GG01 - Sudden Anger

by Jack Parker

  "Charles didn't get violent when he drank, Officer," she said in a shaky voice. "He said a lot of, like, nasty things. He'd tell things people had told him that were secrets, too. But if he shot that gun, he did it when I wasn't here."

  Ken took her arm and led her away from the bookcase. "Why don't you go lie down, Mrs. Greene. This has obviously upset you, and I'm sorry for that. I just wanted to make sure this wasn't some old temper tantrum that happened months ago, that's all. I can see you knew nothing about it."

  He walked her to the stairs and waved his hand towards the top to indicate she should go up on her own. "I'm going to take this to the lab now. I'll let myself out. Goodnight, Mrs. Greene."

  Ken stopped to gather up the papers from the office, then got in his car and drove to headquarters. He took the bullet to Joe and asked him to check it against the other three bullets in this case. Told him he'd wait.

  While Joe was getting things set up he told Ken that the gun retrieved from Bill Conover's house had not been a match to the three bullets. Plus, in his professional opinion, the gun hadn't been fired recently. So much for that theory, Ken thought. It'd been a long shot anyway, surely the guy wouldn't be dumb enough to turn over the murder weapon!

  Ken passed some of the time talking to the ME, who told him that the lump on Greene's head could have been enough to knock him unconscious for several minutes. The accounting guru had already gone home for the day, he'd have to check with him tomorrow.

  Joe seemed to fiddle with his equipment, taking his time, putting each of the other bullets under the comparison microscope in turn. Finally he beckoned Ken over to have a look.

  The new bullet wasn't in good shape. It was difficult to say for certain, the best Joe could do was to say it was consistent with the others. That was good enough for Ken, he'd continue with the assumption that it was a fourth shot – or rather a first shot – fired at Mr. Greene. He decided he'd get some dinner and give the ex-wife time to get home from work before he delivered Greene's papers to her.

  * * * *

  Clarissa had barely shut the front door behind her when she heard the phone ringing. It'd been a long day; she was worried about how Gracie was handling her father's death and wanted to spend time talking to her. The phone continued to ring and, with a sigh, she went to answer it.

  "Well, I'm on break, I haven't got a lot of time. That asshole will dock my pay if I'm late getting back," Jeanine said.

  "Hello, Jeanine. I'm fine, thank you," Clarissa responded.

  "Yeah. So you've gotta tell me when the funeral is. He won't let me off for more than one day, I need to know," Jeanine continued as if Clarissa hadn't spoken.

  "I haven't heard anything myself. I just got home, haven't had a chance to check voice mail yet," Clarissa told her.

  "Well be sure and let me know as soon as you find out. My luck it'll be on my day off," Jeanine said sourly.

  "I would think that would be better," Clarissa said, a bit puzzled. "That way you won't lose any pay."

  "I've got things to do on my day off, laundry and stuff. I could use another day with what I've been through. And I get paid for funeral-time. Told that son of a bitch I needed the whole week off, but he's got it out for me, won't let me take it all," Jeanine said.

  "We've all been through a lot, especially Gracie. I promise I'll let you know as soon as I find out, but I need to spend some time with my daughter so I'll let you go," Clarissa said, trying to end the conversation.

  "Oh, OK. That damn cop's been breathing down my neck. I know he thinks I shot him, he told me he thinks I was lying about being at bingo."

  "He's been talking to everybody, Jeanine," Clarissa said trying to maintain her calm. "There's no reason for you to get rattled, he's just doing his job. I really have to go now."

  "Yeah, that's another thing," Jeanine continued. "When're they gonna read the will? I wanna know how much I'll get."

  "For God's sake, Jeanine!" Clarissa finally let some of her frustration show in her voice. "The man's not even buried yet, and all you can think of is his money. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

  "He damn sure didn't take it with him, and I need it. I wanna quit that shitty job, when's it gonna be read?" Jeanine asked belligerently.

  "I'm quite sure Charles' attorney will contact you when it's time. I must go now, and you need to get back to work. Bye!" Clarissa hung up.

