by Jack Parker
George looked astonished. "Absolutely not! I'm no Peeping Tom, and I'm not exactly her type."
Ken tended to agree with that, but you didn't get anywhere without asking questions. "So, what is her type?"
"Women," George said succinctly.
"But she's married," Ken reminded him.
"Lieutenant, you and I both know that love had nothing to do with that marriage," Thompson said. "She was using him, and he was fool enough to let her. It's an old story. One day not long after he moved her in I heard a lot of noise from their yard, giggling and shrieking. I thought maybe the boys had lured some girls out there, and just wanted to make sure the girls weren't being taken advantage of against their wills."
"Uh huh," Ken thought.
"I can tell you I was quite surprised at what I saw, and it was more than just a couple of young women going for a skinny-dip. Her and that plain-Jane friend of hers. Now I'm not one to care what two consenting adults do in the privacy of their own home, but there are children in this neighborhood, Lieutenant. I didn't appreciate their carrying on outside for anyone to see," he explained.
"Did you tell Mr. Greene?" Ken asked.
"No. Frankly I didn't care what he thought. It wouldn't have done any good, anyway. The man never did anything about anything I talked to him about."
"I understand you complained about the noise from the party on Saturday," Ken said.
"Yes, I did. The music was so loud I couldn't hear myself think. I asked him to turn it down, but he just laughed at me. Pardon me, Sir, but I didn't think the police would do anything about it. They do try to stay out of petty squabbles. So I went to visit my sister. At least her kids are well-behaved."
"I presume by that remark that you're referring to Justin Greene," Ken suggested.
"I certainly am! The boy is disrespectful, he's got a smart-mouth attitude." Thompson suddenly seemed to have an idea. "I think he smokes marijuana out behind the pool house. Can you arrest him for that?" he asked hopefully.
"I'll look into the allegation, Mr. Thompson," Ken told him. "Tell me, do you own a gun?"
"No, Sir, I don't. Guns are dangerous to have around," George said.
"I don't suppose you have any idea who might've killed Mr. Greene?" Ken asked.
"None whatsoever. I'm sorry the man was killed, but I can't say that I'll miss him," George replied.
"Well, thanks very much for your time, I'll be on my way now," Ken said.
"Jen, Honey, wake up! We fell asleep afterwards, I guess." Cindy rolled over and put her hand on Jennifer's shoulder, shaking her gently.
"Ummm," Jennifer replied sleepily. "I don't wanna wake up. I don't wanna, like, do anything. Just lie here with you forever." He eyes drifted closed again.
"That would be nice, but I've got to go to work," Cindy told her.
Jennifer opened one eye and peered at Cindy. "Couldn't you just stay here with me again today?"
"I'd really like to, but I've taken off two days in a row now. I hate to say it, but we need the money. It'll be months before you get your inheritance, and we still don't know how much you'll get." Cindy sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched preparatory to standing up.
"But, I mean, I've got the credit card. We can, like, charge everything on it now that Charles won't be checking the statements," Jennifer said.
"That's not a good idea, Dear," Cindy replied. "The police might check, and we need to keep up appearances a little while longer."
Jennifer smiled sarcastically. "Can you imagine their faces when they learn the truth? But then it won't, you know, make any difference. There's nothing they can do. I can't say I'll miss that little shit Justin, but Gracie was always nice to me."
"Did Justin stay in the house?" Cindy asked.
"How should I know!" Jennifer laughed. "I spent the last two nights here with you. He probably stayed there and got stoned. The house probably reeks of, like, grass by now."
"Don't you think you should play the concerned step-mom and check up on the little tyke?" Cindy inquired.
"Don't care," Jennifer answered. "I'm not sure I ever want to go back to that house! I mean, what if the burglar comes back again? I wouldn't feel safe sleeping there alone, and, like, it might look funny if you moved in."
"Well, it's going to start looking funny if you don't go back," Cindy said. "You haven't been answering your phone, you don't know what's going on. Doubtless the police have been trying to get hold of you. You can tell everyone you were nervous and upset and needed to get away for a bit. Surely they can understand that."
