by P. Creeden
She shook her head. "But you're a detective—don't you need to stay here and survey the scene?"
One side of his lip ticked up. "I already looked at it thoroughly while you were a bit out of it. And besides, detectives get their information many ways, right?" Then Jeremy met eyes with Roger Fromme. "You, come with me. I have a lot of questions for you."
And that was when Joy realized that she had a lot of questions, too. The four of them rode down in the elevator together—Mr. Jenkins, Roger, Jeremy, and Joy—in awkward silence. Roger spent most of the time chewing on his fingernails and shifting back and forth with his weight on one foot and then the other. His fidgeting was driving Joy a bit mad, and she couldn't wait to get out of the elevator when it dinged on the first floor.
First, Jeremy guided Roger toward the front door. Two things stopped them all in their tracks. While they'd been inside, snow had begun to fall. And outside, TV reporters with cameras and microphones stood just in front of the glass doors outside, with at least three distinct channels represented by the vans that sat behind them. Joy blinked as her stomach twisted. Exactly how long had she been out of it?
Jeremy leaned in toward the security guard. "Is there an office space here where I can do a bit of questioning? I'd rather not deal with that crowd right now."
Slowly, Mr. Jenkins nodded. "Of course," he said and guided them to a small conference room with glass windows.
Joy followed until they reached the door and Jeremy stopped her. "Maybe it's best if you wait out here."
With a frown, Joy nodded. Of course she shouldn't go in, but her newspaper reporter's instinct made her want to know what was going on. Even if the information she got wasn't fit to print, she still needed to know exactly what happened. She backed away a couple of steps and then watched as the security officer stepped back over toward his front desk. Outside, the snow had begun falling in larger flakes. How long would those TV reporters stay outside the doors? How did they even hear about what had happened, anyway?
Joy slowly backed up until her shoulders met the wall immediately next to the conference area. As she'd hoped, she could hear every word that was said within.
"Tell me slowly, exactly what happened," Jeremy said in his deep baritone.
Roger's voice, on the other hand, had a whiny, nasally quality to it. "It's like I said, I came here to the office to talk to Mr. Carter. I had an appointment at 11 a.m. Then we got into an argument soon after. I hit him with the baseball bat—accidentally. I didn't mean to do it. And then I rushed down the stairs and across the street to the church to find a police officer and tell them what happened."
"Why didn't you tell the security guard here on staff? Mr. Jenkins?"
"I was going to, but he wasn't at the desk at the time. I couldn't find him right away."
"You also could have stayed here at the crime scene and called 9-1-1. Why didn't you do that?"
After a pause, the comic strip illustrator finally said, "I... I didn't think of that. I was a bit distraught and just started walking. I think I may have been really out of it. I barely remember walking over to the church."
Outside, the crowd of TV reporters pressed against the glass doors. Mr. Jenkins got up from his desk to shake his head at them. "Go on back to your stations. You're not coming in here."
Someone outside yelled, "Please! We just have a few questions. Is it true that Roger Fromme, the comic strip artist, killed the newspaper editor and confessed to the crime?"
Joy's heart dropped to her stomach. How did they know so many details? How had they come to the newspaper office so quickly? It didn't make any sense. When they were in the crowded lobby of the church, Roger had said he'd killed someone. It was vague and not at all full of the same details this reporter seemed to know already. The only people present during the man's more detailed confession were Joy, Jeremy, Merry and the kids. Would Merry or Jeremy's children report the crime details to the news stations? Certainly not.
As she was caught up in her thoughts, the elevator dinged across the hall and the coroner led a gurney carrying a body in a black bag with two uniformed police officers. They stepped toward the front door of the lobby and shook their heads. They turned toward Mr. Jenkins. "Is there another way out of the building?"
"Of course," Mr. Jenkins said as he headed toward the side door that Joy already knew about.
