where they met.”
“Did you ever see Mrs. Palazzo here?”
“Only if she was picking up Nevin after he came to hang out, which was rare.”
“Heidi,” Josie said. “We’re scheduled to talk with your dad here, today, at five o’clock. We’re going to have to ask him about this.”
“I know,” Heidi said. “If you’re worried about me getting in trouble, don’t be. He’s not that kind of dad.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Josie and Gretchen dropped Heidi Byrne off at Gloria Cammack’s house, leaving her in the care of Dee Tenney until later that afternoon when Corey was off work. A patrol car had already been stationed outside the home. They grabbed lunch from a nearby fast-food restaurant, pulling over in the parking lot to quickly eat their meals while they discussed the latest developments.
Gretchen said, “What do you think about Corey?”
Josie popped a French fry into her mouth. “Hard to say without meeting him, but I’m not sure he looks good for these murders.”
“Based on the handwriting? He could have tried changing his writing when he wrote the names on the arms.”
“True,” Josie agreed. “But why would he be killing off the mothers of the bus crash victims? It makes no sense. His daughter survived, and by the looks of it, he’s long depended on that network of moth
ers to care for Heidi while he spends ninety percent of his time at work.”
Gretchen sipped soda from her straw. “Yeah. You’re right. Unless he wanted to kill Faye because he was upset with her for breaking off the affair, and Krystal was some kind of decoy.”
“That’s pretty elaborate,” Josie said. “And it doesn’t sound like Corey Byrne is the type of guy to go out of his way, even for the people he cares about. Still, I get what you’re saying. Due diligence and all that. We’ll get alibis from him when we talk to him today and verify them with the people he works with. What’s next?”
Gretchen picked up her phone from the center console. “Mett is still on the street tracking down our thief. I think we should pay Miles Tenney a visit. I left him two voicemails already today but no answer. Let’s just head over there.”
They finished eating, Gretchen punched the address into her GPS, and they headed to Southwest Denton, where Miles Tenney had rented an apartment in one of the seediest parts of the city. His apartment was on the first floor of a four-story building that was sandwiched between two much larger, multi-story buildings. None of the structures on the block were well maintained. Paint peeled from the façades. Some of the windows on the upper floors were boarded up with plywood and cardboard. As Gretchen and Josie got out of the car and made their way to the front door, they dodged weeds poking from the cracked sidewalk, broken glass, garbage, and a few hypodermic needles. The front door was glass, as if it had once been an entrance to a store. Some light-colored fabric affixed to the other side of it prevented them from seeing inside, but a badly handwritten note taped at face-level indicated that the apartment entrance was around back.
There was only one alleyway leading to the rear. Cockroaches scattered before their feet as they rounded the back of the building. What might have once been a backyard was now an empty lot littered with broken blocks of concrete, the remnants of discarded furniture, and a handful of large, dented appliances that were probably older than Josie. A chain-link fence separated the lot from a parking lot that held three cars. Accessing the map of this part of Denton in her head, Josie remembered there was a pawn shop on the next block over that probably owned the parking area.