Corpse Pose

by Diana Killian

  A.J. read the next name.

  ESTHER BAUMANN—Would do anything to help her husband, has as much to lose. Does she have an alibi?

  “You must realize,” she pointed out, “if either John or Esther showed up at the studio, Aunt Di would have been on her guard. From everything the police can tell, she wasn’t. And it’s hard to picture people as big as the Baumanns successfully sneaking up on her.”

  “Your aunt could have been meditating,” Elysia returned instantly. “No one had greater focus than Diantha. A bomb could have gone off next to her and I doubt it would have disturbed her concentration.”

  A.J. read farther down the page.

  MICHAEL BATZ—Stood to inherit sizable legacy, was caught searching Di’s files—could he have been the intruder at Deer Hollow? Was he having an affair with Di?

  A.J. glanced at Elysia. “Were you able to find out from Mr. Meagher what was in the codicil?”

  Elysia’s scarlet mouth twisted into a wry little moue. “Not yet.”

  A.J. bit back a grin. “I wouldn’t have thought the old guy was capable of denying you anything.”

  “Me, too.” Elysia’s smile was hard to decipher. “And he’s not that old.”

  A.J. nodded solemnly. “Batz could have been the intruder that day. If Aunt Di gave him a key to the studio, she might have given him a key to the house. And remember Jake—Detective Oberlin commenting on the size of the footprints? Michael has unusually small hands and feet for a man.

  A spark of interest lit Elysia’s eyes.

  A.J. moved to the next name on the list.

  LILY MARTIN—Believed she would inherit Sacred Balance Studio. Had a recent falling out with Di? No alibi. Dresses badly.

  “Dresses badly?” A.J. read aloud.

  “It was just a thought.” Elysia said vaguely. “‘Clothes maketh the man,’ as the bard says.”

  “How do you know she doesn’t have an alibi?”

  “Bradley told me.” Elysia was smug. “He says she was questioned extensively by your pet policeman. She has a veritable mania about that studio.”

  “I won’t argue that with you. Still…”

  Still there were people with better motives. If they really were looking at this thing with the cold, clear logic of the professional, Andy should be on this list, A.J. reflected. Andy had eighteen million dollars worth of motive, although he probably didn’t have access to bee venom; in fact, it was doubtful Andy would remember about Diantha’s allergies. Still, she wondered if Jake—who probably did view everyone and everything with the cold, clear logic of the professional—had verified whether Andy had an alibi for the morning of Diantha’s murder. Probably. She had a suspicion that Jake was a stickler for details.

  Plus he didn’t seem to like Andy much.

  And even if she couldn’t picture Andy killing anyone—and it was pretty darn hard to picture—what about Nick, Andy’s new partner? Hadn’t Andy said something about Mr. G-Man being in the area around the time of Diantha’s murder? She tried to think what exactly he’d said; she’d been distracted at the time.

  It was all too easy to picture Nick as the embodiment of evil—everything from home wrecker to homicidal maniac—but it was pretty far-fetched.

  Considering Andy’s murderous possibilities reminded her of Andy’s own suspicions.

  “You’re missing a name,” she said.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Chloe Williams.”

  Elysia made a sound that previous generations would have classified as “pshaw.”

  A.J. said firmly, “She could have snuck up on Aunt Di without her noticing. And she seems pretty fragile emotionally. What if Aunt Di found out that she was using again? Chloe might have panicked….”

  “You don’t procure and inject someone with bee venom in a panic,” Elysia pointed out.

  A.J. acknowledged the truth of that.

  “Nor do I believe the child is using again.”

  A.J. lifted a dismissing shoulder. She scrutinized the legal pad. “If today’s fire was arson…”

  “If?”

  “If,” she repeated firmly, “then what was the motive? Was the perpetrator hoping to destroy some incriminating evidence—of an affair, perhaps?”

  “Michael Batz,” Elysia said with satisfaction.

  A.J. nodded. “If they were having an affair, he’d know about Aunt Di’s allergies. And he could certainly sneak up on her without arousing her suspicions.”

