Death Notice

by Lolli Powell

  “Trish was a big girl,” Al said. “I’ve seen her in tight spots, and she was a good fighter. I don’t see any other way he could have gotten control of her so easily except by surprise.”

  “How did Jack find her?” Jen had a pretty good idea, but she asked the question anyway.

  Lonnie confirmed her suspicions. Jack and Trish had been lovers since shortly after her separation from Les, and he had a key to her house.

  “He’s across the hall in the old man’s office right now,” Lonnie said. “I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes for a lot of reasons—two of them being his wife and the chief.”

  Jen told them about the list she and Will had compiled.

  “I think we should talk to the officers who were working last night—Sergeant Veasey’s platoon. Maybe one of them saw something that didn’t seem too important at the time but might mean something in retrospect.”

  They agreed it was worth a try, and Lonnie called the communications desk. A few minutes later, she heard the dispatcher on the public address system notifying everyone from the midnight relief crew to report to the detective section.

  While they waited, Jen called Georgia Pence in Personnel and jotted down Cochran’s social security number and birth date as Georgia read them off. Georgia told her she’d text Cochran’s photo as soon as they got off the phone, but it might take a few hours to get one of Adams from a source she had at the county.

  Jen made a note to herself to ask Pat O’Neill to take a picture of Holiday without him knowing it. She also asked one of the cadets to run Adams and Holiday through the Bureau of Motor Vehicles to get their social security numbers and birth date. Once the FBI had the numbers and photos, they could begin their search.

  Vic Hensley was the first patrolman to respond to the page. Jen noticed his eyes were red, and his breath smelled of beer and breath mints. Apparently the platoon had been having “choir practice” when they’d heard the news. Guess no one’s ever told him onions do a better job of masking booze breath than mints, she thought, remembering her own days as a rookie riding with an officer—now retired—who had a drinking problem. His onion breath had been tough to take for eight hours, but at least he always insisted she do the driving.

  It was a little before two when they finished talking to the officers and confirmed that none knew anything that might help. Jeff Holloway was the only one who wasn’t in the building. He hadn’t worked the night before as scheduled but had taken a personal day off. It was unlikely he’d know anything that might help them.

  Lonnie glanced at his watch and looked at Al. “I guess we should get going.”

  Al nodded, but he didn’t look happy.

  “Get going where?” Jen said.

  “The autopsy,” Lonnie said.

  Jen’s stomach threatened to rise into her throat, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “What for?” Lonnie spoke gruffly, trying to hide the emotion he was feeling. “You know Follett doesn’t like a crowd around his table when he’s working.”

  On impulse Jen threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She smiled at Al through a haze of tears. “You, too, partner.”

  “Now, stop that.” Lonnie pried her arms loose and turned away but not before she saw the moisture glistening in his eyes. “You’ll get my shirt wet with all that blubbering.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Jen mock-saluted and tried to laugh.

  “Take her home, Anderson,” Lonnie ordered.

  “Not yet,” Jen said. “First, I’d like to talk to our mailman from last night.”

  CHAPTER 34

  At the post office, a clerk informed them that Holiday was out on his route and wouldn’t be in for another half hour or so.

  “Could you tell us where he’s working?” Jen said. “Maybe we could catch up with him.”

  “Let’s see.” The clerk thought. “He’s probably over on Lancaster by now or maybe Ohio Avenue.” He pulled out a map with routes marked in red and pointed. “Here’s the area that he works. He’s bound to be somewhere in there, but my guess is around Lancaster.”

  Jen looked at the map and then at Will. Not being familiar with the city, he didn’t pick up on the significance of the route. In the car, she turned to him.

  “Holiday’s route doesn’t cover the area where Vicki Kaufmann lived,” she said, “but he was the one who reported the murder.”

  “Probably filling in for someone who was off that day.” Will started the car. “They must work all the routes at one time or another.”

  “You don’t know the area, Will. His route doesn’t cover Vicki’s house, but it does cover Carla Edwards’s duplex.”

  Will paused, his hand on the gearshift.

  “Well, well, well, the coincidences are mounting up, aren’t they? Mr. Holiday seems to be as common to the victims as BodyFit and The Factory.”

  They found Carter Holiday on Lancaster just turning onto Ohio. They waited while he parked his mail truck at the curb and then parked behind him. Jen called to him just as he was starting toward the nearest house.

  “Mr. Holiday. Could we have a moment of your time, please?”

  He turned and came toward her, smiling.

  “Detective Dillon. What a surprise.” He turned to Will. “I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name. FBI, though, right?”

  “Right. Will Anderson.” Will extended his hand, and the two men shook.

  “We’re sorry to bother you while you’re working,” Jen said, “but we’d like to ask you some questions about last night.”

  “Sure. Though I talked to one of your people earlier today and told him everything I know.”

  “If you don’t mind, we’d like to come at last night from a slightly different angle.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  “I’m not sure I do either, but bear with me, please. I promise it won’t take long.”

  “Okay.” Holiday shrugged and waited.

