November's Past (Larry Macklin Mysteries Book 1)

by A. E. Howe

  “Yes, I know… It’s just hurtful that anyone would think… Miami, I was working at the Rainbow Wind Bar. I know,” he said wearily. “Dumbest name ever. I’m the manager. We do karaoke Mondays. Lots of people saw me.”

  “Sorry I had to ask.” I made a note of the name. I’d have to call down there and verify his alibi. “So you can’t think of any reason someone would want to harm Mark?”

  “No, really, just no. The only person he didn’t get along with was his father. But they hadn’t talked in years. When… Do you know if… I mean, a memorial service?”

  “His parents will be making all of the arrangements. I don’t see why the body can’t be released immediately.”

  “I’ll get the information from his mother.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “I am too,” he said and disconnected us.

  Chapter Eleven

  My watch said six o’clock by the time I’d finished doing paperwork and emails, including sending one to Dahlia thanking her for her help and letting her know that we had found Mark’s family. Ivy was going to be wondering where I was.

  As I passed the front desk on my way out, an older woman, the type who maintains shadows of her beauty well into middle age, was talking to the desk sergeant.

  “I know it’s probably too late to speak with anyone, but I wanted to let Mr. Greene know that I’m in town.” Her face was kind. Her high cheekbones and strong chin were tempered by her soft eyes.

  “He’s working a case for you?” the desk sergeant asked in a disinterested voice.

  “I’m Dell McDonnell. Our house burned down,” she said with an air of sadness.

  I stopped and went over to the desk. “Maybe I can help.” They both looked at me with gratitude.

  “You’re Deputy Greene?” she asked.

  “No, but I’m a… colleague.” I’d almost said friend. “I can take some information and pass it on to him. I’m sure he’ll contact you tomorrow.”

  “That would be great.” She smiled tiredly. “I drove down from Georgia and I’m exhausted.”

  “Come on in and sit down, and we can talk for a minute.” She followed me back to a small conference room just past the sheriff’s office.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said, sitting down at the table. “Mr. Greene said on the phone that it was probably arson? Why would someone do that?”

  “Honestly, we can’t say that it’s arson yet. It can be very tricky determining whether the fire was set or if something like newspapers or rags spontaneously combusted. It didn’t appear to be an electrical fire. We’ve sent samples off to the lab. They’ll check them for signs of any accelerant, gasoline, kerosene, something like that. The fact that no one was living there is the primary reason we suspect arson.”

  “I had cleaned out most of the junk that Momma had collected. But there were still photo albums and newspaper clippings. Some clothes. Oh, it’s horrible to think that we’ve lost all of that. I should have cleaned it out after we got Momma up to our place. I just never found the time.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. Can you think of anyone that might have a grudge against your family?”

  She looked surprised by the question. “Really… I… no. No. Momma always got along with her neighbors. Even when she was getting pretty dotty it was always in a nice way. She went to the wrong house a few times, but no one seemed to mind. In fact, I think they were all worried about her. It’s a real nice neighborhood with good people.”

  “Maybe someone from your family’s past?”

  This caused her to look straight into my eyes. “From our past? That seems like an odd question.” Some of the tiredness had left her. I’d definitely gotten her attention.

  “It’s probably an unrelated case, but it’s something else we’re looking into. Do you remember a young man by the name of Mark Kemper?” As soon as I said the name there was a flash of emotion in her eyes, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

  “Well… maybe,” she said, oddly stalling her answer. “I think there was a boy. Might have come around our house some.” Curiouser and curiouser. “Is this Mark Kemper involved in something?” She straightened up in the chair and her hands were now holding each other.

  In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought. “Mark Kemper was found dead the morning after the fire at your house.”

  “But I thought…” She stopped herself. What had she thought? “He’s dead? What happened to him?”

  “He was murdered.” Now there was panic in her eyes. What the hell did she know?

  “If you know anything about this, it’s important that you tell me.” She knew I knew that she knew something.

  “I’m really very tired. I’d rather get some rest right now and I’ll be glad to talk to you and Mr. Greene tomorrow.”

  I put my hands out to her. “Please. This could be very important. A man was murdered.”

  “I have to think. Really, I don’t think I know anything that could help you, but I need some time to think.”

  She got up and seemed confused. All of the exhaustion she’d been feeling before looked like it had doubled and settled down on her shoulders. I know when an interview is over. I opened the door for her and escorted her out of the building.

  “Thank you for talking with me. If you want to talk before tomorrow, just call me. Anytime.” I handed her my card.

  How the hell was I going to explain this to Matt? He was going to be furious. The worst part was I knew he had every right to be pissed. Getting in my car, I decided I’d wait and talk to him first thing in the morning.

  At home, Ivy wove in and out of my legs, almost tripping me as I fed her dinner. She purred and ate as I fixed myself a bowl of soup. After the wet, cold and depressing day I’d had, I needed something warm.

  I started to reread William Manchester’s The Glory and the Dream and fell asleep thinking about the trials and tribulations of the greatest generation.

  Before I even left the house in the morning I texted Matt: Talked to Dell McDonnell. Let’s meet and discuss. The response was fast and succinct: See you in 30.