  Gracie answered the door when Ken rang the bell. She invited him in, telling him she and her mother were in the process of cooking dinner. Ken joined them in the kitchen.

  "Good evening, Lieutenant," Clarissa said. "Do you mind if I continue working while we talk? We're fixing a somewhat complicated dish, and need to get it in the oven so we don't end up eating at 9:00."

  "Sure thing, Ms. Stewart," he replied. They walked to the kitchen. "Um, may I?" He pointed to a pile of carrots.

  "Of course. They're not peeled yet, that's Gracie's job." She turned a mock glare towards her daughter.

  Gracie handed a carrot to Ken who immediately took a bite. "You get more vitamins and stuff if you eat the peel, anyway. Mom used to buy the already-peeled kind, but I told her that's just extra processing that uses more energy and contributes, well OK just a little, to pollution. So now I get to peel all the carrots." She picked up a peeler and set to work.

  "Are those Charles' papers?" Clarissa asked, pointed to the pile Ken had dropped on the counter.

  "Yes, Ma'am," he said. "It looks like a bunch of investment reports to me, but I didn't pay too much attention. I'm not asking you to figure out the state of his portfolio, we've got accountants that can do that kind of thing if we need to. Just let me know if you run across anything that someone might've been interested to find, maybe something that pertained to someone else."

  "I don't mind saying I'm a bit uncomfortable doing this. I understand why you've asked me, but I feel a little out-of-place. Nonetheless I will go through them after dinner this evening, and let you know the results tomorrow. Will that be OK?"

  Ken assured her that that would be fine. Then he proceeded to fill them in on the developments of the day. He told them he'd learned that Jennifer had been staying with her friend, but said nothing of the nature of the relationship. They both remembered Charles telling Jeanine she was in his will, though Clarissa said she had no idea how much she might inherit. He mentioned that so far he'd been unable to verify Jeanine's – or Clay's – alibi.

  Then he told them about finding the bullet buried behind the volume of Shakespeare, and that, though it was damaged, it appeared to have been fired from the same weapon. Gracie asked a lot of questions; very good questions in Ken's opinion. Well, it never hurt to have someone else's opinions, and the girl certainly had a right to know what had happened to her father. She seemed to be taking this detective thing pretty seriously. Ken answered all her questions and told her his theories relating to this latest development, then left the ladies to their cooking.

  Clarissa and Gracie got the casserole put together and in the oven, then sat down at the dining table to start going through the papers Ken had left. They began by making an attempt to sort them into piles by appearance; whoever had scattered them on the floor had done a good job of getting them out of any semblance of order.

  "Here's some more brokerage statements," Gracie said as she handed them to her mother. "Good thing the lieutenant doesn't want us to figure that stuff out, there's a ton of it."

  Clarissa added the sheets to the proper stack and sighed. "I'm surprised he kept all these. I'd have thought he'd leave the details to his broker and just throw these out. I always look over my monthly statements, but your father thought that was why you hired the broker in the first place."

  "Do you think we'll find a copy of his will in this mess?" Gracie asked. "That reminds me, do you think Dad made a pre-nuptial when he married Jennifer?"

  "I'm sure his lawyer insisted on it, Gracie," her mother said. "And I'm sure your father agreed. He wasn't a stupid man, he must've known the
re was a chance Jennifer would divorce him for someone her own age and he would've wanted to make sure she didn't get everything." Clarissa laughed ironically. "Especially after our divorce!"

  "Except that she wouldn't divorce him for a younger man," Gracie said. "It'd be for Cindy. I figured it out, Mom. She and Cindy are lovers! I caught 'em holding hands at the party and she jumped away so I wouldn't see."

  Clarissa looked at her daughter thoughtfully for a minute. "You might be right, Gracie. That could explain a lot of things, beginning with why a lovely young woman like Jennifer spends a lot of time with poor plain Cindy."

  "I bet Jennifer was just waiting until she could get enough from a divorce so she and Cindy could live together. I wonder if the amount went up now that they've been married a whole year," Gracie said.

