Jackson didn't have to look at his notes.
"She went by Corinne Gilder, family name was Van Buren."
I nodded.
"And I suppose she's waiting at home with the kids while her husband comes out to catch a game."
"Most likely, didn't look into it. But you know how it is. Battered women most often don't leave. So yeah, she's probably home. Not sure about the kids, there was nothing about kids in the domestic report."
"How bad did he beat her? Did you see the photos?"
Jackson shook his head.
"We've asked for that stuff to be faxed over. Probably come in tomorrow. Not really important though."
I shrugged. I didn't see how it was related to the task at hand.
"So this asshole has probably headed back to Indiana. What do we know about this murder?"
"Not much," said Jackson. "It was called in just before four. Girl Scout with her father was selling cookies in the area. The driveway gate was open so they walked up to the front door. Door was open. They rang the bell but got no answer. Father's a doctor who lives in the neighborhood and thought it was odd. So he goes in, calling out to see if anyone's in distress. Just off the main entrance way in the lounge is Celia, messed up. The place is a mess. Daughter saw some of it and she's real shook up, as you can imagine."
I looked out the window. We were heading into tony town. The roads were in great shape. The trees were tall and mature and lined the streets. The houses were large and two and three stories of what looked like sandstone. Didn't take long for Dykes to pull into the driveway of a modern looking sandstone house that was two stories tall. Angular lines with small windows that faced the road. Tall, seven or eight feet black wrought iron fence bordered the property with fleur-de-lys finials. There were a couple of marked cop cars in the expansive driveway, an unmarked vehicle, crime scenes van and the coroner's van.
In front of us was a four car garage. To the right was the house. We all got out and closed the doors. We walked up to the front door and Dykes greeted the uniform as we passed. The interior was cavernous. A main foyer opened up in front of us. A ways in and to the left was a grand staircase heading to the second floor. Opposite this staircase was a large living room. This is where the mess was.
Lane was standing in the room looking down at the body. Celia's body was lying in the middle of what would have been a glass coffee table. Broken glass was all around her. The coffee table's frame was black metal. Looked like she might have hit her head against the far side. Her legs were propped up over the metal frame at our end. We had to walk past a large white sofa to see her. Against the wall was a built-in cabinet with a large TV. A couple of large white recliners were on either side of the sofa, angled inwards towards the coffee table. All the furniture seemed to be leather.
Off to our left as we faced the TV was a large bank of windows that looked out onto a large and still green yard. Tall trees lined the far side of the garden eliminating any view of the neighbor's house. Most of the mess seemed limited to this area of the lounge. There had been two people here. One obviously was Celia. The other, well, we didn't know who that was. But a mug of coffee, half empty, was on a side table between the far recliner and the couch. Celia's head was at that end of the larger coffee table. Bits of broken mug were dotted on the thicker white carpet that was under the coffee table Celia had fallen through. The mug's pieces were dark blue. The same color as the unbroken mug on the smaller side table not far from where her head now was.
The carpet looked shaggy. White was never a good color for furniture or carpeting. It took to stains easily. Just looking at a ketchup bottle would cause a red stain on a white carpet it seemed. There was a brown stain off to our left as we looked down at the body from the feet. This was close to where most of the broken pieces of mug were. I figured it was coffee. I walked around the back side of the sofa again towards the far recliner. The blue coffee mug which was half empty was a pale brown from cream.
I looked around the rest of the room. It was immaculate. Paintings dotted the walls. All original and probably worth several hundred thousands of dollars if not more. They were newer artists, up and coming but I didn't know many of them by name. It wasn't important. What it did tell me was that this was not a robbery or home invasion. I walked towards Dykes and Jackson. They were squatting down by Celia's head. A crime scenes investigator was lifting Celia's head up carefully and showing everyone the large gash on the back of her head and the dark red pool of still wet blood on the white carpet.
Dykes and Jackson got up and looked at a man in a lab coat. I took him for the coroner.
"So you're calling it death by blunt force trauma?" asked Dykes.
The older gentleman with round glasses nodded.
"Yup. Appears she was either thrown or fell into this coffee table and hit her head on that hard edge there."
He pointed at the coffee table's black metal frame.
"I'm going to suggest she was hit hard and the force of that threw her down with enough force to kill her as her head hit the corner. You'll notice the cut on her right cheek, and the slight bruising. That's where she was hit."
I knelt down and looked at the cut on her cheek. It was about an inch and a half long. Someone had hit her with anger and force. I stood up again.
"Can you tell us more about that cut?" I asked the coroner. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. Dykes nodded and pointed his thumb at me while looking at the coroner.
"He's with us," said Dykes. "Anthony Carrick, this is Dr. Markowitz."
I nodded at the doctor and he nodded back.
"I'd say from the force of that strike that the victim was hit by a man. A left-handed man."
"Why is that?"
"Because I think her zygomatic bone on the malar surface is possibly broken."
"Her cheekbone," I said.
Markowitz nodded.
"Yes, her cheekbone has possibly been broken. I'm not sure many women would be capable of that."
"And the cut?"
"Clearly from some sort of ring, most likely on the middle or ring finger."