"Are you throwing me out?" Jennifer asked, her smile showing she meant it jokingly.
"Of course not!" Cindy grinned too, then turned serious. "But you need to get it together for a while longer. You need to go back to your house and clean up the mess and act like you're grieving. We can still see each other in the mornings, and maybe sneak in a few nights together."
Jennifer groaned. "I don't know if I can do it."
"You have to," Cindy told her. "You can do it, it's just for a few more weeks – then we're home free."
Ken thought about what Grumpy George had said. "Guess I shouldn't call him that," he said to the empty car as he drove along. "The Greenes thought he was grumpy, but I can understand his complaints. Loud parties, smart-ass kid, Lesbian lovers at poolside out in front of God and everybody. I wouldn't want a neighbor like that!"
But it gave him something to think about. Mrs. Greene had bought her new dress first thing Tuesday morning and said she and her 'friend' had shopped until Ms. Stone had to get ready for work. What if they'd spent the morning together doing something else? They'd have had to go to Ms. Stone's house, or the thief would've interrupted them, and he didn't think that happened.
So Ken drove to Cindy's house. It was in a poor but decently kept neighborhood, she probably rented. He knocked on the door but got no response. He looked at his watch; it was nearly 3:00. He knew she worked swing shift so she was probably at work. He talked to a few of her neighbors, but they knew little about her.
Lucinda Johnson lived across the street from Ms. Stone. Mrs. Johnson was a harried-looking young woman with two small children who were playing noisily in the front room. She invited him in and shooed the kids outside. Probably glad to have another adult to talk to. He asked if she knew Ms. Stone.
"I don't know Cindy all that well," she told him. "We wave when we see each other, chat in the front yard once in awhile. Is she in some kind of trouble?"
"I'm really more interested in her friend, Mrs. Greene," he said.
"Would that be the pretty lady that drives the Mercedes?" she asked.
"Yeah, that's the one. Jennifer Greene. Obviously you've seen her at Ms. Stone's house occasionally."
"It's more than occasionally, Lieutenant. She's there two or three times a week. Oh, she often picks Cindy up and they go somewhere, but sometimes she just stays there all morning. She always leaves when Cindy has to go to work."
"Do you remember if Mrs. Greene was there on Tuesday?" Ken asked.
One of the kids ran in crying that the other had hit him. Mrs. Johnson listened patiently to the story, gave him a hug, and sent him back outside.
"When did I take Billy to the doctor? Wasn't it Wednesday?" she said, thinking out loud. She looked at Ken and asked with some embarrassment, "What is today?"
"It's Thursday, Ma'am," he replied.
"Sorry, I lose track of time. The days just seem to run together anymore. Well, it wasn't yesterday so it must've been Tuesday. So, yes, this Mrs. Greene was there then. I remember seeing her get out of her car as we were leaving for the doctor's office," she said.
"Do you know what time she left?" he asked.
"Let me think. We stopped for lunch after the doctor – I always buy them ice cream as a treat after a doctor's visit. I let them play in the park for a little while." She seemed to be estimating times in her head.
"We must've gotten home around 2:00. I'm sorry, I can't remember whether
her car was still there when we got here. I put the boys down for a nap and I think I fell asleep, too. Does it matter?" she asked.
"It would be nice to know, but don't worry about it," Ken told her. "Did you see any other cars at her house that day?"
"Don't think so," she said.
"Does Ms. Stone have any friends in the neighborhood?" was his next question.
"I think she keeps pretty much to herself," she replied. "She works odd hours, she's not home in the evenings."
"Do you ever see other people visit her?" Ken asked. "Friends, co-workers, relatives?"
"Didn't know she had any," she told him.
The other child – at least Ken thought it was the other child – came running in blubbering about something. He thanked Mrs. Johnson and left.