The coroner asked Mr. Jenkins another question, and the security officer gestured in the direction of the conference area where Joy stood. Her stomach twisted as she tried to avoid eye contact with the man in the hopes that no one would tell her she needed to move along. Luckily, it seemed to work, as the coroner passed by her and headed into the conference room without so much as a glance her direction. She breathed a sigh of relief as she leaned in to listen to what was going on.
The coroner cleared his throat. "I'll need to do more tests, but it seems that for right now I believe that the victim's cause of death is blunt force trauma, and his approximate time of death is nine a.m."
Joy blinked hard. Nine a.m.? That didn't make any sense.
Chapter 4
"Nine a.m?" Jeremy's deep baritone asked. "Are you sure about that? This murder didn't occur at eleven?"
"No, that's not possible. With the rate the blood has clotted and the amount of rigor that is beginning to set in at this temperature, it is impossible that the murder occurred at eleven. It had to be between eight-thirty and nine-thirty a.m. With nine a.m. the most likely time of death."
Joy couldn't help herself. She leaned toward the glass window and peered in. Roger Fromme had a cultivated look of shock on his face, and the frown on Jeremy's said he wasn't amused. He turned toward the coroner. "And the cause of death? You said it was blunt force trauma?"
"Yes, it was. A cylindrical object, about two inches in diameter was used to beat the victim over the head. He was hit at least three times."
Joy couldn't help but gasp. Before anyone turned her direction, she slapped her hands over her mouth and pulled away from the window and leaned back against the wall. Her heart began to race and she held her breath while she listened.
"Two inches," Jeremy repeated. "Two inches? A baseball bat is about four inches in diameter, right?"
"Something like that," the coroner answered. "It's highly unlikely that this was caused by a baseball bat."
Slowly, Joy began to breathe again, and though her ears strained to the point of ringing, she heard not one word from the room for several seconds. No one said anything.
Finally, the coroner said, "I'm going to need to go ahead and finalize my results with an autopsy, but I believe that I will only confirm my preliminary findings."
"Thank you, Mike. Call me on my cell phone if you find anything different," Jeremy said
The glass door opened next to Joy, and she quickly darted her gaze away. The coroner held the door open for a moment and called back into the room. "Of course I will, Detective Hunt, but as I said, I don't think my preliminary findings will be wrong."
After saying their good-byes, the coroner jogged down the hallway as if to catch up with the body and officers who had headed that direction. Joy just stood against the wall in shock. What was going on?
Jeremy's voice deepened as he said, "Nothing you've told me so far is true. Right now, I can have you arrested for filing a false report. You could be looking at a year of jail time and a hefty fine. What on earth would possess you to admit to a murder at a time when you couldn't possibly have done it?"
"I'm sorry," Roger's voice still had a whiny tone, but it was quieter than it had been the whole time. "I... I just wanted to protect Mr. Carter."
Joy blinked hard, her heart squeezing in her chest.
"What do you mean by that?" Jeremy asked the question that was in Joy's mind.
Roger remained silent again.
Hands slapped against a table top. "Look, Mr. Fromme. I don't like getting the runaround. If you cooperate with the investigation now, I might drop the charges for filing a fals
e report, but if you don't, I'll arrest you right now."
"Mr. Carter wasn't just a newspaper editor. He pushed the limits on what he did with the stories. I know he used the information he sometimes gathered through investigations against people." Roger's voice trailed off.
"Extortion. You're saying that Mr. Carter blackmailed people."
Joy's hands formed fists at her sides. That wasn't the Mr. Carter she knew. She couldn't believe he could do something like that. No. Way.
"Yes," Roger said, his voice reaching normal volume again. "I've heard him on the phone doing it before, and last time I had an appointment, the person leaving the office threatened him."
"Who was that?"
"I... I didn't know her, and she was wearing a scarf over her head and sunglasses. It made me feel like she could be a celebrity or something, but I couldn't tell you what she looked like except average height, medium build, brown hair."