"And such a ring would likely have a protruding gem to it, like an engagement ring?" I asked.
"Something like that," said Markowitz, "though I doubt it was an engagement ring on account of the perpetrator most likely being a man."
I nodded and looked at Dykes.
"I think we need to get Gilder found."
Dykes nodded.
"You think he did this?"
"I think it's looking very likely. We know he knew her. There is no sign of a break in nor of burglary. Bronitt mentioned him being a lefty, and that ring of his could have done this. Plus, I'm betting we'll find his prints and DNA on that coffee mug over there."
Dykes looked behind him towards the coffee mug.
"And I think we have the murderer of Ensor too," I said.
Lane grinned at us.
"I've already put word out to be on the lookout for Forest Gilder and his maroon Crown Vic. I spoke to the primary on the scene. Said this is the only area where there's been any disturbance in the house," said Lane.
I nodded and looked around the room.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"Kingston," said Lane, looking over at a uniform who was looking out the window. Kingston turned and hurried towards us.
He looked eight years old.
"Mr. Carrick here might have some questions for you," said Lane.
"Yes sir," Kingston said, nodding at the Captain.
Then he turned to look at me. He was a thin young man about my height. His hair was shaved close to his scalp and he was handsome. His uniform was clean and pressed, from his sky blue shirt, black jacket to his black pants. He was green around the ears though the rest of him was the color of city roasted coffee beans.
"How long you been on the job?" I asked.
"Six months, sir," he said.
"First homicide?"
He nodded.
"You'll get
used to it," I offered, trying to be helpful.
"Yes sir," he said with a queazy smile.
"Captain tells me you were first on the scene?"
"Yes sir."
"Tell me what happened," I said.
Dykes, Lane, Jackson and I were standing around facing the young officer. His training had prepared him well. He was articulate and professional.
"I was on patrol when I got the call. I got here within three minutes and entered the house. The front door was open and I declared my presence as a police officer. I came over to the lounge area here, first. I noticed the victim as she is now. I took a pulse but found nothing. I ascertained her to be deceased. I called for backup and for an ambulance just to be certain. Then I cleared the rest of the house and returned here just as backup and the paramedics arrived."
I nodded.
"And nowhere else in the house was there any sign of a struggle or burglary?" I asked.
"That's correct sir, no signs of struggle and it doesn't appear that anything was stolen."
"Any signs of force entry?"
"No sir, as I mentioned, the door was open. No windows have been broken and I noticed no marks by the front door's dead bolt and lock."
I nodded. Lane looked at me. I nodded at him.
"Thank you, Kingston, that's all."
"Yes sir," said the young officer. He disappeared back towards the back of the room.
"You think this Gilder did it?" asked Lane.
Jackson nodded.
"We got his picture from the PI earlier today. We showed it to the guy at the motel and he recognized Gilder as the man in the picture. Said his name was 'Jonathan Frakes'. Left the motel this afternoon around noon."
"We know he knew Celia, as the PI, Skeef, had pictures of the two of them meeting. From the images we saw, she passed him a thick envelope, most likely filled with cash," offered Dykes.
"And do we know their relationship?" asked Lane.
"No sir, not yet. We know Gilder is a small town douchebag out of Indiana, but there's nothing on him from any other state. Not sure why he was up here."
"You need to figure that piece out," said Lane.
"I've got some thoughts on it," I said.
Lane looked up at me, his hands were still on his hips, flaring his suit open.
"I'm all ears," he said.
"I think this Gilder is likely good for both murders."
"How do you figure that?"
"Well, he's been at the motel for almost two weeks, so he's been around since before Ensor's murder. In fact, Skeef tells us that Gilder met with Celia on Friday morning. Last Friday. Skeef followed him to the motel and told his buddy who had hired him, Ensor, about it. Ensor said he was gonna handle it. Skeef said Celia gave Gilder quite a bit of money."
"So he was somehow trying to blackmail her," said Lane. "Doesn't get us to the murder."
"I think it will when we get more info. I think they're a pair of grifters."
Dykes shook his head.
"I dunno about that," he said. "She was married to the deceased for a couple of years, right?"
Jackson nodded.
"That's a long time to wait," he said.
"Maybe," I countered. "Could be she was meeting him monthly to hand him these bills. Could be they were in for the long game, taking their time."
"Okay, then why kill him?" asked Lane.
"Well, here's how I think that went. She starts to get a roving eye, as petty criminals without morals will. She married Ensor right, for the score, not because she loves him. So she finds a side hustle with this Gibb fella. Ensor finds out and he's gonna divorce her, poof there goes their big score. She comes clean with Gilder and he decides to murder the man so that Celia still ends up getting the money. The lawyers tell us that in the event of divorce for cause, she gets next to nothing. So with Ensor dead she now gets it all."
Lane smiled at me.
"I like the line of thought, but then why go kill the golden goose here," said Lane, turning to look at the deceased still on the floor in the middle of the coffee table. I shrugged.
"Could be a bunch of reasons. Most likely one being, there's no honor amongst thieves and grifters. Maybe she tries to put the squeeze on him, because she knows he killed Ensor. So she tries to use that as leverage. He gets pissed off and in a moment of anger, strikes her and things go bad. I don't think he meant to kill her. Just bad luck."
