by Julie Cave
She rolled over, picked up her phone, and called Aaron.
“Hello!” he answered. His familiar voice made her smile.
“Hi! How did the raid go?”
“Well, there were no casualties,” said Aaron. “So that is a good thing. But we didn’t get the evidence we thought we’d find.”
“I’m sorry,” said Dinah.
“Yeah, me too, mostly because it means I’m stuck here for longer.” Aaron sighed. “It’s beautiful, but remote. We’re at the base of the Blue Mountains, and if I wasn’t working, I’d like to hike them. One day I’d like to show them to you.”
Dinah smiled. “I’d really like that.”
“How is your case going?”
“More and more curious.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me.”
Dinah smiled again. Aaron never failed to be interested in the details of her life and cases, even the most mundane. Having someone to talk to was priceless.
She told him about the money trail.
“They’re running from something,” mused Aaron. “But what?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” said Dinah. “Then the mystery would be solved. I think —”
She was interrupted by a knock at her door. It startled Dinah and she stared at it momentarily before it registered that Elise was softly calling her name.
“Hang on a sec,” she said into the phone. She jumped off the bed and opened the door. She expected to see Elise in her pajamas, but she was fully dressed.
“The night dispatcher just called me,” Elise said. “Someone found another dead body.”
Dinah went into full FBI agent mode. “I’ve got to go,” she said into the phone.
“I heard,” said Aaron. “Talk to you soon.”
Dinah hung up and got dressed quickly while Elise waited. When Dinah arrived downstairs, Elise was filling two thermoses with hot tea. “It’s snowing out,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Dinah. “What are the details?”
“The dead body of a woman was found out on Rushcutters Road about half an hour ago by a guy looking for firewood,” said Elise.
Lola? Dinah thought.
Elise seemed to read her mind and nodded. “I had the same thought. Unfortunately, we will have to pick up the sheriff on the way.”
Dinah laughed.
In the hallway, Chloe suddenly appeared, her face gray and drained. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Oh, honey, you should be asleep,” said Elise, putting her arm around her daughter. “I have to go to an emergency. Hopefully I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chloe nodded, her face anxious. “Is this about Grace’s dad?”
“I don’t think so. Make sure you get some sleep tonight, okay?”
Chloe nodded and trudged back upstairs.
Elise drove them quickly to the sheriff’s house, where Wilder was clearly unhappy about being roused out of bed. Dinah felt no sympathy for him. If she had to go out in the freezing cold, in the snow and ice and sleet, so did he. He shambled out to her car with an expression on his face not unlike a two-year-old about to throw a tantrum.
“This better be important,” Sheriff Wilder said by way of greeting as he settled into the car. “Do you know how cold it is tonight?”
Obviously. I’m out in it too. Dinah rolled her eyes.
“The body of a dead woman has been found out on Rushcutters Road,” said Elise. She must have been making a great effort to remain calm. “My suspicions are that it’s a murder victim.”
“Really? Who?”
“My gut tells me it’s Lola Albright,” said Elise, turning the car toward the outskirts of town.
As Elise drove them through the cold night, where snowfall made bare tree branches look like skeletons and nebulous brush appear to be hiding faces, Dinah’s heart pumped with just one rhythm: Lola, are you dead? Lola, are you dead?
Chapter 9
The body of the woman lay spread out over soft, melting snow, serene in her stillness, and for one moment she looked like a child trying to make a snow angel. Only her silhouette was visible in the darkness, her figure shrouded by night and shadows. A nearby homeowner had found her as he searched for firewood on his property. On the outskirts of Ten Mile Hollow, small cabins perched on large lots of land, some sharing their space with trailers or rusted-out car bodies. The owner, Hank Castro, was a small, scraggly looking man with a lit cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He’d been searching for firewood in a small copse of trees on the southern end of the lot, and he claimed he hadn’t been down there for several weeks.
