The Claudia Hershey Mysteries - Box Set: Three Claudia Hershey Mysteries

by Laura Belgrave

  Claudia quietly secured her weapon but kept an eye on him while he poured water into the carafe. Raynor was of average height and weight, and looked about sixty years old. Three or four days’ growth of whisker covered his face, except where a jagged scar ran from his left ear to his chin. He was scratching at it, as if aware she was examining him. He turned on the coffee pot, then sat at the table and leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get right to it, shall we? Wanda Farr. Dead in her bathtub. That’s what I hear and it don’t surprise me one iota. It don’t depress me, neither. She was a blight on the face of the earth, her and those scrawny cats of hers.”

  “You had a lot of run-ins with her over the years, Mr. Raynor.”

  “Yup. And I mighta eventually got around to killing her myself if she didn’t do me the favor of drowning first.” He slammed forward in his chair. “That why you’re here? You think I sneaked into her trailer and held her head under water until her face turned blue?”

  Claudia held his eyes. “Did you?”

  “Nope.” Raynor hooted. “There ain’t a thing in the world that woulda ever possessed me to be in a situation where I’d have to see that old bat naked. Just imagin’ her without clothes is enough to give me a heart attack. Nope. If I was gonna kill her, I’d shoot her or set my dogs on her. Truth be told, drowning was too good for her.”

  “That’s sick!” Booey said suddenly. The second the words were out, his eyes widened, registering surprise at his own outburst.

  Raynor sneered and leaned in close to him, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth. “What’s ‘sick’, son, is that she ever got born at all.”

  “All right, enough.” Claudia glared at Booey briefly, then turned her attention back to Raynor. “Look, let’s get back on track here. Tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to in the last couple of days. Try not to make anything up.”

  “This is just conversation, right?”

  “Unless you think it needs to be something more.”

  Raynor tilted back on his chair again, seemed to consider that. “Nah. I got nothin’ to hide.” He pursed his lips, stared at the ceiling. “Last couple of days? I been here. Couple of days before that? Here again. Today? Still here. I got an old truck out back, but unless I need to stock up on anything, it don’t go nowhere and neither do I. The dogs are all the company I need.”

  “You’ve had no occasion to be at Wanda Farr’s trailer?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not outside it? Not inside it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not ever?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not even for a neighborly drink?”

  “Hah! Good one! But nope to that, too.”

  “No reason to chase any of her cats back to her place?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you see anyone in the area who doesn’t belong?”

  “Nope.”

  “So I guess you just aren’t in a position to be very helpful, are you, Mr. Raynor?”

  “It’s startin’ to sound that way.”

  “Okay.” Claudia stood to go.

  “Aw, you’re really leavin’ so soon? I haven’t even poured the coffee yet.”

  “I told you we wouldn’t be staying. But maybe another time.” She smiled thinly. “Maybe soon.”

  Side by side, she and Booey walked a straight line to the car, the eyes of the silent dogs on them the whole way.

  Chapter 7

  The overnight complaints were blessedly routine. No deaths. No arrests. Claudia sipped coffee and thumbed through the reports while she waited for Carella and Moody to come in off the road, quickly calculating which reports might require follow-up. The smashed window? No. Loud stereo? No. The stolen cable converter box—likely; there’d been a rash of them lately. Overturned garbage cans along Pine Grove Avenue? No. Husband-wife dispute called in by a neighbor? Probably not, at least not this time. The responding officer noted that the couple were lip-locked and cooing at each other by the time he arrived.

  Claudia put a fingertip to her lips and thought darkly about Brian. That groping, that grappling . . . it had to be the wine. Of course. The wine, the stress of an absurd day, the music—all of it conspired against her, left her vulnerable, just vulnerable enough to long for a soft touch, a physical release, a . . .

  Yeah. Right.

  She shoved the reports to the side of her desk. Robin didn’t know. That’s all that mattered. She and Brian were already dressed and at the kitchen table when she woke up, and if Robin had anything on her mind at all, it was the kitten, which she scooped into her arms the moment she surfaced. She looked at the kitten’s food bowl, then at Claudia.

