Deadly Sins: Sloth

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “I’m not answering any more of your questions, and I’m not going anywhere with any of you. I want to go home. Now!”

  Two hours later

  My cell phone vibrated on the nightstand beside me. I opened my eyes just enough to notice the time. It was early. Too early. A little after four in the morning, from what I could tell. My eyes hadn’t focused enough to see the digital numbers in front of me.

  Cade rolled over, and without opening his eyes, he said, “You gonna see who’s callin’?”

  I groaned. He reached across me, grabbed my phone, looked at the screen.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Huh. I’m not certain, but I have a good idea. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” He ran a hand down my arm. “You might want to take this. You might be her one phone call.”

  “Whose one phone call?”

  “Mary Pritchard. She’s a murder suspect.”

  “Murder suspect?”

  He draped an arm over me, his eyes still closed. “Talk to her, and I’ll explain more later.”

  I pressed the answer button. Before I managed a greeting, the woman on the other end said, “Is this Sloane Monroe?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “My name’s Mary Pritchard. I’m in a bit of trouble. I’ve heard your name around town. People say you’re a PI. You can fix things. Is that right?”

  Fixing was a stretch. Solving on the other hand ...

  “What do you need?”

  “Can you come down to the police station so we can talk? I’d like to hire you.”

  I mumbled something about stopping by in a few hours and ended the call.

  “She’s a suspect in a double homicide,” Cade said. “And you should know, from what I saw earlier, there’s a good chance she’s guilty.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me there were two murders tonight?”

  “Just happened. When I got in about an hour ago, you were sleepin’. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  I was awake now. He filled me in on the details.

  “You know why she’s calling, right?” I said. “She wants to hire me.”

  “Yep.”

  “And you’re okay with it?”

  He leaned over, kissed the center of my forehead. “Yep. We made a deal. You move in with me, and I don’t say anything about the cases you take, no matter what happens.”

  Even though I knew he meant it, I’d come to realize taking any case since he’d become chief of police put him at risk. Since the last case I’d been involved in, there was a lot of chatter around town. Some good, some bad. Cade didn’t seem to care. It didn’t affect him like it affected me. Even so, taking on a woman who was the main suspect in a double murder was intriguing. And I was dying for a new case.

  Mary was a tiny thing. Threadlike. She had long, wiry fingers, which reminded me of a professional piano player. She probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. Every single strand of her white, curly hair was groomed to perfection, and though I suspected she’d been waiting here for a while, she looked like she’d just emerged after a day at the salon.

  Sitting across from her now, it was hard to believe she was capable of killing an ant, let alone two people. And yet, I detected something—a coldness perhaps—something impure. Perhaps beneath her layers of perfection was a different person—one many in her life hadn’t seen before.

  I began our meeting by asking her to relay the previous night’s events. I didn’t interrupt. Instead, as she talked, I wrote down a list of questions on a pad of paper. It was something new I was trying. I’d come to realize it was better to let people talk once they were on a roll. Interrupting, even to clarify a simple question, screwed up the thought process, especially when someone had as much to say as she did. After about a half hour, she finished with, “The gun they found. The one responsible for Darryl’s death and the girl’s ... I don’t know where it came from. It isn’t mine. I told Chief McCoy, but I don’t think he believes me.”

  “It was found next to you, wasn’t it?”

  “They said it was, even though I never saw it next to me personally. I’m telling you, I didn’t put it there, and I’ve never seen it before.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember happening before the police arrived?”

  “I realized Darryl was alive, like I just told you. I went to call for help. There was a person, a shadowy figure, hiding behind Darryl’s bedroom door. I remember the door moving, someone stepping out, and then hitting me over the head.”

  “Could you tell whether a male or a female assaulted you?”

  “I ... ahh ... I have to think. It was dark. There was a bit of light coming in from the hallway, but I still didn’t get a good enough look at my attacker.”

  I waited, let her stew on it for a minute.

  “I want to say it was a man,” she said. “Yes, yes. A man. Definitely.”

  “Why a man and not a woman?”

  “When he hit me, it was with great force.” She bent her head toward me. “See?”

  I noticed a minor bump, which could have happened any number of ways. “How long did you interact with him?”

  “Not long. It was fast. A few seconds maybe. He was tall and strong. Very strong. All it took was one hit, and it was ‘lights out’ for me.”

  Given Mary’s tiny figure, I wasn’t certain she could be sure the person who attacked her was actually a man. Anyone larger than her could have been perceived the wrong way in the dark, and plenty of women packed enough punch to sustain the kind of injury she had.

  “Miss Monroe. If they try to charge me for this, can you help me? Can you get me out of it? I’m innocent.”

  “I’m a private investigator, not a lawyer,” I said. “If you haven’t called a lawyer yet, you should.”

  “I’ve never hired a lawyer, not once in my entire life.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You need one now.”

  “But you can find out who really did it, can’t you? Then I won’t need one.”

  “I can try.”

  She rolled her eyes, frustrated with my answer.