“Had plenty of wood until tonight,” he told Elise and Dinah. “I forgot I hadn’t got enough to get me through the night. Thought this place would be my best bet, so I moseyed on down here about an hour or so ago.”
It was absolutely freezing. Dinah shoved her hands into her coat pockets and glanced around askance. “In this weather?” she asked. She could hear Wilder wheezing behind her.
He shrugged. “Better than shivering through the night.”
Dinah saw that he was holding a flashlight. “Mind if you shine this on the body?”
He took a long suck on his cigarette, as if for fortitude, and did as she asked. The light was harsh and made a difficult scene worse. As Dinah moved toward the woman, she heard Castro make a few strangling noises, as though he was choking on his cigarette. The sheriff stayed with the man, for which Dinah was both thankful and disdainful.
The woman was gray in death, but would have been very pale in life, with fair skin and deep, auburn hair, which lay fanned out on the snow like flame. Her eyes looked dark — possibly dark blue or dark gray, thought Dinah. It was hard to tell in the flickering light. She wore blue jeans and a navy blue turtleneck sweater. Her feet were bare. She looked as though she hadn’t been dead for very long, although the cold weather would have slowed down any decomposition.
Dinah knelt down beside the body and asked Castro to direct the light toward the woman’s head. Leaning over, Dinah could see that there were broken red capillaries in her eyes, telltale marks of petechial hemorrhaging. She gently rolled down the turtleneck and saw long, thin bruises. These initial marks were almost identical to those of Malia Shaw, suggesting death by manual strangulation. She glanced at Elise, who was kneeling on the other side of the body. Elise nodded in silent agreement.
“Do you know who this woman is?” Elise asked Castro.
He shook his head. “No idea. Sorry.”
Elise looked at Wilder, who shrugged. Helpful as always, said the scornful look on her face.
“You said you hadn’t been down to this particular part of your property for a few weeks?” Elise asked of Castro, rising to her feet. Her knees cracked loudly.
“Yeah. I rarely come down here to the trees.”
“Have you seen any people on your property in the last few days?”
Castro shrugged. “Nope. But somebody could easily slip in here from the road and I wouldn’t likely know about it.”
That seemed right to Dinah. She tried to get her bearings. Rushcutters Road ran along the property’s southern border, and the copse of trees skirted the fence line. Castro was correct. A vehicle could park by the trees, be unseen from the house, and allow a person to sneak in and out, all under the cover of snowy evergreens.
“Do you have dogs?” Elise asked.
“No, my old boy died last spring,” said Castro. “I haven’t got another one.”
Elise glanced over at Wilder, who was leaning against a tree yawning. A flash of anger lit up her face for a moment.
“Sheriff,” she said. “While we’re waiting for the medical examiner, would you mind marking out the scene with tape? I’d like to talk with Mr. Castro further.”
Sheriff Wilder looked enormously displeased with this suggestion. With a great sigh, he heaved himself up and strolled interminably slowly toward the body. Dinah felt frustration boil up from her stomach. Had he no respect for the dead? Did he not
understand the immense privilege of bringing justice for the victim?
With great effort, she turned her attention back to Elise and Castro.
“You have noticed nothing strange in your life in the last few days?” Elise asked. “Strange vehicles? Anyone you wouldn’t normally see?”
Hank Castro stroked a struggling mustache while he thought about that. “Not as I can recall.”
“What do you do for work, Mr. Castro?”
From the corner of her eye, Dinah could see the sheriff lazily slinging crime scene tape from one tree to another, taking no care to avoid adding footprints to the scene. She suppressed a growl and focused on Castro.
“— mechanic in town,” he was saying. “I work there Monday through Saturday morning. The rest of the time, I hang around here. You know.”
Dinah noticed the medical examiner, Dr. Theo Walker, approaching through the snow, his face split into a grin. Is that man ever sour? Dinah lifted a hand to wave at him.