  “But how do we get proof?”

  A.J. blinked at her mother’s determined expression. “Uh, we don’t. That would be for the police.”

  Elysia waved this off impatiently. She said eagerly, “And his wife. We mustn’t forget his wife. She has quite a solid motive—doubly solid when you figure her husband’s financial future hinges on his success as a competing Olympian.”

  Monster, who was sprawled out in front of the fireplace, suddenly opened his eyes and rolled onto his tummy. He thumped his tail heavily.

  A.J. felt her heart speed up. Jake, she thought.

  The doorbell rang.

  Twenty-two

  “There’s not much doubt it was arson,” Jake said grimly.

  He looked more than a little out of place on Elysia’s brocade couch, absently balancing a china teacup in one big hand.

  A.J. swallowed hard. It was one thing to view the possibility from an academic standpoint, but to face the fact that someone had actually committed arson against her? More than a little scary. “How was it done?” she asked tersely.

  “A couple of Molotov cocktails lobbed at your front door. About as primitive a method as there is.”

  “So there was no incendiary device in the package that UPS delivered?”

  “No.”

  Elysia said, “Was the package recovered?”

  “What was left of it.” He glanced at A.J. “Apparently your ex-husband brought it into the house and leaned it against the wall next to the door, so it went up with the door and the porch. You weren’t expecting any UPS deliveries?”

  “No. Anyway, it was addressed to Aunt Di.”

  But he knew that. Was he still suspicious of her? It probably went with the territory. Cops weren’t the most trusting people in the world. Trusting people could get you killed in Jake’s line of work.

  “You should be able to get a tracking number from UPS and contact whoever sent the parcel.”

  She nodded absently.

  “Mrs. Borin described the package as a large, flat brown box.” He watched to see if this rang a bell.

  “Wasn’t anything left of the contents?”

  “Material of some kind. It was pretty charred.”

  Andy entered the room, carrying his suitcase.

  Elysia uncurled, swift as a cat. “Andrew, pet, there’s really no need to leave. Why don’t you wait for morning?” She directed an imperative look toward A.J., who pretended not to see it.

  A.J. said, “I’ll walk you out, Andy.”

  In silence they walked out to his car, and Andy unlocked the trunk, dropping his suitcase inside.

  Slamming shut the trunk, he turned to A.J. “So are you breaking it to Lula Mae or am I?”

  She managed a smile. “I’ll break it to her. As soon as there’s something to break. Nothing’s really for sure yet.”

  He smiled faintly. “That’s what I like about you. Once you make up your mind…”

  She opened her mouth to retaliate, and then let it go. She no longer needed to hurt him. “Take care of yourself, Andy.”

  “You know if you need anything…”

  She smiled. “Thanks, but it’s under control.” As under control as living in the shadow of a murder investigation could be.

  They hugged, suddenly awkward again after the near-companionable truce of the past couple of days.

  After he got into the car and drove away, A.J. walked slowly back into Elysia’s house. She could hear Elysia’s voice from the front room.

  “You’re not married, Inspector
?”

  And Jake’s low, contained, “No, ma’am.”

  “Divorced?”

  “No.”

  “Widowed?”

  “No.”

  “Engaged?”

  “I’m flattered by your interest, Mrs. Alexander, but I’m pretty much married to my job.”

  A.J. walked through the doorway, and Elysia, who had opened her mouth, promptly closed it. “There you are, pumpkin,” she cooed.

  “How is the investigation into my aunt’s murder going?” A.J. asked, sitting in the chair next to the sofa. He shifted so that he faced her more directly. He glanced down at the fragile teacup in his hand as though he wasn’t sure how it had gotten there.

  “The investigation is ongoing.”

  “Is that copper lingo for stalled?” Elysia inquired sweetly.

  His eyes narrowed. “No, ma’am. It means we’re following leads, sifting evidence, and narrowing our field of suspects.”

  A.J. said, “Speaking of suspects, had you heard a rumor that my aunt was romantically involved with Michael Batz?”

