“How go the interrogations?” Zach asked.
“Less than half left. Most people didn’t talk to Mrs. Peterson or Mrs. Crocker, and some never even heard the commotion. A few questions and they go home. My deputies can handle the rest. I’m going to grab a cup of joe, and then see if I can make sense out of what I’ve been told.”
A waitress stopped by and the sheriff ordered coffee. Meghan played with her glass, and then lifted her gaze.
“Sheriff, how about Zach and I helping on this?”
“Helping how?”
“I was thinking we could ask people questions in a more casual setting, like this, and see if anyone might have remembered something.”
Sheriff Armstrong sighed and shook his head. “Just because you write mystery books, doesn’t make you an expert or a detective. This is not Murder, She Wrote. The crime isn’t solved at the end of an hour with the murderer revealed in the last two minutes. It doesn’t work that way.”
“I know, but I do have some experience with police procedures. I research my books carefully. I talk to cops and have ridden with them on patrol. I understand how the system works. I like to think I understand human nature.”
The sheriff rubbed his temples. “Miss Donahue, I appreciate the offer, but most criminals are stupid. Their crimes are often committed on impulse or without logic. They make mistakes. Sooner or later, we’ll get this guy.”
“You know, Sheriff, Meghan does have a point. She’s got eight books to her credit. She knows how to conduct an interview, not…”
“Are you saying I don’t?” Ray Armstrong cut in.
“Of course not. I was going to say she knows how to talk to the average person. A police officer asks questions and people have a natural tendency to clam up, whether from fear or not wanting to get involved in an official capacity. But Meghan and I making conversation is another ball game. We’d be one of them. They might give up information without knowing it.”
His coffee arrived. The sheriff blew on the hot brew before taking a sip. “You could have a point. I take it you’ve been discussing the case. You both strike me as being intelligent and unemotional concerning the deceased. Have any theories?”
Meghan wasn’t sure she liked the unemotional comment. It made them sound like robots or that they didn’t care Annabelle was dead. Maybe what he meant was not emotionally involved. She sipped her wine while Zach told him about their conversation.
“I agree with Ms. Donahue. Mrs. Crocker wouldn’t steal her own jewelry to help out Dave Coryell.”
“Call me Meghan. This is Zach. Have you found out anything from your interrogation?”
He smiled. “I’m Ray. Not too much. I’m going with the stranger in the garden theory. The killer may have been one of the waiters or a delivery person who saw Mrs. Crocker leave the room and took a chance.”
“And then didn’t take the goodies? Why?” Meghan questioned.
“And why kill?” Zach added. “It’s damned dark in that garden. Why assume either Annabelle or Suzanne could see well enough to identify him?”
“The sad truth is, a lot of people in this world just don’t give a rat’s ass. Taking a human life means nothing to them.” Ray shook his head, and then paused to gulp half his coffee. “All right, you can talk to people, but any information you pry out of them is passed on directly to me. Is that understood? No chasing clues on your own.”
Zach held his hands up. “Think of us as minions who do your bidding.”
“Uh, there is one other thing, Ray,” Meghan murmured.
“What?”
“Would it be possible for us to see the crime scene?”
“I’ve already seen it,” Zach inserted.
“But I haven’t.”
“Forensics hasn’t released the site yet. It’s still taped off. They’ll be back in the morning to search further. I can’t let you in. You might inadvertently trample something important,” Ray told her.
“I’ll be careful. Like I said, I’ve been with police on cases as an observer before. I know not to touch or remove anything,” Meghan begged.
Ray frowned and stared at the two of them.
“Aw, I guess it won’t hurt for you to stand just outside the perimeter. Come on. It’ll have to be quick. I have work to do.” He drained his cup.
Zach waved down the waitress. She brought the bill and he charged it to his room, then the three of them left the bar for the koi pond.
****
“Dave, I want to apologize for the things I said earlier,” Suzanne stated, sliding onto the stool next to him. “I was upset.”