  “You didn’t even feed it yet,” she said accusingly. “How could you forget?”

  “I didn’t forget. Look. There’s still some dry food in his bowl.”

  “You’re supposed to top it off.” Robin scowled and muttered something undecipherable, then busied herself at the bowl, the kitten winding around her legs.

  Brian took over then, smoothly stepping in to tell Robin about the vacation he and Claudia had worked out. Robin shook a triumphant fist in the air. “Yes!” she said. “Yes!” She threw her arms around Brian, and then, a little uncertainly, around her mother.

  Claudia realized with a pang that she already knew. Oh, she didn’t know the details, but she knew, or at least she wasn’t surprised. Had Brian drawn her into a conspiracy? Would he stoop that low? Or had he just dropped hints?

  Robin pleaded to take the kitten with them, and Claudia won a small measure of satisfaction watching Brian play the heavy, telling her no, it just wasn’t practical, not for them or the kitten. For a minute, it looked like Robin might decline going at all—Claudia could practically feel her waver, hoped desperately that she would—but finally she relented and turned her attention to her mother once more with a lecture on how best to take care of the kitten.

  “Please don’t give him a name while I’m gone, all right?”

  “I won’t.”

  “Promise? The thing is, kittens learn names fast and I want to be the one to teach him one.” Robin’s voice softened. “Is that all right, Mom?”

  Claudia pushed a lock of hair from her daughter’s face. “It’s more than all right. He’s all yours. I’ll just keep him healthy and safe for you. Promise.”

  There wasn’t much else to say, nor was there time. Claudia had to go to work, leaving Brian and Robin to pack and lock up. They’d probably drive as far as Tallahassee and then stop for the night. Good road trip, the kind she would’ve enjoyed making herself.

  Laughter in the multipurpose room jarred her from her musings. Carella and Moody were in and high-fiving about something at the coffee pot. Carella turned when he spotted her walking toward them.

  “Hey, Lieutenant. Sally radioed us, spewed some codes I couldn’t figure out and said you needed us for something?”

  She nodded. “Let’s get with the chief. He’s expecting us.” They waited while she refilled her own coffee cup, then followed her to Suggs’s office.

  The chief waved them to chairs. “Where’s Booey, Hershey?”

  “I don’t know. He told Sally he had an errand to run. I was on the phone. Didn’t talk to him myself.”

  Suggs grunted. “All right, what’s on your mind that you needed us all together in the middle of a shift?”

  “Wanda Farr.”

  “Now why am I not surprised?”

  “It’s looking more and more like she didn’t drown on her own.”

  “Uh-huh. We don’t even have an autopsy yet, but you know that for a fact?”

  “Not for a fact. Not yet.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  “Because the crime scene report shows that John Raynor’s fingerprints are all over the glass that was on the edge of Farr’s bathtub. Because I saw a glass just like it in his own cupboard.”

  Claudia watched Suggs’ facial muscles working whil
e he absorbed what she’d said. She took the opportunity to bring Moody and Carella up to speed, pleased to see them take detailed notes. She was almost finished recounting her visit to Raynor’s trailer when the chief interrupted.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “Raynor’s a low-life. I’ll give you that. And he hated Farr—that’s no secret—but nothin’ in his history shows this man to be a killer.” Suggs scratched at his head. “We’re forever hearin’ that he puts together cockfights—rumor is he’s workin’ to arrange one now—but cockfights aren’t exactly a high priority and he stays away from anything that would be a high priority. So what’ve we actually got on him over the years that could stick? A couple bar fights? A drunk and disorderly?”

  “That’s about right,” said Claudia. She scanned her notes. “He’s kept animal control plenty busy and yeah, we’ve been out to his place with some regularity, but he hasn’t butted heads with us in any really serious way for several years.”