  “First, may I ask how you came to be at that particular intersection at that particular time last night?”

  “Sure. I was on my way home. I’d been out for a few drinks. I wasn’t drunk—I don’t drive when I’ve had too much.”

  “Where had you been?”

  “I spent an hour or so at The Palomino, and then I stopped at The Factory.”

  “You were at The Factory?” Jen knew she had failed to hide her surprise.

  “Yes, for an hour or so. There was quite a crowd that night, and the noise finally got to me. I left there and was heading home when the accident happened.”

  “Were you with anyone at either place?” Will said.

  “No, I’m sorry to say, I wasn’t.” He smiled. “Why? Should I have been?”

  “No, of course not. We were just curious.”

  “I’m kind of curious myself,” Holiday said. “Maybe I’ve been watching too much television, but it almost sounds like you’re checking me for an alibi. What I want to know is, for what? I wasn’t driving the car that hit that man.”

  “Do you remember the other police officer who was with me? The blonde woman who stayed with the victim?”

  “I certainly do. Lovely woman, and she was so gentle with that poor man.”

  “After we went home last night,” Jen said, “she was murdered—we think by the same killer who got the three women over the last few weeks.”

  “Oh, my God!” Holiday looked genuinely shocked. He dropped the mailbag from his shoulder onto the sidewalk and bent over for a couple of seconds, his hands on his knees, then straightened. “How horrible! And to think I just saw her last night!”

  He shook his head.

  “It just goes to show, doesn’t it? You never know when your number’s up.”

  Spare me, Jen thought.

  “Wait a minute.” A thought distracted Holiday from his philosophizing. “Why are you asking me all these questions? Surely you don�
�t think I killed her?”

  “We don’t mean to imply anything, Mr. Holiday,” Will said. “It’s just routine. There’s the possibility that the killer might have followed Detective Dillon and Officer Peters last night, and we hoped you might have noticed something.”

  “Not to mention the fact that I was behind you two. Boy, talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. First, I see a guy run down by a car that doesn’t stop, and the next thing I know, I’m a suspect in a murder.”

  “We’re not saying you’re a suspect,” Jen said.

  “Well, I know I’m not guilty, so I don’t have anything to worry about, do I? What else do you want to know besides the fact that I didn’t have a date and didn’t manage to pick anyone up?”

  “You told us a red Corvette was between my car and yours,” Jen said. “Did you get a glimpse of the occupants?”

  “No, I didn’t, other than that I’m pretty sure there was only the driver.”

  “Could it have been the same car you saw in front of Vicki Kaufmann’s house?”

  “Sure, it could have been. I’m not saying it was, but it looked the same, just like I told you last night.”

  “Did you notice any other cars that didn’t stick around?”

  He thought for a second.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m not positive, though. I had all my attention directed toward that poor guy. To tell you the truth, a Sherman tank could probably have pulled up alongside me, and I wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “One other thing,” Jen said. “Could you tell us why you were delivering mail in Vicki Kaufmann’s neighborhood on Monday and on the day you saw the Corvette?”

  Holiday looked confused.

  “Why? Because that’s what I get paid to do, that’s why.”

  “Our understanding is that this is your regular route.”

  “It is. But I deliver all over town, depending on who’s on vacation or off sick at any given time. Sometimes the other carriers divide the route of someone who’s off, or we work it as overtime.”

  Suddenly a look of comprehension dawned on Holiday’s face.

  “Oh, wait a minute, I get it now. I report a murder on a route I don’t normally work, plus one of the other murder victims lived on my regular route. Then I show up behind a third girl who ends up getting killed.”

  He shook his head.

  “Boy, this just hasn’t been my month! I don’t blame you for asking questions, but I swear, it’s just a gruesome coincidence.”

  “So you were aware that Carla Edwards lived on your route?”

  “Sure. Maybe I should have mentioned it when I gave my statement about Ms. Kaufmann, but I didn’t even think of it.”

  “No reason you should have. Did you know her?”

  “Well, I never spoke to her or anything, but I knew a lot about her.”

  He smiled a satisfied smile at Jen’s obvious confusion.

  “You can tell a lot about a person from their mail. What kind of stuff they like to read, who they owe, if they’re behind on their bills, that sort of thing. And I know she was a very lovely girl.”

  He turned to Will, smiling.

  “I saw her sunbathing on her patio in front of the apartment building. Almost made me forget what I was doing.”

  Jen glanced at her notes.

  “I understand you live just outside of town on Route 48. A farm?”

  “Not really. Just a house and three-and-a-half acres. Enough to putter around on but not enough to do anything serious.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Are you from the area, Mr. Holiday?” Will was studying the man closely, searching for any resemblance to Arthur Kelty.

  “No, I’m not. I’m originally from Colorado, but I grew up in Texas. Houston, mostly.”

  “How’d you wind up here?”

  “The post office. I started in Oklahoma but hated it. Openings in other areas are posted routinely, and I applied for several. This one was offered, and I took it. That was two years ago, and I’ve never regretted it—well, until now.”

