Jon's Spooky Corpse Conundrum

by A J Sherwood

  Jon did a double take. “I take it back. I don’t always know what you’re thinking. Where did that come from?”

  It was very tempting, but I didn’t rub it in. “I was just thinking that if someone had told me five years ago I’d have a hot blond as a boyfriend, I’d have checked them for a head injury. But now that I think about it, almost every time I’ve had a lover, they’ve either been demisexual or graysexual.”

  “Oh. Huh. Okay, leaving aside that you’re hot as sin—”

  I snorted a laugh, because of course he thought that.

  “I can see where you’re coming from. And I’d say I’m more borderline demisexual? But it’s a cause-and-effect in my case, more than an orientation. Because I can see so much of a person, I either find them attractive or a total turn-off.”

  “So you’re demisexual as a result.” That made a great deal of sense to me. It also sort of explained why I’d stood a chance with him to begin with.

  Jon waffled a hand back and forth. “Only sort of. I’m still not convinced of that. I might be graysexual. It’s honestly hard for me to tell. You’re the curious one. You’re not like most bisexuals. I mean, from what I can read, you really could go either way. Both genders are equally attractive to you.”

  It didn’t surprise me he could see that. “Yeah, it’s kind of rare. I haven’t met many bisexuals who are balanced. They’re usually more skewed. Oddly enough, though, I’ve had more boyfriends than girlfriends. I’ve only ever dated four women.”

  He made the turn into the hotel parking lot before shooting me a contemplative look. “Why is that, do you think?”

  “Opportunity? I’m usually in a more male-dominated environment.” I didn’t think there was any other real reason for it. But maybe I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

  He found a spot to park, basically straddling two lines. The parking spots here were beyond narrow. Only then did he give me that look I knew very well. He was reading my lines with focused concentration. “Are you ever going to tell me about that bad boyfriend who made you want to swear off men?”

  Damn Garrett. Why did he have to mention that? I sighed. “He was basically a Rodger. Only more charming about the manipulation and the mind games.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t like to remember that time. Mostly because I still felt stupid about how I’d fallen for it all. You just don’t expect someone you like and care for to use you so poorly. And when they’re as good as that bastard had been, you don’t always realize the damage until it’s too late. I’d transferred to the MPs to get away from him, it was that bad. “Our saving grace is that you’re nothing like him. Literally nothing like him.”

  “Thank god for that.” He leaned across the divide and gave me a quick kiss and smile before pulling away and hopping free of the vehicle.

  I knew my answer hadn’t satisfied his curiosity—not really—but once again he’d let things slide because he saw I wasn’t comfortable talking about it. I exited as well, then came around the Humvee to catch his hand with mine.

  He laced our fingers together as we walked toward the hotel’s main entrance. That wasn’t always a safe thing to do in the South, but Jon had already established he was flat out of fucks to give for the homophobes. And he knew I enjoyed squashing the bigots. I never dissuaded him from holding hands with me.

  Proving he really did know where Witherspoon’s daughter was, we bypassed the front desk entirely and took a sharp right down a hallway. Once we reached 1023, though, he stayed well back from the door and let me knock on it.

  “Coming!” Someone’s joint audibly popped inside the room before the door swung open and revealed Maggie Witherspoon. This was the first time I’d seen her, and she looked a little worse for wear. Her shocking, bright red hair was drawn up in a messy bun, and she wore no makeup, leaving her fair skin looking blotchy from a recent bout of crying. Her eyes were still red rimmed. Still, she greeted us both with a smile. “Jon, hello.”

  “Hi, Maggie,” Jon greeted. “This is Donovan, my anchor.”

  Maggie didn’t hesitate, just held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Donovan.”

  “Likewise,” I answered, shaking her hand. “We have some questions for you.”

  “Yes, of course, come in.” She stepped back and let us through, closing the door behind us.