  He was waiting for me in the lobby.

  “In here,” he said. I followed him to the same conference room where I’d talked to Dell.

  I hadn’t gotten the door closed when he started yelling.

  “What the hell? Didn’t you understand what I said the other day? What’d I say? Stay the hell away from my case. That’s it. Just ’cause your daddy’s the sheriff doesn’t give you the right to step the crap all over my work.”

  I let him blow off steam then said as calmly as I could, “I explained that our cases might be linked.”

  “Go to hell and you can take your damn link.” Okay, letting off steam might not be enough. This might turn into a full-on boiler explosion.

  “You weren’t here. I saw her at the desk when I was leaving and offered to talk to her. That’s all.”

  “No, that’s not all, you…” He pulled back on the last insult, which I took as a good sign.

  “You could have called me or texted me. I would have come back,” he said.

  Unfortunately I knew that to be true. Matt worked his cases and actually was much more committed to the job than I ever was or probably ever would be. I held up my hands in surrender. For a minute I thought I might have made a huge mistake when he pulled back and started to throw a punch at my face. But he didn’t follow through and that seemed to break the fever. Now he was just pacing back and forth.

  “Okay, screw you. What’d she say?”

  “She didn’t know anything about the fire and didn’t know of any enemies that she or her family had.” Now I had to decide whether I told him about her reaction to my victim’s name. I was starting to feel guilty for not giving him the first chance to question her. “There was one thing.”

  Matt looked me square in the eyes for the first time. I went on. “She reacted strongly when I mentioned my vi
ctim’s name and told her that he’d been murdered the night of the fire.”

  “So you said that he was an old friend of the family? Couldn’t she have been upset to find out that a friend had died?”

  “Yeah, but right before that I’d asked her if she knew a Mark Kemper and she acted like she wanted to deny it.”

  He cocked his head to one side, a habit he had when he was thinking about something. “Okay, maybe, and I mean a very big maybe, there is some kind of link here. You think he started the fire and then someone killed him?”

  “The timing is close. It might be possible. Or maybe my shooter started the fire and then shot Kemper. Though that seems odd. Kemper doesn’t even live in the state. How and why would the shooter entice Kemper here to shoot him? Why do it on the same night as the fire?”

  “Usually if you have a murder and a fire, the fire is set to cover up the murder,” he said didactically.

  “But you see the reasoning behind thinking the two might be linked?”

  “Maybe. I’ll talk to Dell McDonnell and see what I can get.”

  “She had more to say about my victim, that’s for sure. I’d like to be present when you interview her.”

  He looked like he was going to give me a snappy answer, but reconsidered. “Okay, but I take the lead.” Matt was a good investigator and I was seeing that he could put his feelings aside for a case.

  “Appreciate that,” I said, trying to cover the hatchet over with as much dirt as possible.

  Matt said he’d get up with her and let me know when they would meet.

  In the meantime, I decided to take care of some paperwork and then go out and find my new confidential informant, one Mister Eddie Thompson.

  Pete was working a couple of his cases and cleaning up the paperwork. I interrupted long enough to give him the short version of where we were on the Kemper case.

  “Those two cases tied together… how awkward for you and Matt,” he said, smiling as he took a break from his computer to grab a piece of leftover Halloween candy from another investigator’s desk.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said, rubbing my middle finger against the side of my head and making sure that he saw the motion.

  “Love you, kid. Now I have grown-up work to do,” Pete said, wheeling back to his computer.

  “I’m going out. Call me if you need anything.”

  On my way out to my car I tried calling Eddie and got his voicemail.

  “Eddie, this is your new best friend calling. I’d like to talk about our partnership. Call me or I’ll find you.”

  I drove out to AmMex. If he was there he’d see that I was serious about hunting him down. I wouldn’t make contact there, but I wanted him to know that I wasn’t fooling around.

  The wind had shifted out of the north. The skies were clearing and the temperature dropping. I didn’t see him as I drove through the parking lot, but less than ten minutes later my phone rang.

  “What are you doing, man? I told you I’d call. We can’t be seen together.”

  “This long-distance relationship isn’t working for me.”

  “I’ve heard things. Seriously. I’m trying to follow up.”

  “I want something soon, or I’m going to haul your panty-clad ass into jail.”

  “That’s not cool, man.”

  “What’s not cool is making a bargain and not holding up your end. You need to feed me something. I’m getting hungry and when I get hungry I’m not always careful about what I eat. Get me?” I was actually enjoying the bad cop dialogue.

  “Whatever. I’ll get up with you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t screw me over.” I hung up on him.

  My phone rang again and for a minute I thought Eddie was calling me back to engage in more cops-and-robbers talk. But then I saw it was Matt and figured he was calling about a meeting with Dell. He was, but it wasn’t exactly how I imagined.

  “I’m at the Roads Best Motel at the interstate. You need to come down here now.” The tone of his voice made it clear that asking questions would just be a waste of time.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I made tracks to the motel, turning up my dispatch radio as I drove. I’d gotten into the bad habit of turning it down when I was talking on the phone and not bothering to turn it back up. I called in to the office and told them where I was heading. Listening to the radio, I had a good idea what I was going to find when I got there.