* * * *
Ken sat in his car outside Mrs. Johnson's house and pondered what to do next. Ms. Stone didn't seem to have any friends besides Mrs. Greene, who'd visited regularly. Mrs. Johnson's memory hadn't been too clear, but she did place Mrs. Greene at Ms. Stone's house Tuesday morning. If necessary he could check up on the kid's check-up time to firm things up a bit more. He was more interested in what time Mrs. Greene had left. She was still a prime candidate for the burglary, in his mind.
Where was Mrs. Greene now? After learning about her girlfriend he had fully expected to find her there. Had she run out on Ms. Stone, too? Ken called the Greene residence, and was surprised when Mrs. Greene answered. She didn't even sound upset when he told her he was on his way to see her.
"So you see, Officer, I was just so, like, upset about everything that I needed to get away. I was, you know, worried the burglar might come back and shoot me too." Jennifer was doing her best to look like a frightened little girl so he'd feel sorry for her.
"I can understand that, Ma'am," he said. "So you stayed with your friend for the last two days, is that right?" He hadn't told her that he knew about her relationship with Cindy.
Jennifer turned up the wattage on her smile. "Yeah, I just got back here a little while ago. I mean, I haven't even had time to get started cleaning up the place. Just look at the mess that kid made in the den!"
"Actually, that's good. That you haven't cleaned up yet, I mean. I'd like to have another look around, if you don't mind," he explained.
"Sure, whatever. I'll be upstairs in the bedroom if you need me," she replied happily.
He'd intended to go have a look in Justin's room first, but elected to wait jut in case that remark of hers had been intended as a come-on. He went to Greene's home office instead. As best he could remember it looked exactly the same. If Justin had been staying here he apparently hadn't poked around. Ken spent several minutes gathering the papers and stacking them up neatly. He figured he'd take them to the ex's later so she could go through them. There seemed to be a lot of financial stuff here; it might take the department bean-counter to figure out if it was significant.
As he walked up the stairs he called out, "I'm just going to look in your step-son's room." He got no response.
Justin's room was a mess. From what he'd read in Officer Barclay's report it did look like the young man had put things back somewhat. At least the clothes on the floor looked like they'd only been dropped there in the last couple days, and the desk drawers were all shut. The room was littered with soda cans, and there was a pizza box shoved part-way under the bed. The room smelled quite strongly of marijuana.
Ken spotted the A/C vent that Gracie had mentioned as the kid's hiding place of choice. He knelt down to take a closer look and saw she'd been right. He could clearly see a baggie full of joints behind the louvers. He stood up and walked across the room to check the view from the doorway. Yep, quite obvious if you knew what to look for. He thought about taking it just because he could, but decided not to. It would be more paperwork than it was worth.
Gracie had been right about several points. Not only had Justin not bothered to find a new hidey-hole, but any thief worth his salt would've seen that baggie and taken it. Especially one who'd already taken prescription meds, he'd know where to fence it all – or just keep it for himself.
Ken started back downstairs and continued to mull it over. That baggie was pretty full, maybe it'd been empty on Tuesday. That would certainly explain things. He stopped and walked back upstairs, pausing in the doorway of the master bedroom.
"Mrs. Greene?" he called.
She peered around the bathroom doorway and said, "Yeah?"
"Didn't you tell me that Justin had come home from school on Tuesday after you'd discovered the theft and then left again?" he asked.
"Um, yeah, that's right. That little brat Zack was with him. They both disappeared a couple minutes after they got here," she said.
"I thought so, thanks. I'm going to take a look in the den and then I'll take your husband's papers to Ms. Stewart to look over. Okay with you?"
"Sure. Just lemme know, like, when you leave," she said in a bored voice.
Heading back down the stairs again Ken thought he'd accounted for at least one puzzle in this case. The kid had been out of dope and had gone out to buy more. It did seem odd, though, that the widow hadn't asked anything about the investigation. Did that mean she wasn't concerned about what he'd found out about her? Didn't she care who'd killed her husband? Probably not. If she hadn't done it – or hired it done – she probably thought the killer had done her a favor.