  This hotel room wasn’t really set up for guests, but there was a narrow table with two chairs on the far side. We sat there, leaving her to perch on the side of the queen-sized bed. The chair I took was one with arms on it, and it was barely wide enough to accommodate someone of my size. I hoped to keep this brief, as it wasn’t really comfortable.

  Jon focused on Maggie with a gentle, sympathetic expression. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m a little crazy,” she admitted with a sigh. “I’ve been on the phone with my fiancé a lot. He’s been a jewel through all of this. I keep hoping they can release Dad’s body soon, so I can take him home for a burial. I really don’t know what to do about the house down here. With such a recent murder, I don’t think anyone would be willing to buy it. I mean, it’s one thing to say the house is haunted. Another to say someone recently was killed in it.”

  Unfortunately, she had a good point. “Maybe just hold onto it for now. Get some of the basic repairs done. Maybe someone will buy it as an investment property a little later, like your dad did.”

  “It’s worth a shot. Fortunately, he bought it outright, so all I’ll have to worry about is insurance and taxes.” For a moment, her exhaustion and grief showed through as she slumped in on herself. With a visible shake, she brought her head back up. “Sorry, you had questions for me?”

  “A few.” Jon pulled out a little notebook and pen from a pocket. “We recently discovered in your dad’s records that he had a business partner up until 2009?”

  Maggie’s lip curled up in a sneer. “Kyle Ayers. That bastard. Wait, you suspect him? But he’s in prison.”

  “He’s been out for over about three months,” I corrected her gently.

  Maggie stared at me in surprise, then swore aloud. “I am so sorry. I literally lost track of time. I thought he’d be in another few years. It’s why I didn’t mention him. I didn’t think he’d have anything to do with this.”

  “He was paroled, actually, so I understand your surprise. And he might not have anything to do with this,” Jon said patiently. “We don’t know at this point. Just that he’s a person of interest. What can you tell us about him?”

  “You know that person you meet and instantly get a good impression, so you never second guess it? That was Kyle Ayers. He worked for Dad for a few years as a foreman, and he was good at it. Really good at it. Then he asked if he could buy into the company. Dad was going crazy, trying to keep up with all the projects he was juggling, and he liked the idea of having a younger partner who had more energy. He brought Kyle on, and for years, it was great. They got along well, the projects all sold at a profit, and it was like a match made in heaven.

  “Then things started to go a little wrong. There wasn’t as much in the accounts as there should have been, and I could tell Dad was at first confused, then worried. He never was one to micromanage people, so it took him a while to put the pieces together. When he confronted Kyle, it got ugly fast. Turns out, Kyle had a serious gambling addiction. It’d started about fifteen years ago, with the occasional trip to Vegas, and then it was a monthly treat. Then weekly. Then nightly. He got in over his head too fast and since he was authorized to write business checks, he used the business account to keep his kneecaps in place.”

  Unfortunately, it was a story I’d heard before, many times. Gambling addictions could ruin a man faster than drugs, in some ways. “After he confronted Kyle?”

  “He gave him a chance to straighten it out himself. I mean, he locked Kyle out of the account, and he wasn’t a partner anymore. Dad wasn’t that forgiving, or naïve. But he didn’t bring the law into it immediately. I think out of pity. Dad wa
sn’t the type to kick someone when they were down.” Maggie gave a resigned shrug. “But Kyle was pretty desperate. He started stealing tools from the worksites, pawning them for cash. That’s when Dad put his foot down and reported him. Sued him. It was a pretty open and shut case. Kyle hadn’t been very good about covering his tracks.”

  “Was Kyle angry about how it all went down?” Jon inquired.

  “Livid.” Maggie’s expression darkened. “It made no sense to me. But Kyle felt like he was entitled to use the business account, that Dad was in the wrong. Even when he was charged, he kept saying things about Dad being so stingy and unforgiving. That everyone made mistakes and Dad should have just forgiven him. He didn’t think he should pay anything back because he’d earned the money by just being a partner. I think Dad hoped time in prison would cool his temper and give Kyle some perspective.”