She batted her eyes and slid her fingers up and down his arm. She still had no idea what Zach wanted her to ask.
“Yeah, right. I suppose you told the sheriff everything about tonight,” he replied with a sneer.
“Well, if I didn’t, someone else would have. I mean, a lot of people saw me sitting alone. Where did you go?”
“Want me to tell you so you can go running to the cops?”
She shrugged and pretended to sip her drink. “I’m just curious. I know you didn’t kill Annabelle, for Pete’s sake. And I think you’re right about it being some opportunist who realized the jewelry was fake.”
Dave removed his suit coat and slung it over the back of his barstool. Sweat dribbled from his temple to his cheek.
If he took a break to snort, the high’s wearing off. I need to get him drunker. Drunks and addicts love to talk when they’re fully loaded.
“Bartender, another round for us, okay?” She turned to Dave. “I’m buying. So, did you go into the garden?”
“Why would you think that?”
“For starters, you looked totally shocked to see me alive. What did you see?”
Dave drained his glass as the bartender set a new drink in front of him.
“I was really pissed at you. I needed to take a walk before I did something stupid.”
“Like kill me.”
“Maybe. At any rate, I went out to the car just like I told the sheriff.”
Suzanne ignored her fresh drink. She knew damned good and well he hadn’t retrieved any half-assed papers. She sneaked a glance toward Zach. He and that prissy Meghan had their heads close together.
Dammit, I’m over here pumping this jerk off for information, while she’s beating my time.
“And?” she prompted, bringing her attention back onto Dave.
“All right, I took a walk in the garden to cool down. Then I saw a sign for the fish pond and followed the trail. I stopped at the edge of the pond and noticed something in the water. I saw the blue dress and long hair, and figured it was you.”
“You found Annabelle? Why didn’t you do something?” Suzanne demanded.
“I was going to pull you out, but decided too many people may have seen us argue and think I’d done it, so I just walked away. I hid out in my room for fifteen or twenty minutes, and then made my appearance on the terrace. It’s the truth. I swear it.”
She couldn’t see Dave Coryell in the role of a cold-blooded killer. Accidental, perhaps, but not deliberate.
“Oddly enough, I believe you. You might feel like killing me, but you wouldn’t. I don’t suppose you saw anyone else.” She wasn’t convinced she believed her own words.
Dave shook his head and finished his drink in one gulp. Suzanne signaled the bartender for another.
“No, but for a moment, I thought I heard footsteps.”
“Like someone running away?”
“No, like someone walking. In a hurry.”
Suzanne mentally chewed on that. The killer had no reason to think he might have been seen or heard, so why draw attention to himself by running? It made sense.
“You gonna tell the cops?”
“I don’t know. You didn’t see or hear anything that can be identified or even useful, so I don’t see what purpose it serves.”
She spared another glance toward Zach. Damn, now the sheriff was sitting with them. No way would she ma
ke it a foursome. The bartender arrived with Dave’s drink.
“Good. Let’s discuss you and your money again. I’ve come clean. Doesn’t that deserve a reward?” Dave quaffed half the contents in his glass.
“I’ll think about it.”
“If you’ve had me investigated then you know my time is short. I need an answer now.” His voice turned rough.
Suzanne’s lips touched the rim of her glass, faking a sip. “I can’t very well conjure up the money in Grandview, Indiana, on a weekend. Wait until I get home.”
“Then how about we go to my room and you prove to me that you’re still as good a lay like you bragged,” he proposed, his words slurring.
“Dave, I think I made it perfectly clear before we left Chicago that I would not sleep with you.”
She tried and almost succeeded in keeping the disgust from her voice. Luckily, Dave was too drunk to notice.
“Who said anything about sleep?” He bellowed with laughter, and then hiccupped.
Before she could answer, Glory Ecklund stumbled into Dave, jostling his arm and then dropping her purse. She bent to retrieve it, rising with a flush on her face. Tom leaned down at the same time and stumbled against Dave’s barstool
“Sorry. Guess I’ve had a little too much to drink,” he apologized.