The boys had clearly spent time in the den, fast-food wrappers and more soda cans attested to that fact. Ken idly pushed at some of the trash with a finger; on a foil burger envelope he was a blob of ketchup with several fries, and the stub of a joint. Justin had been living it up while he had the house to himself.
Ken walked around the room looking at things, trying to find something that was, somehow, out of place. As Ms. Stewart had said, the liquor was still there, though he recalled that a bottle of Scotch had been broken. He continued moving around the room, looking at it from different perspectives. What could have possibly been in here to be stolen?
He made his way to the bookshelves that lined one whole wall. What was it the ex-wife had said? That they were all for show. That seemed typical of a man like Greene. He'd probably bought 'em by the yard just to fill the shelves and impress guests. Maybe George Thompson could get them all cheap and use them to stage houses.
Ken ran his finger along the spines, looking at the titles. At least Greene had had the class to buy a lot of classics, pun intended. Suddenly he stopped, his finger pointing to a leather-bound volume declaring itself to be "The Complete Works of Shakespeare". There was a ragged hole in the spine.
CHAPTER 15
Ken stared at the book for a minute before doing anything. Very deliberately he took a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and pulled them on. Only then did he take the book from the shelf and open it; the hole went completely through the book. Well, that made sense; a book – even a heavy volume – wouldn't stop a bullet. He took a small flashlight from his pocket and used it to illuminate the shelf.
Sure enough, there was a bullet stuck in the board behind the books. He could just see the end, it must've smashed into the brick behind the bookcase. He took out his pocketknife and pried the slug out of the wall. Looked like a .38, but it was pretty distorted. He didn't know if Joe could get much out of it.
Ken walked to the kitchen and looked through the drawers for a minute. Finding what he'd been looking for, he helped himself to a baggie. He popped the bullet into it and sealed it up.
He went back to the den and stood in front of the missing book to see where the assailant might have been standing when he'd fired the gun. Without any fancy lasers to point the way it would be vague, but would give him a general idea. He decided the man could've been pretty much anywhere around the conversation area of couches and chairs. Maybe in the process of tearing up the room when he was caught red-handed?
What his experiment couldn't possibly tell him was who had been shot at. He'd bet money it was Greene. This was
where it all started. This could certainly explain why Greene was tense and wound-up when he got to the office. But why hadn't he called the police, or even said anything about it?
Maybe it meant he knew his attacker and felt he could deal with him or her on his own, a self-important guy might think that. Had the Mrs. taken a potshot at him during a quarrel Tuesday morning? He could've easily gotten the gun away from her. But if that were the case, how did the faked burglary fit in? It didn't, that Ken could see.
Maybe Greene had come home to find the thief in the act, the guy had shot at him and then run away. Perhaps the robber was upstairs when Greene had come home; he'd gone to his office and seen the destruction, then walked through the house to see if there was more. The assailant had heard him, come downstairs and shot at him, then ran off.
As he was going through these scenarios in his mind, he thought of something else. The ME had said Greene had a big bump on the back of his head. Ken looked to his left; there was a heavy occasional table there, with a lamp and some knick-knacks on it. Could the man have fallen as he tried to dodge a bullet and hit his head on the table? That would certainly have given the shooter time to get away.
That still left him assuming Greene hadn't wanted to get involved with a long police investigation because he didn't want to be late for his big appointment. He might buy that once, but twice was too much to believe. If it was the wife she might have tried again in the garage. He'd bet she'd never fired a gun before so there'd be a good chance she'd miss with all three shots. But she hadn't been the one who'd finally killed him. He felt like his thoughts were going 'round in circles, none of the pieces seemed to fit.
Ken walked to the foot of the stairs and called up to Mrs. Greene, asking her to come downstairs for a minute.
She came out of the bedroom wearing different clothes. She'd changed into a pair of short jeans cut-offs and a tight, low-cut tank top. Presumably this was her idea of an outfit to clean house in.
"Yeah, Officer – what do you want?" she asked, sounding like she wasn't pleased to have been bothered.