  “I’d heard that, yes.”

  “Is it true?”

  He studied her for a moment. “It appears to be.”

  “Does he have an alibi?”

  An expression of weariness crossed his face. “A.J., I can’t discuss the particulars of this case with you.”

  “You can’t give me a simple yes or no?”

  “He has an alibi,” Jake said curtly. “He was training at the high school track. According to four different witnesses, he was never out of their sight.”

  “What about Mrs. Batz?” Elysia asked.

  Jake shook his head. “Ladies, I cannot discuss the case, except to tell you that we believe we are closing in on a suspect.”

  Elysia and A.J. exchanged a look. Was he saying that to shut them up or could it be true?

  “Do try one of these chocolate biscuits, Inspector,” Elysia murmured—in the same tone the spider would have asked the fly to have a seat. She offered a plate of cookies.

  Jake declined the cookies, drained his teacup in a gulp, and rose, saying he had to be on his way.

  Elysia shot A.J. a glinting look, and A.J. rose, too, although her motive was not the same as Elysia’s.

  “I’ll see you out,” she said.

  Jake nodded and A.J. accompanied him out to his SUV.

  Into his silence she said, “I’m sorry if we’re pushing too hard. You have to realize—”

  “I do realize,” he said quietly. “Look, I want this solved nearly as bad as you do.” He unlocked his door and then hesitated. “Are you and Belleson getting back together?”

  A.J.’s head jerked up. She couldn’t read his expression. “Uh, no,” she said. “He’s still gay as far as I can tell.”

  A reluctant smile tugged at Jake’s mouth. He said, “Would you like to go out again one night?”

  Apparently her Snoop Sister status had been forgiven.

  “Um, yeah,” A.J. said off-handedly.

  Jake nodded. “I’ll give you a call,” he said, and swung himself inside the SUV, slamming the door after.

  “There are tiny yellow feathers on your chin,” Elysia observed when A.J. returned.

  A.J. brushed at her chin, then caught the canary-eating-cat reference. She threw herself down in one of the fat chintz chairs and chuckled.

  Elsyia shook her head.

  A.J. straightened up. “Mother, please try to understand. Even if Andy realized he made a mistake—which doesn’t seem very likely—we couldn’t start over. I couldn’t forgive him, and even if I could, I just don’t feel the same way about him.”

  Elysia bit her lip. “But you were so good together.”

  “Maybe. But it’s over and I have to move on. You have to move on, too.”

  Elysia’s face grew mutinous. “I love Andrew.”

  “You can still love him. Just don’t ask me to.”

  For a long moment Elysia said nothing, then she sighed and relaxed. “Oh well. After all, I made one or two mistakes in the relationship department before I found my true love, your father. Did I ever tell you about the French count…?”

  Elysia was a good cook, she actually seemed to enjoy fussing over meals. A.J. amusedly watched her whipping up chicken cordon bleu for their supper that evening.

  As her mother poured herself a glass of mineral water, A.J. asked curiously, “Do you have a sponsor?”

  Elysia looked puzzled.

  “In AA, I mean.”

  Elysia chuckled. “Not anymore. No, pumpkin, I am a sponsor.”

  A.J. tried to think of Elysia as a sponsor. At one time it would have been impossible. Now…she watched Elysia dive to turn the television sound up on one of those true-crime shows. Actually, it was still impossible.

  “Do you know,” Elysia said with a funny smile, turning from the TV, “that’s the first time you’ve ever asked about AA.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to pry.”

  “It’s not prying, pumpkin. You can ask me anything you like.”

  A.J. tried to think if there was anything she wanted to know. Nothing came immediately to mind.

  After dinner, Elysia headed off for her AA meeting, and A.J. headed back to the studio, where she’d left her laptop. She logged onto the UPS site and tried to find information on the package that had been delivered to Deer Hollow. But without a tracking number or the name of who had sent the package, she hit a dead end.

  It probably didn’t matter. The parcel had most likely contained workout clothing or yoga-related gear like mats or ties. Diantha had personally sampled everything used at the studio.