“I’m so tired, my legs refuse to work. Did I spill your drink?” his wife asked.
“Just a little, but who cares? The party’s over,” Dave replied, wiping at the liquor stain on his shirt.
“Yes, I guess it is. I feel so bad. Everyone was having a good time, too. Eileen and Dan are canceling the picnic. I just can’t imagine what poor Eric’s going to do. I mean, how do you tell your children their mother’s been murdered?” She shuddered.
Suzanne didn’t want to listen to Glory’s prattle, but it beat having to listen to drunken propositions from her former boyfriend.
Tom swayed and took a deep breath as though to stabilize his body.
“Oh, honey, you’re practically out on your feet. Let’s go up to the room.” Glory sighed. “Poor man. You’ve been such a rock, so supportive during the last year while I worked on the reunion details. It took a long time to track down some of his classmates, although he helped with that. Said two heads were better than one—or rather two computers.” She laughed lightly. “Did you know Mary Ellen Whitehall is a nun?”
“No kidding?” Suzanne replied. Who the hell was Mary Ellen Whitehall?
“She’s known as Sister Mary Benedict now. Eddie was hard to find, too. Luckily, Tom had a client who supplied information.” She looked at her watch. “Gosh, I didn’t realize it was so late. We’d better get to bed. Thanks for coming. Let us know if you move.”
Glory took her husband’s arm and steered him toward the door, bumping into another woman before sidling through and disappearing into the lobby.
What a combination—graceful as an elephant and dumber than a brick. What does Tom see in her?
“So, how about it, sweetie? You and me? In the sack?”
Dave’s voice brought her back to the mission at hand, which in her view was over. She glanced again over at Meghan and Zach’s table. It was empty.
Son of a bitch! Where the hell did they go?
If it was somewhere with the sheriff, she sure as shit didn’t want to join them.
“Hey, you gone deaf?” Dave shouted.
She quickly looked around. The bar was noisy and only a couple of patrons showed curiosity at his words.
“No. Just thinking. Hey, bartender, my friend here needs another drink.”
“About what? A simple yes or no will do.”
Suzanne touched his nose with the tip of her coral painted fingernail, and forced a giggle.
“Before we get down to other matters, why don’t you explain this mining company thing to me again in detail?”
Chapter Seven
Meghan stood behind the yellow crime scene tape gazing at the dimly lit koi pond.
“Can’t see much,” Zach commented from her left.
“Just a minute,” Ray said. He skirted the barrier keeping close to the edge of the perimeter. He approached a sapling and a moment later strong light blazed to life illuminating the water and pathway. “That help?”
“Must be the world’s longest extension cord,” Meghan commented. In the darkness, she’d mistaken the ten foot tall pole lights for trees.
“Forensics brought them. The hotel has electrical boxes for the pump and maintenance work,” the sheriff explained.
“Doesn’t look any different from a few hours ago,” Zach remarked. “Except for the body, of course.”
Ray returned to their sides. “Not much in the line of physical evidence to find. Forensics will be back in the morning.”
“Where was the body?” she inquired.
Ray pointed. “Here, floating in the front of the pool near the path.”
Meghan decided the pond was nothing elaborate. The freeform structure reminded her of a pear. She estimated its length as roughly thirty feet and the width close to fifteen at the widest point—the area where Annabelle had been discovered. Flat rocks stacked about a foot high surrounded the water like a necklace. She assumed they kept the pond from overflowing during a heavy rain.
“What’s that in the middle?” she asked Ray.
“Artificial rocks with holes and tunnels for the fish to swim through. I was told the vegetation is simple aquatic plants. Something to do with nutrients and oxygen. The pump inflow is on the other end. The outflow is down here. At the moment, it’s shut off. The staff transferred the fish to a tank somewhere else on the property. We’re having it drained so Forensics can examine it.”