  More likely, it had just given the man time to plan revenge. “I know this is a strange question, but what is he like physically? Would you describe him as a strong person?”

  “Like an ox. He worked shrimp boats as a kid. He always said that was what gave him the strength.” She looked carefully at me, evaluating. “I don’t think he’s as strong as you, but close.”

  Well. Maybe he didn’t have an accomplice after all.

  Jon still followed through, though. “Do you know anyone in Ayers’ inner circle? Parents, siblings, anyone we can reach out to? If we can prove he was up in New York during all of this, it’ll help.”

  Maggie shook her head apologetically. “We met his family and friends from time to time, but I didn’t know anyone well enough to exchange phone numbers, or even emails. Even if I had, all ties were broken pretty thoroughly when Dad sued Kyle. I can’t believe…I can’t believe Kyle would do this. As angry as he was, he never resorted to violence. But, well, I suppose I can’t say that. I didn’t anticipate he’d steal from Dad, either.”

  “Is there anyone you can think of who would have helped him murder your father?”

  “An accomplice, you mean? No. No one had enough beef with my father to help Ayers seek revenge against him. At least, not that I know of.”

  I’d figured that was the case, but it never hurt to ask. “Maggie, last question. How well known was it that your father was retiring down here?”

  “I mean, he talked about it for years before he did it. It wasn’t a secret to anyone. He’d come through here on vacation once and just loved the area. And the winters up north were brutal on his system. His arthritis was kicking in, and I think he wanted warmer climes before he…” She trailed off, tears turning her eyes too bright before she blinked them away.

  Jon switched to the bed and put an arm around her, giving her a shoulder to lean against. “Maggie, I can’t bring him back to you. But I’ll talk to my dad. He’s the medical examiner, and I’ll see about getting his body released. And I swear to you, we’ll get the son of a bitch who did this.”

  17

  With a mother as a forensic psychic examiner, I didn’t think anything of popping into the morgue. Maybe I should have, considering Caleb actually cut people open—he wasn’t just dealing with a sheet-draped corpse. I wasn’t always good with blood, but it made me nauseated more than faint. Donovan wasn’t squeamish at all, so he was right on my heels as we stepped inside, although we steered clear of the tables and made sure not to touch anything. Neither of us wanted to contaminate evidence.

  As we came in, Caleb looked up from the body on the table. I knew in a glance it had to be Jenny Cartwright with the way it looked mummified. Dad gave us a smile, his hands stilling in the chest cavity. “Well, hi.”

  “Hi, Caleb,” I greeted, looking the body over. There was no blood in a body this old, thankfully. Something about fresh blood turned my stomach. “Looks like you’re right in the middle of things. Pun intended.”

  “Oh you’re punny,” he deadpanned right back at me. His humor lines lit up. It delighted him when I teased. It gave him a better footing with me, so I did it whenever possible. “What brings you to my lab?”

  “A little bit of follow-up, and we wondered how close you were to releasing Richard Witherspoon’s body to his daughter.”

  “Mmm, I think I can release him soon. There’s not much more I can learn from him. Why do you ask?”

  “I sat with Maggie just now. We had some follow-up questions for her, and she wanted to know. I think she’s hoping to arrange transport for him back to New York, bury him there. She’s stuck here waiting until he’s released.”

  “Ah. I’ll finish up the paperwork, then.” His voice rose hopefully. “If you were interviewing her, have we had a break in the case?”

  “We hope so.” Donovan settled into an easy parade rest, a habit of his when he knew he’d be standing for a while. “We found a person of interest. At the moment, he’s the only one with motive to kill Witherspoon. Unless that’s changed in the hour we’ve been gone.”

  “Surely they’d have called us if it had,” I observed. “Anyway, old business partner was embezzling from the company. Witherspoon had to sue him and kick him out.”

  “And the daughter didn’t think to mention this before?”

  “She thought he was still in prison.”

  “Ah. She think of anyone who would help this guy murder her father?”