Blood rushed to Joy's cheeks. That could literally be anybody. It could be a description of Joy, herself. She had to admit that although Mr. Carter had always been a great boss to her and helped her out in so many ways professionally, she did not know him personally. Still, she couldn't believe what she was hearing about the man she respected for so long. Was this really possible?
"Excuse me," a deep voice said right next to Joy.
Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up and into the eyes of a uniformed police officer. His gaze slipped over hers as he opened the door of the conference room and stepped inside.
Jeremy didn't acknowledge the officer but asked Roger another question instead, "What were you doing at nine a.m.?"
During a moment of silence, Joy peeked into the room through the window again. Roger's hands covered his face. The uniformed police officer stood behind Jeremy who sat in the chair across from Roger with deep lines in his forehead. Finally, Roger pulled his hands away. "I was at Marianne's house. Marianne Dalton. She's a fellow comic strip artist who lives on the north end of Soda Springs. I brought her some breakfast from the burger place there and visited with her about the possibility of a joint project. She'll remember that I was at her house. I think I even arrived there at nine and didn't leave until at least ten. Yeah. It was exactly ten because it takes about an hour to get from there to Mr. Carter's office here at the newspaper, and I was thinking I didn't want to be late for the meeting."
"Marianne Dalton? Could you give the officer here the exact address? He will go and confirm your alibi, but I'm going to have to ask you to stay here until it's confirmed." Jeremy snapped his fingers at the uniformed police officer who wrote down the address that Roger gave him.
The whole thing seemed surreal. Hardly anything was making sense that afternoon. The door to the conference room opened, and Joy stepped back twice to make room for it. The uniformed officer came out and immediately began heading toward the side entrance. Then Jeremy stepped out of the conference area and met eyes with Joy, and her heart skipped a beat in response.
Immediately, the wrinkles on his forehead smoothed as his face became softer. He stepped closer to her, letting the conference door close behind him. "Could you see about getting us something for lunch? The suspect and me?"
Joy nodded just as her own stomach betrayed her by growling. She wrapped her arms around it, her eyes going wide. How could she even think about eating at a time like this?
Jeremy was looking down at her arms as he lifted a brow and gave a soft chuckle. "Order something for yourself, too. My treat."
Her heart fluttered again in her chest, but she nodded. "Thank you."
He stood so close to her that she had to look up in order to peer into his eyes. He patted her on the shoulder with a smile and then backed away and headed back into the conference room. Slowly, Joy let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Her heart still beat hard against her chest as she backed away from the glass door that Jeremy had just disappeared into. She swallowed hard. Even though she didn't want to think about eating, she knew it was probably best to get something. But as her gaze traveled over to the glass doors out front, flurries still mixed in the air and some flakes were even finding places to stick to the ground. Who could she get to deliver food on a Sunday when the weather was like this?
Chapter 5
"It's starting to come down hard out there," Mr. Jenkins said from behind his desk. "The weather man said that we might get six inches or more over the next couple days."
That was not something Joy wanted to hear. She leaned against Mr. Jenkins's desk, her back to the older security guard as she looked across the bank of windows that comprised of the front door. The crowd of reporters might have thinned a bit, but all three TV stations' vans still sat in the parking area beyond. Was it possible that some were waiting in their vehicles? Joy tightened her jaw. That was most likely. She'd never leave the scene of an incident if she wanted to report on it. Maybe it was one of the reasons that she remained behind now. She had no intention of leaving the newspaper office until she found out what was going on. Was there a story here? Most likely. But that wasn't all. She needed to find out what happened to Mr. Carter, and if Roger was telling the truth. He'd already proven himself a liar once. Was it possible that he was lying about the blackmail? His alibi?
"Your food is coming around to the side door," Mr. Jenkins said as he pointed toward a small camera screen and tapped it. "At least, I think it is. This camera's too fuzzy and sometimes goes out entirely. I'm amazed that it's even working this much right now. I told Mr. Carter that we needed to get it fixed a week or so ago."