  “I can’t guarantee anything,” I said. “But what I can say is this: I’ve solved every case I’ve ever had.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t have called you otherwise.”

  I suspected it wasn’t the real reason she called me. She called because I was the only one who did this kind of work within two hundred miles. I gave her my rate. She accepted. I then went over the questions I’d written on my notepad, paying close attention to not only her words but also her body language when she answered.

  When she finished, I said, “If I’m going to help you, I’m going to need you to be completely honest with me, or this won’t work.”

  “I have been honest with you.”

  “If there’s anything more you’d like to say, now’s the time to say it.”

  “There isn’t. I told you everything I know.”

  “Then you’re lying to me.”

  She leaned back in the chair, batted her eyelashes a few times, looking at me like she was a sweet, unassuming old lady, and I was the one taking advantage. “Excuse me?”

  “During most of the questions I asked, you were calm when you answered, but when I started talking about what kind of neighbor Darryl was and how well you knew him, you became agitated.”

  “Maybe I was. How does it make me a liar?”

  “You also cleared your throat several times on the same question, and then you looked away. Before, you had no problem looking me in the eye. So, I’m going to ask you one more time, and if I get the same reply, I’ll get up, walk out the door, and you can deal with the mess you’ve gotten into yourself.”

  “Everyone in town knows you’re screwing Chief McCoy. If I tell you, you’ll tell him. I’m not stupid. I know how it all works.”

  “First, I’m his girlfriend, not a whore he sleeps with when he’s bored, so watch yourself when you throw around a word like screwing. And second, if I agree to
help you, you’ll become my client, which means whatever you say stays with me unless it’s something I’m obligated to share. If you’re innocent—if you didn’t kill those people—no matter how bad it is, you have nothing to worry about.”

  She fidgeted, rubbing her hands together in her lap, thinking. “What about what I say right now? You won’t tell anyone?”

  “I won’t.”

  “Fine. You want to know the truth? I hated Darryl. He was lazy, messy, and unclean. I didn’t go over to his house last night because I heard a gun go off, or a woman scream. I went over last night intending to kill him.”

  I wasn’t sure what I expected to come out of her mouth, but that wasn’t it. “And yet you want me to believe you didn’t kill him.”

  “Once I saw him, still alive in his bed, when he reached out his hands, pleading for my help, I realized he may have been a messy, lazy sloth, but he didn’t deserve to die. I didn’t kill him, Miss Monroe, and I didn’t kill that girl either.”

  Mary was released the following morning with the warning not to leave town. While she rested at home, I paid a visit to Hooker, Cade’s friend since childhood, and the local coroner. I entered the building, pressing my fingers into my ears so they wouldn’t rupture. Guns N’ Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle” blared through the speakers on Hooker’s desk. He hadn’t seen me come in. He was on the far side of the room with his back to me, chopstick in each of his hands, tapping the chopsticks on the counter like they were sticks in a drum set. I shouted his name. He didn’t hear me. I walked to his desk, reduced the volume to nothing. He whipped his head around, irritated at first until he realized I was the one who’d disturbed his jam session.

  He gave me the same crooked smile he always did. “What brings you into my world, Sloane?”

  “I wanted to ask you some questions about the two murder victims found the other night. Darryl and the Jane Doe.”

  “Cade know you’re paying me a visit today?”

  “Does it matter whether he does or doesn’t?”

  He ran a hand through his thick, ginger hair and laughed. “‘Course not. Anyway, I heard you were helping the old lady out. Did she have anything interesting to say when you talked to her? Anything she didn’t tell Cade?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “I’ll take it you mean yes.

  “You find anything out yet?”

  “It’s not looking good for her so far.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ballistics matched the gun with the bullets we recovered from both bodies. Mary’s prints were the only ones found.”

  “She said the gun isn’t hers.”

  “Yeah, I know. Cade told me they ran a check on it. It’s not registered.”

  “What else do you know?”

  “Hair fibers belonging to Mary were also found near both victims, along with additional fingerprints. All hers. We’re looking at some partials too, but I don’t have those results yet.”

  “Mary said she didn’t know where the gun came from.”

  “Forgive me, but she’s getting up there in age, isn’t she? Is it possible her memory’s going?”

  Anything was possible at this point. “What about the woman? The Jane Doe? What can you tell me about her?”

  “Jane Doe’s real name is Heather Farnsworth, although she used to be known as Sadie Steele.”

  “What do you mean? Who’s Sadie Steele?”

  “Sadie Steele is Heather Farnsworth. Heather is her birth name. Sadie is her alias.”

  “Alias for what?”

  “Heather Farnsworth’s a hooker, Sloane. Well, she used to be.”

  “What do you mean she used to be?”

  “About three years ago she was working for a private company. Then one day she just stopped. I can’t say if she’s still doing it or not.”

  “And you know all this because ...?”

  He winked. “I think it’s best we leave that question alone.”

  Tammy answered the front door before I even had the chance to knock, indicating she either anticipated a visit, or saw me arrive, or both. She looked to be about half Mary’s age, and she was thick. Not fat. Muscular.

