November's Past (Larry Macklin Mysteries Book 1)

by A. E. Howe

  After I had time to recover from the call, Matt turned to me. “This one,” he said.

  “What?”

  “He or she planned the first murder so they were careful. There’s no real evidence at the arson either, but this murder… This looks sloppy. The killer didn’t have time to think about how he was going to do it. He might have known on his way over here, but he didn’t have a lot of time to get organized. So McDonnell’s murder is the best chance of finding good evidence.”

  “That makes sense.” Evidence found at the scene is one way to find a suspect. “But I think we need to find the motive. These are three very different crimes, yet we know that they’re linked. So if we can find the person who had a motive to commit all three of them, that will give us a prime suspect. Then we can look for the evidence to link him to the crime scenes.”

  Matt nodded. “I’ll follow up on the evidence, including going back over the crime scene at the warehouse and all the material collected there. You go over all the people who have a connection to the three crimes. We’ll see who comes up with a suspect first.” He seemed almost pleased at the idea of us engaging in some type of mano a mano contest of skills. Whatever.

  “Sure.” I heard gunshots. It was Dad’s ringtone on my phone.

  “Jesus, dumbass.” Matt had flinched when the ringtone went off.

  “Hello,” I said to my dad.

  “Yeah, so you let another person get murdered.” That was Dad’s sense of humor. “Understand from Johnson that there’s a connection between the Kemper murder and this one. But this one is also connected to Matt’s arson? When you’re done at the crime scene, come in and tell me where we are on these.” This was an order.

  “Greene’s here so I can come now if you want.”

  “Good.”

  I hung up and told Matt that the sheriff wanted an update. “You can do it if you want,” I said seriously.

  “No.” I could tell that he wanted to make a snide remark in a nepotistic vein, but was resisting the urge with difficulty.

  “Call if you need anything,” I said sincerely.

  I was escorted right into Dad’s office. I dropped down on one of the two leather-bound chairs that face his Olympic-size desk. The desk was mostly covered with awards and trinkets from junkets. There was a small pile of files on current cases, a keyboard and a monitor. He glanced up when I sat down. He knew better than to expect me to stand at his desk as though I wasn’t his son and hadn’t seen him a thousand times shuffling around in his robe or snoring away on the sofa.

  “Two real murders.” I knew that by “real” he meant “not drug related.” “Do we have a suspect?”

  “We don’t even have suspects plural,” I told him and received a frown in return.

  “Neither of the victims actually lived here now, right?” He was hopeful that he could spin this as non-county residents being killed by non-county residents… Nothing for a voter to be concerned about. He took his job of protecting the citizens of the county very seriously, but there was a part of him that resented people from outside the county coming here and committing crimes or being a victim. He thought they were purposely trying to screw up his crime rate.

  “Both lived out of state, but as you know they both have roots here in the county.”

  Another frown. “Do we need to devote more resources to this?” That was Dad-speak for If you can’t handle this, I’ll find someone who can.

  “I think Matt and I can do this.”

  “Can you two work together?”

  “We’ll put ‘kick me’ signs on each other’s backs every chance we get, but I think we can put most of our differences aside long enough to solve these murders and the arson.”

  “Are we definitely thinking that it’s a single perp?”

  “I’m ninety-nine percent sure.”

  “Greene agree with you?” Dad-speak for I don’t trust you. Tell me what someone I do trust thinks.

  “Yes. He does now.”

  “Oh, yeah, you thought there was a link between your murder and his arson in the first place.” Dad-speak for I can’t believe a dumbass like you managed to be right for once. “One more thing. Don’t talk to the press. Have them call my office if they want any information.”

  “Sure. I’ll pass that along to Matt.”

  “He’s not dumb enough to talk to the press.” Boy, the implication there was clear. Finally he said, “Okay.” Which was sheriff-speak for Go away.

  “Nice chat. How’s everything going in your life?” I said. He ignored the sarcasm.

  “Mauser seemed a little gimpy on his front leg this morning.”

  “I could take him to the vet,” I offered too quickly.

  He put down the papers he’d been holding and looked me square in the face for the first time since I’d come into the office. “Why are you in such a hurry to take Mauser to the vet?”

  “Trying to help, that’s all,” I said. He didn’t believe a word of it.

  He went back to the report he was reading and I went to the door. Once outside his office, though, I turned around and knocked.

  “What?” came his standard reply. I opened the door and walked back in. Dad gave me a look between What the hell? and Why the hell? “Forget something?”

  “Actually, Sheriff, I need to ask you a few questions.” I caught him short by calling him Sheriff.

  Off guard, he asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “I went out and came back in in an effort to get us into investigator/interviewee mode, separate from the father/son thing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, we talked about you knowing the Daniels family.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you recognize the name Mark Kemper?”

  He sat back, looking at me. “Should I?” He was interested now.

  “Mark Kemper used to hang out at the Daniels house too.”

  “Really.” He got a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Maybe.”