"I like it," offered Jackson. "I mean, it makes a lot of sense to me."
I looked at him and smiled.
"Yeah, I think you'll like it more once we figure out the relationship between the two of them. That's the missing piece. We need to tie these two together," I said.
"Alright," said Lane. "Sounds good to me. I want everyone on the lookout for this Gilder."
"My inkling is he's left Chicago heading back to Indiana," I said.
Lane nodded.
"Agreed," he said. "I've already got the State Police onboard. All major highways out of Illinois are being monitored."
Dr. Markowitz butted into our conversation.
"You mind if we take the body?" he asked, looking at Lane.
"My people finished with it?" he asked the coroner.
Markowitz nodded. Lane nodded back. A couple of his men put the body onto a stretcher that had an open body bag on it. They zipped her into it and rolled her out with Markowitz following. I looked around. There was nothing much left here we needed. Lane's crime scenes people were bagging the bits of glass and broken mug on the carpet. Another one was dusting for prints on the half empty mug on the other side table before bagging it.
"I guess we'll wait and see who picks him up," said Dykes. "Everyone's got his picture right?"
Lane nodded.
"Yeah, his driver's photo has been released. He won't get out of Illinois even if he's taken a different car, which I'm betting against."
"Your people know he's armed and dangerous?" I asked.
Lane nodded.
"We're treating him as such."
"Good. He's a desperate man now. Nothing much to lose, I don't think, especially if he doesn't have kids," I said.
I turned around and noticed that Jackson was on his phone. He was nodding at something the other side was telling him.
"We don't know if he has kids, right? I'd guess he doesn't"
I looked at Dykes and he shrugged.
"Jackson's just checking in to see if any of that information has come through."
I nodded. Lane had turned around and was talking to his crime scenes investigators.
"Captain," I said.
Lane turned around to look at me.
"They know to be looking for a Ruger SR9, right?"
"They sure do, we know how to do basic police work here, AC," he said, grinning at me.
I grinned back.
"This guy's killed two people. It'll be nothing for him to take out a couple of cops," I said. "I'd sooner not see that happen."
"As would I."
Jackson rejoined us. He had hung up his phone and he was looking eager.
"I just got off the phone with Indiana State Police. They've sent us next of kin info including photo. Gilder has no kids. I asked him to describe the wife. Said she was thirty, five feet eight with blonde hair. Doesn't give us much, but he said the wife left a couple of years ago. Gilder put in a missing persons but they never found her."
"Maybe we just did," I said.
"You mean to say, Celia Ensor is actually Corinne Gilder?" asked Dykes, shaking his head.
"Why not," I said. "It would explain everything."
"I don't see how," said Dykes. "Why didn't she just divorce the asshole and make a fresh start with Ensor."
"Probably because she was trying to get a fresh start. Didn't want him to be able to contact her. Divorce is one of those things that piss people off and give them access to each other," I said.
Dykes shrugged. Jackson nodded slowly, thinking about what I'd said.
"We should h
ead on back to headquarters and see if we have anything they've sent over," said Jackson.
"I think that's a good idea," said Lane. "I'd like to be able to find this guy tonight and put the city's mind at rest before the game starts tomorrow."
Dykes nodded. He started to leave and Jackson and I followed him. I felt optimistic. Primarily because this murder of Celia was spur of the moment. That meant that Gilder wasn't thinking straight. He was on the run and stressed out. That would give us a greater chance of catching him.
The more I thought about Gilder and Celia the more I thought she was perhaps an innocent pawn squeezed by an abusive husband. This was now my working theory, rather than the two of them being a pair of grifters working together.
NINETEEN
Long Lonely Highways
WE'D gotten back to headquarters by six after stopping to pick up some Chinese pork, fried rice and noodles. That's what Jackson had wanted and Dykes and I were on board. We'd taken it back to the office and ate it at their desks. Jackson had received an email from the Indiana State police who had forwarded the Muncie police report on the Gilder domestic. It showed Corinne Gilder's bashed up face. Not the worst domestic I'd seen but he'd still managed to split her lip and give her a black eye. More importantly, it was obviously a photograph of the woman we knew as Celia Ensor.
This was confirmed by the driver's license database picture that Jackson pulled up. That has a more flattering photograph of Corinne Gilder, which was not saying much. Our victim, Celia Ensor, was the one and same Corinne Gilder still married to the suspect Forest Gilder who we were pursuing.
"You're right, AC," said Jackson, grinning to me over a box of Chinese food.
"About what?" I asked him, stuffing salty noodles into my mouth with chopsticks.
"About Gilder," he said. "Celia, or Corinne, is his old lady. Makes this whole thing fucked up."
I shook my head and swallowed the food before speaking.
"No, not really," I said. "Makes it clear as mud."
Jackson nodded.
"At first I figured them for a couple of grifters, but now knowing the two of them are married, I see her as another victim."
"But how did you suspect the relationship between the two?" asked Jackson.
"Human nature," I said. "Next to evidence, that's the most damning aspect in most crimes I've discovered."
Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 70