  “Can I help you?” Tammy said.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Sloane Monroe. I’m a—”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re a private investigator. I know.” She held the door all the way open and smiled. “Want to come in? I just brewed a pot of coffee.”

  I wasn’t a huge fan, but an invite was an invite. I wasn’t about to let it go to waste. I nodded and followed her to the kitchen. She poured a cup for us both, and we sat down at the table.

  “Mary hired you, didn’t she?” Tammy asked.

  Direct and to the point, just the way I liked it.

  “She did.”

  “And how’s it going so far, your investigation?”

  “It’s early. I haven’t been able to figure too much out yet, but I will.”

  “I care for Mary, and I feel bad about what she’s going through. She’s been a good neighbor to me.”

  “Were you friends?”

  “Good friends. At least, I’d like to think so.”

  A good friend who threw Mary to the wolves the first chance she got. “Do you always rat out your friends?”

  Once the snarky comment left my lips, I realized I probably should have stayed quiet. I hadn’t asked all my questions yet, and there was a good chance what I’d just said would get me thrown out. Her reaction was simple. She took a sip of coffee and then set the cup down like I hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary.

  “I can see why you feel the way you do. You think because I told Chief McCoy about my suspicions, it doesn’t make me Mary’s friend. All I did was tell the truth. I don’t believe in lying about these things.”

  “What were your suspicions?”

  “I believe Mary killed Darryl and the woman he was with the other night. Darryl on purpose, and the woman because she happened to be there at the time.”

  “How can you be so sure? You didn’t see her murder anyone.”

  She bent toward me, lowered her voice like we were in a public library. “A few days ago, I invited Mary over for dinner. We got on the subject of Darryl and never really got off of it. She talked about him all evening. She hated him. She wished he was dead.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s your client. Didn’t she tell you why?”

  “She did. I’m asking for your opinion.”

  “I suppose she saw Darryl as a nuisance. He was a bit on the messy side. Didn’t care much for keeping up his brother’s yard after he moved in. She said she noticed a foul odor coming from his house sometimes when she took her morning walk, but I never smelled anything. I think she just built it up in her mind. I’ve never met anyone with her level of OCD. In her world, everything always has to be perfect in order for her to be happy. Not a strand of her hair or a blade of grass in her yard is ever out of place.”

  Little did Tammy know Mary wasn’t the only one who suffered from OCD. For now, I let it slide. “We all say stupid things sometimes. It doesn’t make Mary a killer.”

  “I’m not one to talk. I have ADHD myself, though I’ve been feeling a lot better lately. Still, it wasn’t just what Mary said. There’s more.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The day before the murders, I walked to Mary’s to borrow a cup of sugar. I noticed what looked like a pistol poking out from beneath an old newspaper. When she turned and walked into the pantry, I peeled the newspaper back just enough to see I was right.”

  “Did you know she owned a gun?”

  Tammy nodded. “She told me once that she kept it between her mattresses for protection.”

  I picked my phone out of my pocket, scanned through a few pictures until I found the one I wanted. I held the photo in front of her. “Is this the gun you saw under the newspaper?”

  She shook her head. “No. It isn’t. The one I saw was smaller than this.”


  I pointed to the picture. “This is the gun used to kill Darryl and the woman at his house, and it’s unregistered. There’s a good chance it’s not Mary’s.”

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t mean she didn’t do it. What if she was going to use her own gun but then changed her mind? She could have purchased another gun, thinking it couldn’t be traced back to her.”

  “Think about what you just said. It makes no sense.”

  “So, she’s saying she was set up? Do you believe her?”

  “It’s possible. Did you know Darryl? Have you ever talked to him? Have you ever been in his house?”

  “Several times, yes.”

  “Why did he let you into his house and not Mary?”

  “He said he got up one night to get a glass of water and saw Mary walking around his yard, pulling his weeds. He thought the woman was crazy. I told him she wasn’t, but he didn’t believe me. He didn’t want anything to do with her, so whenever she’d come around, he’d hide.”

  “What did you think of Darryl?”

  “He was always nice to me, charming in his own way.”

  I’d seen a few postmortem photos of Darryl. Charming wasn’t a word I thought anyone would ever use to describe him. “What about him did you find charming?”

  She twisted a lock of her hair around her finger like a giddy schoolgirl. “Oh, I don’t know. He was a bit overweight and a recluse, but there was something about him. It’s hard to explain.”

  It didn’t seem hard to me at all. “Were you two sleeping together?”

  “I ... umm ... what?”

  “You were sleeping with Darryl, weren’t you?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “You did.”

  “I did not.”

  “It’s obvious. I can tell by the way you’re acting. You’re married, aren’t you?”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “Yeah. So what? My husband hasn’t touched me in years.”

  “Did he know about your relationship with Darryl?”

  “I doubt it. My husband has a mistress. Kelly’s her name. It’s been going on for over two years now. He has no idea I know about her, but I do.”