  “He would have been younger than most of you by about two or three years. Blond hair.”

  “Dressed nice all the time. Real polite. Yeah, I do remember. That’s your other dead body?”

  “Yes.”

  “Strange.”

  “Mark, the house and Dell. They have to be linked, and you and your gang are probably part of the connection.”

  “That’s a stretch, but I can certainly see where you’re coming from. Interesting.”

  “So where were you last night?” I said it calmly with the same seriousness I would have asked any suspect.

  He narrowed his eyes. “I guess you have the right to ask. Well, Deputy, I was at home most of the evening. I got two calls from the duty officer. One was about the detention of an inebriated county commissioner who had attempted to get in his car and drive, but was detained, first by the owner of the bar, who had called us when the commissioner became violent with him, then by one of our deputies who suffered much verbal abuse from the commissioner. The other call was about a break-in at the hardware store on Main. They wanted authorization to call in some off-duty officers to help track the suspects who were on the run through a residential neighborhood. There will be a record of both calls.”

  “Handled through your cell phone?”

  “Yes. Except for the two calls, my only alibi is Mauser. Now on the first night, I was at a meeting of the Chamber of Commerce and didn’t leave until after midnight. So that should clear me of the first murder.” Amazingly, he said this without any sarcasm.

  “Do you have any idea what the connection between these three events could be?”

  “No. I’m trying to think of who else hung out there. Of course it might not have to do with that time period. You’re going to have to do some digging to find out if there is another time when all three elements came together.

  “Let’s see… Of course there was Jim, Margret, Dell and me. The four of us made up the core group. Mark started hanging around when Jim, Margret and I wer
e in our senior year. Dell was one year younger, so she must have been a junior. You can eliminate Mr. and Mrs. Daniels. He’s dead and she has dementia. A couple of other kids came around some. I mentioned Fred, but he’s dead too. There was a guy, David, big fella, played football. He left as soon as the girls made it clear that neither of them was interested in him. I’ve got my yearbooks at the house. I’ll go through them and see what other names I can get you.”

  His interest was piqued and he wasn’t pissed that I’d been a little snarky about him being a suspect. It was a good time to leave. “I’ll come by this evening and we can go through them.”

  “Sounds good,” he said and I headed for the door, leaving him visiting the past and looking dreamy.

  I went to my desk and called Tim Devries. “How’s your dad?” I asked.

  “Same. Not good. Hey, don’t worry, I haven’t gotten into any more fights with my sister.”

  “That wasn’t why I was calling. I need your mother’s phone number.” I don’t think I sounded demanding, but even over the phone I could tell he bowed up a little.

  “Why?”

  “There was a murder last night and another one a week ago. Oddly, your father, mine and your mother knew both of the victims. I just need to talk to her and see if she knows anyone that might have wanted them dead.”

  “She might not answer. The woman is almost always on some shopping spree or getting a spa treatment or some other expensive crap. And honestly doesn’t give a damn about anybody but herself.” It sounded like he was trying to convince me not to bother calling her.

  “I’m going to give it a try.”

  “I’ll have to get the number.” More stalling?

  “It isn’t on your phone?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I don’t talk to her very often. Hold on, I’ll look.” Silence for a minute and then he rattled off the number while I wrote it down.

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah,” he said and hung up.

  I decided to wait before calling Margret Devries. I wanted to have my questions well thought out. I looked over at Matt’s desk and saw the arson file was sitting on top of a pile of reports. I had the right to look at it now, so I went over and picked it up, brought it back to my desk and started reading through it again. There were a few more notes and another preliminary report from the state fire marshal’s office.

  The fire seemed like the outlier. Explain why the house had to be burned down, and we might have a line on a suspect. The fire appeared to have started near a chest of drawers filled with photos and old papers. Was someone trying to destroy the papers? If you believed that the fire could have started naturally, then it made some sense that it started where there were old papers that could have spontaneously ignited. Once the fire started, flashover occurred within the first ten minutes. Not unusual. No obvious indications of an accelerant, but they were still waiting on lab tests. Blah, blah, blah.

  The only thing that might mean anything was where the fire started. I decided to make my third trip out to the house. Heading out the door, I almost bumped into Pete coming in.

  “You busy?”

  He looked toward his desk. “Why?”

  “I’m heading out to the arson site. Want to ride along?”

  It didn’t take him long to decide that riding around with me would be better than facing the reports on his desk.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Outside the north wind was strong and cold. The weathermen were saying this was going to be the coldest weather so far this year.

  First, I swung by the newest crime scene. They were just finishing up. Matt had gone for lunch. Unfortunately they hadn’t found any big clues like a dropped phone, watch or a lost coat button. But since it was a motel room they’d found a ton of latent prints and hair and fiber evidence that would have to be sorted through.

  At the site of the arson, Pete waited outside the ruins while I stumbled through the burned-out hulk, trying to identify where the reports indicated the fire had started. I knew nothing about fires. I had never wanted to be a fireman. The idea of running toward a burning building always struck me as insane. While I wasn’t too keen on the job I had and arguably wasn’t that good at it, I could not imagine fighting fires for a living. They are braver men than me.