  Shuffling through her messages, A.J. noticed again the message from Nicole Manning. An uneasy suspicion slithered through her mind.

  There was no return number. The message simply said that Nicole would call back later. The other messages meant little to A.J. The local paper was requesting an interview—which was something she could use later on to promote the studio. Right now she felt the less publicity, the better.

  A.J. glanced at her wristwatch. Simon’s Yoga for Cops class was starting that evening.

  She went upstairs to check it out. There were three female officers—looking a little self-conscious—sitting on mats. Simon, chatting pleasantly about the goals of the class, nodded cordially to A.J.

  A.J. listened for a few minutes, wondering if Simon had hit on a surefire way to meet women, before moving next door to the Seniors class.

  Surprisingly, the studio had nearly twenty students, and things seemed to be going very well as Denise patiently took her group through their moves. A.J. watched for a few moments as they did warm-ups for body and breath, and decided she liked Denise’s laid-back teaching style.

  Diantha had been the same age as many of these students, but a lifetime of fitness and her mental attitude had made her seem a generation younger.

  Once the class started struggling to perform sun salutations, A.J. figured she’d seen enough and headed back downstairs.

  “Good news,” Suze said cheerily. “We’ve got a full house this evening.”

  “That is good news.” A.J. had worried that a lot of students would stay away, at least until Diantha’s murder was solved. That didn’t seem to be the case. She checked the roster for Doga and was astonished to see that ten dogs and their humans had already signed up.

  Maybe she could bring Monster along for a class. Yoga just might help him deal with that obvious sexual frustration.

  Yeah. Sure. Or maybe she could use the class to help find Monster a date.

  She returned to her office, surprised to realize that it really did feel like her office now, and began to sort through the pile of mail that Suze must have thrown on her desk while she was upstairs.

  The fountain in the corner splashed soothingly over the shiny stones in its basin. The clock on the wall quietly tick-tocked. She could hear the murmur of voices from down the hall. A feeling very like contentment suffused her.


  A large, flat manila envelope from Middlebury Medical Associates addressed to Diantha caught her eye. She tore open the envelope and slid out a letter and what appeared to be some kind of medical test report. Curious, she glanced over the letter. The name Michael Batz stood out. Her brows drew together as she began to read.

  She finished reading. Then started back at the top. No mistake. These were Michael Batz’s test results from the Middlebury Labs. Apparently Diantha had been testing his blood for health indications to help her best pick a diet suited to his needs. Not so surprising, since Diantha had been working closely with Michael on every aspect of his training. Her interest in organic living had been complemented by the fact that she was a certified dietician.

  The part A.J. was having trouble with was the asterisk at the bottom of the page. A notation in the margin confirmed specific information Diantha had requested from the lab: Michael Batz had tested positive for tetrahydrogestrinone (THG).

  A.J. rose and went to the medical dictionary on Diantha’s shelf. She flipped to the index and then found the entry. She read and then re-read the first sentence:

  A designer drug often referred to as THG or “the clear,” tetrahydrogestrinone is an anabolic steroid banned by the Food and Drug Administration in 2003. Anabolic androgenic steroids belong to that class of natural and synthetic hormones that stimulate cell growth and division, in particular those relating to muscle and bone, resulting in the enhancement of athletic performance.

  A.J. closed the medical dictionary.

  Michale Batz, the Olympic wannabe, was using illegal steroids.

  Twenty-three

  A.J. fumbled for the card Jake had given her with his cell phone number. Stomach churning with icy nausea, she dialed his number. Her hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped the phone.

  When Jake’s voice mail came on she could have screamed. She waited impatiently for the message to end.

  “Jake, it’s A.J. I’m at the studio. I was going through some mail for Aunt Di and I found a medical report on Michael Batz.” She quickly let him know her findings, ending unsteadily, “Aren’t anabolic steroids injected? By syringe? Whoever killed Aunt Di also used a syringe—and I think Batz would be desperate to keep his illegal drug use quiet….”