Dr. Walker went to work immediately while Dinah continued to watch Sheriff Wilder and feed the fires of annoyance that lived in her belly. Hank Castro fidgeted nearby, chain-smoking. Dinah didn’t want to create a scene by shouting at the sherriff, so she looked through the evergreen copse for footprints. Unfortunately, continuing snowfall had likely obliterated any evidence left behind. Still, she inspected as much as she could until Elise called her back to the body.
Dr. Walker had completed his initial examination. He stood up, rolled his shoulders and said, “I’m done. I’m happy to take her to the morgue for autopsy.”
“It seemed to me that this death is very similar to that of Malia Shaw,” said Dinah. Her lips and nose might well have fallen off by now; they were completely numb. Her speech came out a little thick and slow as a result. “What do you think?”
“I tend to agree,” said Dr. Walker. “My thoughts at this point are that this lady died by manual strangulation, by someone’s hands rather than by rope, cord, or wire. Do you know who she is?”
“No idea,” said Elise.
Lola, did you face death here in the lonely snow?
“Do you think she died here or was brought here?” Dinah asked.
Dr. Walker inclined his head while he considered. “I don’t know,” he said, at length. “She hasn’t been dead for very long — perhaps 24 hours. The snow we’ve had since then might have obscured drag marks. Hopefully the forensic techs will be able to tell you more.”
He lifted his arm to indicate to the morgue workers to begin the removal of the body, and then caught himself suddenly. “I almost forgot,” he said, with a sunny smile. “I found this in her back pocket.”
He gave Elise a small, red, leather-bound book.
“Don’t know if it’s helpful, but you never know.”
He grinned again.
Into the cold, shadowy night, the morgue workers disappeared with the body.
****
The two women made their way to the office from the field where the woman’s body was found. The air was as still and sharp as ice, and it took a hot shower and two cups of coffee for Dinah to warm up after she sat down at her desk. In front of her lay the little book found in the dead woman’s jeans.
Both Dinah and Elise had glanced through it while they waited for the medical examiner to finish, and it hadn’t immediately given up any secrets. It appeared to be a name and address book, with a list of names, phone numbers, addresses, and most intriguingly, short descriptions. She hadn’t had a chance the previous night to read them. She now had a much closer look at the entries and realized that the names were all male.
One name had been handwritten on each page, with a phone number directly underneath, and an address. The addresses were all in or around Ten Mile Hollow, which told Dinah it was likely that the dead woman was a local.
The descriptions were the most interesting. The paragraphs seemed to center on the man’s personal circumstances and possible past.
Shaun Holdsworth
275-3146
98 Wellington Ave
Ten Mile Hollow VA
Forty-two years old. Married. One child in college in San Francisco. Contacts in California? Lived in TMH for twelve years. Works in local accountant’s firm. Wife grew up here and wanted to return here. He is from Oregon? Washington? Couldn’t find hostility, latent or overt. Requires more info about past.
The next page entry read:
Miles Reading
275-2118
11/2578 Forest Glade Rd
Ten Mile Hollow VA
Thirty-eight years old. Single. Carpenter working at Aristocrat’s Kitchens. Grew up here and has never left, as far as I can tell. Standard learnt hostility. Seems to be a loner. Bears watching.
Dinah read ten more entries that were similar. Curious. What were these men hostile to? Why were their backgrounds being checked? Why was the dead woman playing amateur sleuth? Was that why she died?
And the most important question: “Are you Lola?” Dinah muttered.
“Are you talking to me?” Elise asked.
Dinah jumped, startled. “Good morning!”
“I bring you doughnuts,” said Elise. “In the name of peace and goodwill for all mankind.”
Dinah realized she was hungry. “Thanks. I’m starving!”
While she ate a cinnamon glazed doughnut, she gave the book to Elise to read through.
Every entry read similarly: a brief description of the men, their families, their work, and their age. The strange research seemed to concentrate on where the men had come from and whether they seemed “hostile,” whatever that meant.