  "If it did, you'd think it would continue to increase for every year she stayed with him. She'd be better off to wait more than one year. You're not suggesting she killed him, are you?" Clarissa asked.

  "No, I don't see how she could've," Gracie replied. "She was talking to the police, you don't get a better alibi than that! I'm just wondering if Cindy could've done it. I can't really imagine her killing anyone, but her alibi is mostly based on answering her phone at the right time – what if she got someone else to do that?"

  "The lieutenant is looking into that possibility. We don't really know all that much about Cindy, though I agree with you, she seems like a nice girl. I think the lieutenant is right, though, that she wouldn't have had time to drive from the Bixby mansion to your dad's house. And that would be pretty gutsy to show up knowing you would be talking to the police just after you'd murdered someone!"

  Gracie shuffled through a few more pages as she thought about it. "Maybe Jennifer did shoot at him that morning and tore up the house to make it look like someone had broken in so the police would think it was someone else. She followed him to his office and tried again. Then she got someone to answer Cindy's phone when she pretended to discover the burglary while Cindy was at Bixby's shooting Dad."

  Clarissa gave her a look that said 'you don't really think that'.

  Gracie shook her head. "No, you're right. Too complicated," she said. "Jennifer could never put all that together, even with Cindy's help. Lieutenant Freeman even said he thought Dad might've fired his gun off when he'd been drinking, she could've explained the bullet away that way. If she really meant to kill him she knew the mansion was out in the boonies and would be the prefect place. Why go through all the rest?"

  "Remember, Gracie – everyone at the party knew about his appointment on Tuesday. But no one knew how long his presentation might last. If anyone went out there to wait for him they couldn't be sure when he'd come out. So if Cindy was hanging around in the bushes she wouldn't be able to coordinate with Jennifer," Clarissa said.

  "That's right, Cindy doesn't have a cell phone," Gracie said. "If Dad had gotten out of the meeting earlier – or later – their timing would've been off. If I was going to plan it out like that I'd plan to shoot him when he got there. Except you'd think the staff would've been watching for him and that might make it hard to be sure you could get away without being seen."

  Clarissa laughed heartily. "If you were planning it! Darling, I hope you never plan to kill anyone. I'll grant you that Jennifer certainly has motive, and Cindy too if they're really lovers. I just think there are a lot of far easier ways to provide yourself with an alibi than faking a burglary. I hate to say it, but your Aunt Jeanine has just as much motive and the lieutenant can't corroborate her alibi at all."

  "I've thought about that," Gracie said in a satisfied tone. "She might have wished he'd die without really meaning it, but actually killing him would be too much trouble for her. For all her faults, she doesn't try to hurt people. Even the things she says aren't meant to hurt, it just never occurs to her that she's inconsiderate of others' feelings."

  "Whew! Looks like we've got these all sorted out. Here you take some and we'll see if we can put the stack in order." Clarissa handed half the pile of brokerage reports to Gracie. "I agree. She gets angry too easily, but she never carries through on her threats. A woman who won't even bother to apply for a better-paying job because it's too much trouble wouldn't be likely to make three attempts at killing someone. Even if she were desperate enough to actually try she'd freak out after she missed the first time, and go get drunk."

  "Yeah. Besides, even Aunt Jeanine could think of a better excuse than playing bingo. You'd think she'd know those people aren't looking at anything except their cards." Gracie was busily dealing out sheets of paper into piles by month.

  Clarissa was doing the same at her end of the dining table. She continued in silence for a few minutes. Finally she stopped with just a few sheets left in her hand. "It worries me that the lieutenant can't confirm Clay's alibi."

  Gracie threaded three of the small piles between her fingers and stood up. She walked to her mother's side and added them to the appropriate stacks. Then she put her arm around her mother's shoulders and gave her a hug, and still leaning against her said, "Clay didn't do it, Mom. They'll find someone who saw them at Candy's apartment, and it'll be OK."

  Clarissa wrapped her arm around her daughter's waist and hugged back. "I know he didn't do it. Why would he? It's not like I'll inherit any money from my ex-husband, and even if I did Clay wouldn't get it. We're not married."