  “That’s what I don’t get, because it sounds like what you’re tellin’ me is that a guy who’s been nothin’ but your basic schoolyard bully has suddenly turned into a bona fide killer. He wakes up one day and—what? What are you shakin’ your head for?”

  “I wish it were that simple.” Claudia leafed through her file and pulled out the crime scene report. “Personally, I think Raynor’s more than a bully, and to me he looks better than most for Farr’s murder—”

  “If it was a murder,” said Suggs.

  “Right. If. But it might not have been him at all. And if it was, then he might not have been acting alone.” She slid the report across the desk to Suggs. “There were three sets of fingerprints on the glass. Farr’s, Raynor’s and an unknown. Routine analysis didn’t pull enough detail on the third print to give us a name.”

  Suggs glanced at the report, then leaned back in his chair. “So this would another of your ‘incongruities,’ huh?”

  “That’s right,” Claudia said evenly. “It’s enough of one to merit more investigation. That’s why I wanted Mitch and Emory here. If Farr was murdered, then we’re already moving way too slow. I need them to talk to the other people who live out by Farr and Raynor. We need to learn more about Wanda Farr’s last couple of days alive—who she saw, where she went, what she did.”

  “Lieutenant?”

  Claudia looked to Moody. “Isn’t it possible that Farr had some company over? What if someone else came by with a bottle of booze and poured her a shot? And Raynor’s glass—she could’ve come by that a couple of different ways. Right?”

  “Damn good questions,” Suggs murmured.

  “Agreed,” Claudia said. “And that’s the point. We have more assumptions than we do facts. We can’t shift the balance if we don’t pick at her lifestyle. That takes questions.”

  Carella snorted. “Yeah, like for starters, what’s up with that old woman taking a bath in the first place? Don’t get me wrong. It was sad, what with her plowing through garbage cans and all, but she wasn’t exactly a sympathetic character and she most definitely wasn’t particular about hygiene.”

  They hammered at the case for another thirty minutes, splitting up assignments and working out a schedule that wouldn’t cripple regular patrol duties. On the books, the case remained a “suspicious death,” not a homicide. That suited Claudia fine. For now, anyway, it would get the same investigative treatment, and if they were wrong—if she was wrong—then backing off would be easier for Suggs to explain to a critical town council.

  As they filed out of Suggs’s office, the chief stopped her for a second. “So Hershey, here we go again, eh? I’m back out on a limb with you, just like last year.”

  Claudia sighed. She was about to give him her take on metaphors when he suddenly grimaced and doubled over, clutching at the side of his desk. Papers cascaded from the top, jarring her into action. She got to his side a heartbeat before he straightened again and irritably waved her off.

  “Whoa,” she said. “What was that? Are you okay?”

  “I’m all right, I’m all right,” he said thickly.

  “You sure? Because you really don’t look all right. Your color’s off and—”

  “I said I’m all right. Just somethin’ bad I ate.”

  “Yeah, but it might not hurt you to see a doctor. You’ve—”

  “Back off,” he snapped. “I already got a wife.”

  Perspiration beaded the chief’s forehead, but he was slowly pinking up again. Claudia nodded. “On the Farr case, I’ll keep you posted on a daily basis,” she said, then turned and headed outside for a quick cigarette. She bet he was fanning himself with a file folder the second her back was turned.

  * * *

  He didn’t say where he’d gone and she didn’t ask. But she did fill him in on the meeting he’d missed, then left him at her computer to check a few files while she settled into an outside desk to make calls. He seemed uncharacteristically quiet, but of course his world had been turned upside down in just a few days. Maybe he would decide to cut short his stint with her. Claudia thought about that. Booey was all right, more or less, but she couldn’t say she’d miss him if he decided to bail. No, she couldn’t say that.

  She picked up the phone and dialed Barbara Becker’s house. When she tried earlier, no one had picked up. This time she let it ring a long time. Mrs. Becker was slowed by arthritis and getting to the phone might take Herculean effort. But even after a dozen rings, no one responded and Claudia gave it up. She looked at her notes and tried the medical examiner’s office next. No surprise, there; the Farr autopsy still wasn’t scheduled. As for the Becker autopsy, they’d let her know.