  Finally I found the suspected ignition spot. The chest of drawers was almost completely destroyed, but picking through the pieces I found scraps of paper and old pictures that had managed to survive the worst of the fire. Nothing was very legible. You could tell that they were bills, newspaper clippings or remains of photographs, but nothing more. It seemed that a mish-mash of memorabilia had been stored here. I even found part of an old passport. Dell might have made some sense of it, but I certainly couldn’t. Was that one of the reasons she had been killed?

  “Nice neighborhood,” Pete said as I climbed out of the wreckage.

  “There is, or was, something rotten in Denmark,” I said. “I’m pretty sure something that started here has ended in two murders.”

  “Weird when you look around. It looks like any other neighborhood.”

  “That’s what’s so terrifying. It is like any other neighborhood.

  “There’s an old guy who lives a block over. Korean War vet, he’s got a silver and two bronze stars. I help him out sometimes. He’s been living here for a long time. Might know something. At least he could point out other old-timers. I’ll follow up on any leads he gives me.”

  “Works for me.”

  “I come up with anything, you probably won’t want to let Matt know where the lead came from,” he said remorsefully.

  “Sooner or later you two are going to have to settle the issue.”

  “Last time I tried, I thought he was going to slug me. You know, I’d really feel bad if I had to Taser his ass.” Pete shook his head. “It’s not just ’cause I was at the donut shop. He’s projecting a lot of his anger onto me because he was embarrassed that he lost his gun and had to run into the woods.”

  “You’re right. But I wouldn’t point that out to him,” I said, shaking my head.

  Later, I found Matt doing paperwork on the McDonnell murder. He didn’t have any more info than what I got from the crime techs earlier. Tomorrow he planned on sitting in on the autopsy. Which, contrary to TV, is not something we routinely do. But Matt had a background in medicine and spent time taking courses in forensic studies. Honestly, if he wasn’t such a prick he’d be working for a much bigger agency. He’d applied to the FBI and the DEA. He never told us where the application processes broke down, but I’ve always believed it was the interviews. I could almost feel sorry for him.

  It was almost five o’clock. I decided that I wanted to tackle Margret Devries before I went home. Half hoping I’d get her voicemail, I dialed the number Tim gave me. She picked up on the third ring.

  “Who is this?” Who answers their phone like that? As sweet as her sister’s voice had been, Margret’s was grating.

  “This is Deputy Larry Macklin, I’m calling about…”

  “About time someone from your office called me. My sister’s husband has already informed me of her murder. Why wasn’t I called?”

  “It isn’t customary for us to call all of the deceased’s relatives.” I already didn’t like her… at all. Not one bit.

  “I want to speak with the sheriff.”

  “I’m one of the officers investigating your sister’s murder.”

  “Why isn’t the sheriff taking the lead?” Her voice was rising with every question she asked and every unsatisfactory answer she received.

  I wanted to say because he has more important things to do. But that wouldn’t have been the honest answer, and it wouldn’t have been the right answer to give to someone you were planning on interviewing. So I dug deep for a response that wouldn’t sink any opportunity at cooperation from Mrs. Devries. “He is overseeing this case. Sheriff Macklin is personally involved with every important case that the Adams County Sheriff’s Office handles.”
r />   “Then I’d like to talk to him directly.”

  “I’m very sorry, but he’s meeting with the coroner and several other county and state officials, pulling in all the resources he can to find the person that killed your sister. He told me to apologize for not contacting you personally. But we need as much information as we can get, as quickly as possible, and if you could answer a few questions it would be a big help.” I don’t think that I could have layered on any more bullshit.

  “Never mind, I’m on my way there right now. I told Dell’s husband I would oversee the arrangements and find out what was being done to hunt down the maniac who killed her. Tell the sheriff I’ll be at his office first thing in the morning.” She hung up.

  While I would have loved letting Dad walk into that maelstrom without prior warning, I couldn’t really allow that to happen. I texted him that I would be over to his place as soon as I stopped by mine, fed Ivy and changed clothes. I’m leaving here in 30. See you at the house was the response I got back.

  I let myself into Dad’s house and called out for him. I received just one window-rattling bark from Mauser and a “right there” from Dad. In the living room I settled into a chair, hoping that Mauser would stay on the couch. No luck. He came over, sniffed Ivy’s scent, turned, backed up and sat in my lap. To Mauser humans had several functions—to feed him, to let him out or in and to be furniture.

  Dad came in and ruffled Mauser’s head.

  “What’s up?” he said, sitting down in his recliner. Mauser got up and went to get a treat from Dad, who duly placated the monster. By the grace of God the dog decided that my lap wasn’t that comfortable and laid down on the sofa. I did notice that when he went to the sofa he favored his right front leg a little.

  “He’s still a little gimpy,” Dad said.