That made sense to Meghan, especially if Annabelle had been cold-conked and the weapon tossed into the pond.
“Zach, exactly what did you see?” she questioned.
“A body floating next to the edge.”
“Floating? That’s unusual,” she murmured.
“Why?”
“Because drowning victims usually sink to the bottom,” Ray told him. “They float when the body gases expand with decomposition.”
Meghan looked at Zach “How was she positioned?”
“Her arm may have been flung across the rim.”
“It was,” the sheriff confirmed. “Guess the killer didn’t notice or care. That’s part of why she was floating.”
“Part?” Meghan said.
“Her other arm and legs hit the bottom and didn’t let the torso sink.”
“Why would you assume someone held her head underwater?” Zach wondered.
“The victim’s fingernails were ripped. The pond’s only two and half to three feet deep, so she couldn’t have fallen in and struggled to get out, even drunk.”
“All she needed to do was stagger upright and stumble to the edge,” Zach surmised. “How do you prove murder?”
“It’s not easy,” Ray stated “The coroner has to eliminate all other causes of death before labeling it a drowning. Then Forensics tries to piece the puzzle together.”
“Any idea on time of death?” Meghan inquired.
Ray shook his head. “Everybody’s vague on a time frame. Ms. Crocker saw the victim enter the garden, but has no idea of when. Mrs. Davis can’t recall the time either. How about you two? Do you remember what time it was when you heard the screams?”
“Not a clue. Who thinks to look at their watch during a time of crisis? We heard the screams and reacted,” Zach told him. “What about the 9-1-1 call?”
“We’re checking it now. Actually, the coroner figures Mrs. Peterson was dead less than an hour.”
Meghan turned toward the sheriff. “Any wounds like to the back of the head? A whack to the skull would incapacitate and make it easier to hold someone’s head under water.”
“Nothing we noticed. Of course, the coroner might come up with something.”
“Any wounds other than the torn fingernails?” Zach asked.
“Some bruis
ing on the upper torso, most likely from the rocks as she struggled. My guess is the perpetrator knelt on her back to keep her from thrashing around,” Ray said. “She also had scrapes on her legs, probably from the killer pushing them over the edge to make it look like an accident.”
Meghan shivered. Ray painted a vivid image of Annabelle’s last minutes of life.
“And her jewelry was all in place? Nothing missing?” she pressed.
“All there—rings, watch, earrings, necklace.”
She closed her eyes and tried to visualize what Zach had found and what Ray had told them. Meghan shivered again as she envisioned the murder, but wondered why Annabelle hadn’t fought back until it was too late.
“She had to have been hit over the head. It’s the only sensible answer. Sheriff, do you know where she was standing when the attack occurred?”
“When we first arrived, the gravel on the pathway was disturbed. I think Mrs. Peterson may have been attacked about four or five feet from the rim of the pond and perhaps pushed forward.”
“Or someone carried her to the water,” Zach suggested.
“And then later smoothed the gravel back in place as best they could,” Meghan added.
“Factor in Eileen, Zach, Carl, and anyone else who wandered by and didn’t look at the pond. The drag marks would have been obliterated,” Ray finished.
“Sorry,” Zach muttered.
“Not your fault. I imagine the killer did a fairly good job of covering his tracks.”
“The killer must have gotten wet. Did anyone notice someone with sopping clothes?” Zach queried.
“No one said anything,” Ray replied.
“A quick run upstairs and a change of clothing would be the best thing to do.”
Meghan shook her head. “Too risky. Suppose someone noticed and asked questions? I’d go up and hit the wet spots with the hair dryer. There’s one in every room for guests’ convenience. It would only take ten or fifteen minutes. Even if the areas were still damp, I’d explain it as spilling a glass of water or a drink in the dining hall.”
“And in that crowd ten or fifteen minutes wouldn’t be so noticeable,” Ray agreed with a frown. “I need to go back over my notes. Are you two finished?”
The Reunion Page 9