  Crime scene vans from our department and the state blocked a section of the motel’s parking lot. Yellow crime scene tape was strewn here and there, marking off different areas to be photographed, videotaped and searched for evidence.

  Matt’s short dark form stood by the railing on the second floor. He didn’t turn to look at me as I walked up the metal and concrete steps.

  He pulled his coat in tight against the north wind and said, “Two motels at the interstate and she had to pick the cheap-ass one that doesn’t have interior hallways or working security cameras. What’d she save, twenty dollars? Jesus.”

  I had nothing to add to that so I walked around him and went to the door of room 225 and peered inside. The body lay on the bed, still dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing when I saw her the night before. The only thing different was that her forehead and face were a bloody pulp. I tried to see if she still had her fingers, though I couldn’t imagine why the killer would have taken the fingers of Mrs. McDonnell.

  “The fingers are there, honey,” Shantel said when she saw me looking at the corpse. She looked like a strange doll dressed in her disposable crime scene protection clothing. “And get your hair-shedding, nasty head back outside that door. It comes in here, it better be wearing something to protect my crime scene. Or it will be looking like hers.” She waved at Dell’s bloody and battered head. I dutifully took my head out of the doorway and walked back over to Matt.

  “Guess we have a murder case now.”

  He turned and looked at me for the first time. “Unless you want to fight about it.”

  “If I fought you, it would be to give you both Kemper’s and McDonnell’s cases,” I told him.

  “No, thanks. ’Sides, you were right on the arson crossover.”

  I almost fell over from shock. Matt Greene said I was right!

  “So how do you want to do this?” I threw it out there because I knew he must be considering the options too.

  “Yeah, we need to come up with a system so we aren’t stepping all over each other’s dicks.”

  We weren’t partner material, so working too closely was out. “Look, we can create an interview list together. Divide it up, each taking a share. If we come up with a possible suspect, we interview him or her together.”

  “Yeah, that’s part of it. How about the direction of the investigation?”

  “We need to come to an agreement. If we can’t, we present our competing ideas to Lt. Johnson and he decides.”

  “Okay, we’ll try that. Might work,” he said without conviction.

  “All we can do is try.”

  “One more thing… Don’t let that donut-swilling partner of yours get near me.”

  I didn’t say anything in response to that. Defending Pete to Matt wouldn’t do any good. There was some serious bad blood there. Five years ago, when Matt was still on the road, he had made a routine traffic stop. The driver of the car came out with a gun before Matt was all the way out of his patrol car. I’ve seen the video from Matt’s patrol car, and the speed with which it all went down was terrifying. Matt fell over backward, trying to draw his gun and put distance between himself and the shooter. Unfortunately, as Matt went down he lost control of his handgun and it went flying across the asphalt into the darkness.

  At that point all Matt could do was run like hell. Since he was young and fast, and the shooter was stupid and drunk, Matt didn’t get shot. But he was screaming for help over his radio, begging for assistance. When help finally arrived the suspect was found sitting in his ca
r with an empty revolver. He dropped the gun when told to, which is the only reason he made it to trial.

  But the animosity between Pete and Matt stemmed from the investigation into the incident. Dad appointed three senior officers to review the event in order to come up with recommendations to ensure that our deputies wouldn’t be caught in a similar situation. As part of the investigation, a timeline of the locations of all deputies on duty that night was created. As it turned out, the nearest deputy to the incident was Pete, who didn’t have his radio turned up loud enough to hear Matt’s screams for help. He had called in that he was going on break, but most deputies keep their radios on loud enough to at least hear when something really bad is going down. Pete, however, was in a conversation with one of the locals at the donut shop up the road and never heard the “officer in trouble” call.

  Matt had had a vendetta against Pete ever since. The mere idea that while he was scrambling for his life Pete was eating donuts right up the road made it impossible for Matt to even acknowledge Pete whenever they passed in the hall. Pete took it pretty hard at first, feeling guilty. But how long can you feel bad? Matt didn’t get hurt and Pete learned a lesson. But Matt couldn’t let it go.

  “Flip you a coin to see who calls the husband.” Matt was completely serious.

  “No, I talked to her last night. Naturally, he’ll want to know about our meeting. I’ll do it.”

  Matt nodded. He pulled out his phone and found some notes he’d made. “You want to do it now?”

  I sighed and nodded. He held the phone up so I could see the number. “That’s the number I reached her at. It’s a landline, so it must be their home number.”

  I dialed it on my phone and waited, thinking about what Mr. Canfield said about Dell caring for her mother. Who was going to take care of her now? After a few rings, Mr. McDonnell answered. I made sure that he wasn’t alone—a daughter was there with him helping to take care of Dell’s mother. Maybe that answered that question. I told him what had happened as sparingly as possible. He took it as well as anyone can when they get devastating news. I ended up speaking to the daughter, who seemed almost too calm and managed to ask the right questions. Arrangements would be made. Someone would come down, etc., etc. Finally it was over. I put the phone back on my hip.