  Claudia drummed her fingers on the desktop. There came a time during any investigation when time stood so still you could watch dust settle. People weren’t home. No one answered phones. Computers were down. The world would not be rushed. Then again, there was someone she could almost always find at home—Dennis. He lived there. He worked there. He didn’t filter incoming calls. Claudia felt a rush of by-now familiar guilt as she began to dial.

  Don’t think about Brian, about what you did.

  She paused midway through dialing and hung up. She shook her head and doodled on a file cover for a second, then irritably snatched the phone again and punched in his number—all of it. The line was busy.

  Enough. Claudia stood and stretched, fidgety. She gathered her files and went to collect Booey. “You involved in anything that can’t wait?” she asked.

  “Not really. NCIC just went down and—”

  “Good. Let’s go. We’ll grab some lunch and swing by Barbara Becker’s house. On the way there—and I can hardly believe I’m thinking this at all—but on the way over I might just lose my mind and run into Radio Shack to pick up a cell phone.” She smiled. “I suspect I happen to know someone who could help me pick out a decent model and teach me how to use it.”

  “Sure!” Booey brightened. “And actually? If you don’t want to wait on this person, I could probably show you myself.”

  Claudia just looked at him. “Booey, Booey, Booey . . .”

  They headed out, Booey’s “what? what?” setting cadence to their footsteps all the way to the car.

  Chapter 8

  In the light of day, the Becker house showed off an imposing structure obscured by shadow the night before. Claudia remembered steering past a fountain that rose from the middle of the Beckers’ circular driveway, but the fountain had been turned off and she paid it scant attention. Now, with water springing from it in an intricate display of choreography, she slowed the car to get a better look.

  “Do you know what kind of amazing electronics must be behind that thing?” Booey said, immediately scrambling for his digital camera. “It’s awesome!”

  “I don’t know about electronics, but I can guess at what kind of amazing money,” Claudia replied. “Put that thing away, Booey. This isn’t a field trip.”

  “Sorry.”

  She pulled up to the house—estate, really—and
parked behind a Jaguar. Claudia had tested her new cell phone by trying to reach Barbara Becker on the drive over, but still with no results. She hoped the Jag signaled that the widow was in now.

  “Look at the size of this place!” Booey said, loping beside her to the front door. “It must have, like, eight-thousand square feet—maybe even ten.”

  There was no point in telling him not to gush. His expression registered his thoughts before they ever reached his mouth. Claudia ignored him and rang the bell. She heard it chime inside and stood back a foot to make herself clearly visible through the peephole. A few moments later the door opened to reveal a tall, bearded man in jeans and a rumpled sports jacket. His hair was dark and pulled back in a tight ponytail. She couldn’t see his eyes, which were concealed by sunglasses with a dark purple tint. He didn’t say “hello.” He didn’t say “Can I help you?” He just stood there. Claudia identified herself and introduced Booey, then asked for Mrs. Becker.

  “She’s not taking calls or seeing visitors today,” the man said.

  “I’m here on official business. We won’t be here long.”

  “I’ll let her know you came by. She’ll call you later.”

  “I’m sorry, but I need to see her now.”

  The man shrugged. “Can’t help you.”

  “And you are—?”

  Before he could answer, Claudia saw Mrs. Becker coming up behind him.

  “It’s all right, Aaron. Let them in,” she said. “I should’ve mentioned they might be stopping by.”

  The man gave her a dubious look, then held the door open for Claudia and Booey to enter. As she did the night before, Mrs. Becker leaned lightly on a cane, but she looked rested and spoke in a clear voice when she greeted them. Claudia felt heartened. Perhaps they could get this over quickly.

  “Aaron’s been a real sweetheart,” Mrs. Becker said. She patted his arm. “He’s my neighbor’s son and I’ve had him running errands. He’s quite wonderful.”