  “So you like Ohio?”

  “Very much. It’s got just enough civilization without overdoing it, like New York or Los Angeles. Oklahoma? After living through way too many tornados, I decided that was the armpit of the world.”

  He laughed and glanced at his watch.

  “I really need to get going,” he said. “My supervisor gets upset if I don’t have the truck back at my quitting time. If you have any more questions, I suppose I could talk to you after I’m done.”

  “That should do it for now,” Jen said. “Thanks for taking the time. If we think of any more questions, we’ll get back to you.”

  “I’m glad to help. I don’t have anything to hide from either of you. We’re all just government employees trying to do our jobs, right?”

  He hoisted his mailbag onto his shoulder and walked toward the nearest house, leafing through several pieces of mail as he made his way toward it. Jen watched him go. He’s kind of pitiful, she thought. He seemed lonely, covering it up with wisecracks about not being able to get a date or pick up a woman. She thought he’d make a good poster boy for the Nice Guys Finish Last Club.

  “What do you think of him?” she asked Will when they were back in the car.

  “Not much, one way or the other. Seems harmless enough, not that that proves anything.”

  “I saw you examining him. Anything familiar?”

  “No. But I wouldn’t bet the farm on my identifying Artie anyway.”

  They were nearly to the building when Will took her hand. His touch was warm, sending a thrill of anticipation through her. Tonight was the night. She had come to that decision while staring at Trish’s body, realizing, really realizing for maybe the first time in her life, that tomorrow might never come. She wanted this man, he wanted her, and by God, they were both going to get what they wanted! And the sooner, the better.

  “Are we still on for tonight?” he said softly.

  “Oh, yes. Most definitely.”

  He looked at her, surprised at her tone. Then he smiled, and she could see his own anticipation beginning to grow.

  “I’d like to go back to the motel and shower and change clothes,” he said. “What time should I come over?”

  “Whenever you’re done.” She paused for a single beat before adding, “And don’t forget your toothbrush and pajamas.”

  She thought his grin might split his face in two, and she found herself grinning back. They were still grinning when they got to the building. Then they learned that the hit-and-run victim had died during the afternoon, and for a while, the grinning stopped.

  CHAPTER 35

  Brandon was waiting for her, his gym bag packed for his trip, his face made older than his thirteen years by lines of worry for her safety. Then she told him that Will would be over in an hour or so, and the worry disappeared. Now that he knew his mother had back up, he could go off with his friend and have a good time. Jen had a sneaking suspicion that she was about to have an even better time than he was.

  Will called just after Brandon left, wanting to know if he should pick up food to go so they wouldn’t have to cook. Jen liked the “they”—maybe Will was one of those rare men who didn’t believe domestic chores should be solely in the woman’s domain.

  “That sounds great,” she told him, and when he asked what she’d like, her response was, “Surprise me.”

  She shaved her legs and armpits, showered and shampooed, brushed her teeth, plucked her eyebrows, filed her nails, brushed her teeth again, applied her makeup, anguished over the fact that there was nothing in her closet to wear, and finally burst out laughing at herself.

  “It couldn’t be that you’re looking forward to this evening, could it, Dillon?” she said to her reflection in the mirror as she slid into a forest green jumpsuit. She was eyeing the jumpsuit, wondering if she would be able to remove it gracefully, when the doorbell rang, and her hear
t jumped into her throat.

  Will had on tight jeans and a sweater the same shade as his lovely eyes. A carry-on bag hung from his shoulder. He had a bucket of chicken under one arm and a large bag from a Chinese restaurant in the other. “I couldn’t make up my mind,” he said.

  Jen laughed and took the chicken from him. As she walked ahead of him into the kitchen, she felt awkward and gangly, like a kid trying to be cool around a guy she thought was hot. She set the chicken on the counter and turned to find him only inches behind her, leaning over to place the bag of Chinese next to the chicken. He paused, one arm propped on the counter, his eyes darkening with desire, then pressed her back against the counter with his body and took her in his arms, claiming her mouth with his.

  She went weak with the want that flowed through her body, and her hands slid under his sweater to grip the rippling muscles of his back. Their lips pressed hard against one another, almost bruising the tender tissue in their hunger. As his tongue sought her own, a thrill of anticipation coursed through her, knowing this small penetration was a teaser of what was to come.

  He slid his hands down her back and cupped her buttocks, pulling against his growing hardness. She moaned and rubbed herself against his bulging front. He tore his lips from hers, gasping for breath, and nuzzled against the side of her neck, nibbling and licking. She cried out at the tingle that started where his lips touched and flew like an electric shock down to her feet and up to her scalp.

  “I can’t get enough of you, lady,” he whispered against her skin, his voice husky. “I’ll never get enough.”

  His mouth found hers again, as one hand reluctantly let go of her bottom and stroked its way to her breast. For a few seconds, he was content to knead it through the fabric of the jumpsuit, then he grasped the zipper pull and allowed himself better access. She ran her hands through his thick silky hair and cried out again at the wave of pleasure that threatened to drown her.