Joy nodded, peering over at the fuzzy screen. Though she could make out that someone was coming around to the side door with what might have been a pizza box, she wasn't entirely sure, either. "I'll go see."
"I'll go with you, just in case it's one of them reporters or something instead."
With relief, Joy nodded. "Thank you."
The two of them walked down the stretch of hallway to the side door. The entire building seemed so quiet and the lights were dimmed. It wasn't at all how it usually was when everyone sat in their offices on a normal working day. At the end of the hallway, the door opened before they got there.
Joy frowned as Rich Mahoney, a staff photographer, walked in through the door, with a red hat on and a pizza box. "Rich?"
Rich blinked, his gaze darting up quickly. "Joy! I had no idea you were going to be here. I thought this was a bit too much food for just Jenkins."
"You're delivering pizzas?" Joy asked.
Rich nodded, a hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing a bit there as he looked down. "I know a lot of the staff here are doing freelance work to make ends meet, but I'm not finding enough as a photographer. I've taken to delivering food on my days off."
Joy blinked again. "How'd you just come in? Isn't that door locked?"
Jenkins huffed a laugh. "He always just comes in through the side door when I order. Anyone with a staff ID can slide it through and punch the code, right?"
Joy shook her head. She vaguely remembered something about that from back when she'd first started working there after graduating high school but it had been almost ten years ago, and she didn't drive to work, so she never used the side parking lot. In all her time there, she'd only ever used the front door. Mr. Jenkins paid Rich with the money they got from Jeremy, and then they all walked him back toward the exit. As he opened the door, he stepped out and to the side, knocking into something metal that banged against the concrete.
As Rich bent down to pick up the object, Joy saw what it was, and yelled even before it completely registered in her mind. "Don't touch that!"
Rich stopped, with his finger only an inch away from the metal pipe. He frowned and stood back up slowly, his eyes fixed on Joy. Both he and Mr. Jenkins had confused looks on their faces.
She shook her head. "That's a two inch metal pipe, isn't it?"
Rich looked back at the pipe and then turned toward her and nodded. "That's what it looks like."
"I... I don't know... But it might be the murder weapon. Don't touch it. You don't want to leave finger prints on it or smudge prints that might be on it." She pushed the pizza box into Mr. Jenkins's hands and then darted back down the hallway. As soon as she reached the conference room, she knocked desperately, her weight shifting from foot to foot while she waited anxiously, hoping that neither of the two men would touch the pipe.
Jeremy answered the door with a smile on his face, but it soon fell when he saw her state. "What's going on? Is the food here?"
"No... I mean. Yes, the food is here, but that's not all. When we went to get the food at the side door, Rich ran into a metal pipe that was leaning against the building. A two-inch metal pipe," she said leaning in toward him and speaking sharply.
He blinked down at her. "How did you know?"
Heat rushed to her cheeks as she shook her head and waved her hand in front of her face dismissively. "Do you need it? Is it important?"
He stepped out of the conference room and pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed it quickly before pressing it to his ear. "Sean, are you still in Soda Springs? What did the witness say?" Jeremy listened a moment and then nodded. "Okay. Give Tom a call and tell him to come by the newspaper office, in fact send two officers, so one can stay here. It seems we stumbled on more evidence. Yep. Uh-huh. Okay. See you when you get back here."
Joy swallowed hard as Jeremy hit a button on his phone and put it back into his pocket.
"Could you tell the security guard to watch the evidence and not let anyone touch it until the uniformed officer gets here? Then tell him what happened. I can't leave the suspect." His eyes darted back through the window of the conference room.
Joy's own gaze couldn't help but follow. Roger sat at the table with his fingers steepled under his chin. The sight of him made her stomach twist. He still didn't look entirely like an innocent man. Why was he so bent on confessing to this crime before? Was he lying about Mr. Carter even now? Joy couldn't hear the other side of the phone conversation so she was left wondering if the alibi would confirm him out of town during the time of the murder.