  “No,” I denied with an easy shrug. “According to her, he was the only one who really had beef with her dad. But she did say he’s very strong, maybe as strong as Donovan. So I give it even odds he did this on his own.”

  Gesturing toward the body, Donovan inquired, “Any progress here?”

  “A bit. Whatever the motivation, it doesn’t look like rape came into it. Her clothing was intact, and I saw no sign of her being forced. It’s a little hard to tell, forty years later, but the evidence doesn’t point in that direction.”

  I was relieved. I had very strong opinions about rape, none of them forgiving. “Are you still sure about the broken neck?”

  “Yes, quite sure. I don’t believe she was strangled. More that she was either pushed or fell backwards, and her neck struck something hard at exactly the wrong angle. It still might be an accident, although I wouldn’t entirely bet on it. Normally, a break like this in the cervical area is accompanied by a head injury. Nine times out of ten, in fact. I find it very strange that I’m not seeing anything like that.”

  “You’d think that if the blow was strong enough to break her neck, it would leave some fracture in the cranial area too.” Donovan frowned down at the body. “What do you think did it?”

  “You remember those wooden fences around the cisterns? The one guarding the walkway?” Dad waited for our nod. “I think it was something like that. She fell at just the wrong angle for it to impact her neck and not her head. It’s why I’m not wholly convinced this was deliberate.”

  It made sense. Although in the end, it didn’t matter much if Jenny’s death was accidental or not. When Stephenson chose to hide her body instead of call for help, it became third degree murder and not manslaughter. “No chance of there being any trace evidence on those fences, assuming you’re right.”

  “I don’t think she bled, and any skin or hair samples would be long gone at this stage. That part of my report will remain academic. If it helps any, she wasn’t pregnant, either.”

  The more information I had, the more it narrowed the possibilities. What I really wanted to do was drag Stephenson in for a formal interrogation. I’d get all my answers that way. “As far as I can tell, the two weren’t connected romantically. I’m not sure what the motive was.”

  “Yet,” Donovan added sagely. “You’ll get the answers when we sit him down. Caleb, we got enough evidence to do that?”

  “Unfortunately not. His DNA is not anywhere in the database. He’s had a life of clean living” –Caleb added that last part very sarcastically— “so there’s no probable connection for me to use. We’re guessing the blood on her class ring will match his, but we don’t actually know that for sure
.”

  It was rather an educated guess on our parts. Who else could it belong to? But a guess wouldn’t get the man in custody. I thought about it, then grimaced. “You know, we might have let Carol go back to Nashville a day too soon.”

  Donovan caught on quickly and groaned. “Dammit. She could search for the owner of the blood.”

  “Not only that, but she can tell us where Kyle Ayers is without us having to issue BOLOs or any of that. She’s not going to be happy if we tell her to turn around and come back.”

  “Let’s ask Neil what he wants to do first,” Caleb suggested. “He might have made some progress before you came to see me. We might need her to come back.”

  “Damn, I really should have held onto Carol for one more day,” Neil groaned after we’d updated him on what we found. He was still in the conference room with Garrett and Sho, buried in even more files. No one had ever been able to prove it, of course, but I’d experienced the phenomena too many times to doubt it. Paperback always magically duplicated itself once you turned your back on it.

  Sho offered, “She doesn’t actually have to come back here to find Kyle Ayers, you know. She can do a reading for a person from anywhere.”

  “That’s a good point,” Garrett observed, backing him. “And the ring can wait a little, right? Finding Ayers and proving he was involved takes precedence. The man’s likely long gone at this point. We’ll have to hunt him down. Him, and whoever might have helped him.”

  “The man’s broke and straight out of prison,” Neil said absently, stretching out toward the center of the table for a water bottle. “Unless he’s doing some petty theft, I don’t see how he’d be able to go anywhere fast.”

  Sho snapped upright in his chair so fast, it nearly dumped him out onto the floor. He grabbed the table to keep his balance, swearing in a fast string of Vietnamese, ending with, “Chết mẹ, fuck! Why am I so stupid?!”