Two hours later, when both Elise and Dinah had read the book from cover to cover twice, had come up with very few answers, and couldn’t stand the suspense anymore, they climbed into the unmarked police car, and drove to the workplace of the man who appeared first in the book — Shaun Holdsworth. He was an accountant at a local firm in Main Street, a pretty, red brick building with striped awnings and flowerboxes in the windows.
Elise announced herself to the receptionist. With a doubtful look, she phoned Shaun Holdsworth. She had barely hung up the phone when an anxious-looking man appeared from an internal door.
“I’m Shaun Holdsworth,” he said. “Is everything okay?”
He was a tall, balding man with large, dark eyes, glasses, a small mouth, and a sweating forehead. He was dressed in the standard professional attire: dark pants, white shirt, and soberly patterned necktie.
“Perhaps there’s somewhere quieter where we might talk?” suggested Elise, after identifying herself and showing him her badge.
He waved them through to a small office, furnished with a round table and four chairs. Elise introduced him to Dinah, but the man didn’t seem to listen.
“I’m wondering if you know this woman,” began Elise, sliding a photo of the red-haired woman across the table.
Shaun Holdsworth drew a sharp breath. “Is that woman . . . dead?”
“Yes. She was murdered and we found her body last night.”
Holdsworth’s complexion turned gray-green. He swore. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting that. That’s awful!”
“Did you know her?”
Holdsworth licked his lips. “Well. I know who she is, but I can’t say that I knew her.”
Dinah and Elise exchanged a glance. “Who is she?”
He gave her a strange look. “You don’t know? Her name is Lola Albright.”
Yes! Dinah stopped a grin from spreading across her face. Don’t be weird, she scolded herself.
“How did you know her?”
Holdsworth scratched his nose and licked his lips. “Well. Uh. Is that relevant?”
Elise stared at him hard. “You’re wondering why it’s relevant that you knew a murdered woman?”
Sweat began to drip down the man’s brow. “Well.”
I swear if he says “well” one more time, I’m going to slap him. Dinah took a deep breath. She had to stop thinking these violent thought
s.
“Mr. Holdsworth,” Elise said, in a stern tone, “I’m interested in who murdered this woman. That’s all. I strongly suggest that you be honest with me at this point, unless you’d like to stare down the possibility of being under suspicion for murder.”
Holdsworth turned an even more interesting shade of gray-green. “I did not kill her. I swear.”
“Okay. So how did you know her?”
He licked his lips. “She was a friend of Malia Shaw.”
Dinah stared at him, her heart beating even faster. It throbbed in her temples. “Did you know Malia Shaw?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Holdsworth, ducking his head.
“Are you aware that she too, was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know Malia Shaw?” Dinah was racking her brain, trying to remember if there had been any mention or sign of Shaun Holdsworth in Shaw’s life. She couldn’t think of one.
“You won’t tell anyone? I mean, is this confidential?” Holdsworth asked.
“I’m not a lawyer, if that’s what you’re thinking. I can’t promise confidentiality, but if it turns out that what you tell me really is irrelevant, then I’ll keep it to myself.” Elise watched the other man carefully.
He nodded and blew out a breath of air. “I should have known I wouldn’t get away with it forever.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Detective, I thought that Malia Shaw was propositioning me. That’s how I knew her.” He stared down at the table.
“Propositioning you?” Elise frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I thought . . . I thought she wanted . . . well, she bought me a drink.”
Elise looked a Dinah for a moment. “Did anything happen between you?”
He swallowed. “No. It turns out, I was wrong.”
“She didn’t want to proposition you?”
“Nope. She — well, her friend, Lola — wanted to interrogate me. It was weird.”
“Interrogate you? About what?”
He shook his head. “I still don’t really know. It was the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had in my life. It made me decide never to go back to Joaquins, that’s for sure.”