  Gracie extricated herself and went back for a second group of papers. "It does seem odd that he'd take the afternoon off and spend it with Candy when she was supposed to be working too."

  "Maybe a little, but he explained that. You know he's worried that she parties too much and doesn't seem to care about paying her bills. It could've happened just the way he said, he felt it was important to talk to her about the error of her ways. Those construction sites are busy places, no one would've known if he was at work or not," Clarissa explained.

  Gracie put the last of the monthly piles together. "Do you think that's it?" she asked. "He didn't think anyone had seen him at the site and he wanted something that sounded a little better?"

  "That could be it!" Clarissa said. They began putting each month's pages in order.

  "So let's think about this," Gracie said. "There were four bullets fired from the same gun in three different places. It makes sense that it was the same person. I mean, how could anyone else get the same gun?"

  "Agreed," Clarissa said.

  "So they either followed Dad around all day, or knew where he would be. I could see figuring he'd stop by the office at some time during the day, maybe even just before he left to see Mr. Bixby. But how would they know he'd go by the house?" Gracie asked.

  "He did make a point of telling us how hard he'd worked on the presentation at home," Clarissa pointed out. But anyone who knows your father knows he's organized when it comes to the job. It wouldn't be likely that he'd forgotten something he needed – and we're assuming that's why he went home, anyway."

  "I don't think it matters why Dad went home," Gracie said slowly, thinking it out as she spoke. "I just can't see how anyone would've known he'd do that, so it had to be pure luck. He came home unexpectedly and caught someone doing something, or someone was following him. But here's what I don't understand – why would he let them get close enough for a second shot?"

  "Yes, I see what you mean," her mother said. "If someone shot at him and then ran away,"

  "Ooh! And remember Lieutenant Freeman said he thinks Dad fell against that table and was maybe knocked out for a couple minutes. They must've thought he was dead or they'd have shot him again." Gracie paused to gather her thoughts. "If they were only trying to scare him so they could get away, why shoot at him again later? And if they weren't smart enough to make sure he was dead in the first place, how and when did they figure out their mistake? Either way, wouldn't he have recognized them later?"

  "That's were I was going," Clarissa said. "If he saw them later on and knew who it was you would think he wouldn't have let the
m get close, especially out in the country where there wouldn't be anyone around."

  "I thought about that last night," Gracie told her. "Whoever took those shots in the parking garage must've hidden behind a car or something, so Dad couldn't see who it was. Which goes double for that morning. But if they were in the house they must've worn a mask, maybe to play the part of the burglar."

  "Which means we're back to the theory that the burglar found something that angered him or her enough to want to kill your father over it," Clarissa told her. "We seem to be back at Square One."

  "I know, it doesn't make sense," Gracie said. "It's like we're missing one little piece that will make it all work."

  The kitchen timer dinged, putting an end to their theorizing. Clarissa made a determined effort to keep dinner conversation light; much as she would like to know what had happened she wasn't sure it was good for Gracie to dwell on it.

  CHAPTER 16

  Friday morning Ken was sitting at his desk thinking about the Greene case. The officer who'd canvassed the Oak Place Apartments hadn't found anyone who could place Candy Wilson in the complex on Tuesday afternoon, much less her father. That didn't mean they weren't there, but it still sounded highly suspicious.

  The phone rang. Ken answered, hoping it was good news. Right now he'd take any good news on this case. It was Mr. Michaels, the victim's lawyer.

  "Thanks for returning my call," Ken told him. "Was Mr. Charles Greene indeed your client?"

  "Yes, sir, he was," Stan Michaels said. "I was quite distressed to read of his apparent murder in the newspaper. I tried to call his widow, but haven't been able to reach her. I'd strongly prefer to speak to her first you understand, but I'm happy to help the police in any way I can."

  Ken though some ugly things about lawyers in general but only said, "I need to know if Mr. Greene had a valid will and if so, who inherited and how much?"

  "Indeed he did," Stan told him. "He also had a pre-nuptial agreement with his new wife."

  "OK, I need to know the gist of that as well," Ken said.