Tom closed the door. “I want to bring you up to speed on Shawn. He is not under arrest, like I told you before, but he was so obsessed with getting the cats out of the house, then making sure he had the food they’d been eating go to the shelter, too—well, it was one thing after another. We couldn’t have him contaminating the scene, but he wouldn’t leave.”
“Did you have to handcuff him?” I asked.
Liam spoke for the first time since greeting Tom. “The highest court ruled individuals can be handcuffed if they are interfering with a police investigation. It doesn’t mean they are necessarily under arrest. Was that your thinking, Tom?”
Tom nodded. “Yup. I don’t really want him here. He’s a wreck. But I would like to ask him a few questions because he did have issues with the victim—as in the fact that Chester Winston had a restraining order against Shawn. Can you two help me calm him down so we can talk?”
“Of course,” I said as Liam nodded his agreement.
Soon we all sat in the interview room, the one with a battered old table where they did the more informal interrogations. Shawn wasn’t wearing handcuffs anymore and he was chewing on a thumbnail. His anxious eyes made him seem almost scary. He wouldn’t look at Tom and barely acknowledged me.
Liam sat next to Shawn.
Shawn seemed surprised to see him. “Don’t you prosecute people? Are you here to take me to jail?”
“I am no longer a solicitor for the county.” Liam drew out the words in a slow drawl. “I opened my own practice. You are one of my first clients.”
“Okay, here’s the damn truth. I didn’t kill that jerk.” Shawn glance darted toward Tom, no doubt realizing that wasn’t the best word to call a murder victim. “Sorry. The man’s dead. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Do you want everyone but me to leave?” Liam asked.
Shawn offered me a distraught look. “You don’t think I killed Chester, right?”
I stood from the chair I’d taken across from Shawn, walked over and gave him a hug. “I know you didn’t. Thing is, you need to stay away from that house. That’s all Tom wants.”
“Did you call Allison already? ’Cause she is going to be so pissed at me. She’s busy, you know, and . . .”
I took Shawn’s face in my hands and made him look at me. “I didn’t call her. She doesn’t know a thing.”
His shoulders slumped with relief.
Liam said, “You’re scared. It’s written all over your face. The fact is, I’m not only here as a lawyer, I’m here as a friend. Everything will work out. You are not under arrest. You never were.”
Shawn turned to Tom, who stood leaning against the door. “Is that true?”
“Shawn, you’ve never been under arrest. I kept telling you that, but I’m glad you’ve heard it from your lawyer.”
Liam rested a hand on Shawn’s clenched fist. “Do you believe Tom now?”
While I sat back down, Shawn closed his eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. Now I have to get back to the shelter. Candace drove my truck there with a few cats and they need to be examined and—”
“Shawn,” I said, louder than was probably necessary. “Talk to Tom first and then I’ll take you home.”
Shawn rubbed his forehead with three thick fingers, his head down. “Okay, sure. But I can’t be away too much longer.” He began to rub one wrist, perhaps still feeling the metal of handcuffs against his skin. He looked up at Tom. “What do you want to know?”
Having seen Shawn agitated before, I was grateful he had calmed down. Getting so stressed-out couldn’t be good for his health.
Tom grabbed a chair from against the far wall and sat at the head of the table.
Liam said, “This is an informal interview, correct?”
“That’s right.” Tom looked at Shawn. “How well do you know Minnie Schultz?”
“She’s adopted cats from me before. Nice lady. But she came to the sanctuary a couple months ago. She wandered around looking at the rescues and then chose this tuxie kitten I’d just put up for adoption. Something didn’t seem right with her. She kept losing her train of thought. Since I knew she had more than a few cats already, I wanted to make certain she wasn’t turning into a hoarder. I don’t let hoarders have my rescues. I told her I needed to make a home visit.”
Liam looked confused. “What’s a tuxie?”
“Short for tuxedo cat,” Shawn replied. “You know—black and white, looks like the cat’s wearing a tuxedo?”
Liam nodded and muttered an “Ah.”
“How was she when you visited her?” Tom asked.
“More together than she was at the shelter. Made me banana bread to take home because she knew Allison was out of town.” Shawn glanced my way and offered a sheepish grin. “Thanks again for not calling my wife. I sure did lose it for a while, didn’t I?”
“I’m glad the real Shawn Cuddahee is back.” I returned his smile.
“What about those boxes in her house?” Tom asked. “Was the house filled with them back then?”
“I did notice a few boxes and assumed it was cat food or a litter delivery. Other than that, the place was neat as a cat—like Mark Twain used to say.”
My curiosity got the better of me. “What’s with the boxes, Tom?”
“Don’t know. We’re fingerprinting all of them before we open them, though that may be a waste of energy. Who knows how many hands have touched them. If the first few are loaded with prints, our time will be better spent searching for other evidence.” He turned back to Shawn. “So, aside from when you adopted out this kitten, when was the last time you had contact with Mrs. Schultz when she didn’t seem as confused?”
Shawn thought for minute. “Maybe nine months ago? She named off all her cats when we bumped into each other at Doc Jensen’s clinic. She seemed fine.”
Someone knocked tentatively on the door.
“What do you need?” Tom called.
“It’s B.J. You might want to see this.”
Tom sighed and whispered, “He’s new at investigating. Pretty gung ho.”
Tom opened the door and B.J. handed him a paper, saying, “I pulled this off the Blue Sheet.”
The Blue Sheet was an advertising flyer for locals buying and selling used goods.
“Sum it up, B.J.,” Tom said.
“Mr. Winston was advertising about cats that had been found, and there are descriptions.”
Shawn stood abruptly. “What? The county never advertises about recovered cats in the Blue Sheet. Those cats are mentioned in the Mercy Messenger, pictures are put on Facebook and the county shelter has a Web site.”
Tom gestured for Shawn to sit back down and Liam seconded the motion. “Come on, Shawn. Please don’t get all worked up again. Let me do my job.”
Tom stepped outside the interview room. Since I sure didn’t want to see Shawn get agitated again, I reached across the table and took his hand in mine. “Hang in there. Trust Tom to get to the bottom of this mess.”
Tom returned within a few seconds. “We’re checking into the ad. Maybe Chester Winston helped Mrs. Schultz place it since she had so many cats and—”
“No way.” Shawn shook his head vigorously. “She may be a few peaches short of a peck, but she would never do that.”
Tom took a seat next to me. “You know her better than any of us, so I’m sure you’re right. Tell me about the cats. Any idea where they all came from since you last visited the Schultz house?”
“Not a clue. It’s crazy, because I’d recognize any of them that I’d adopted out. None of those newer cats came from my shelter.” Shawn looked at me. “Is the poor lady okay, Jillian? This whole thing seems screwy.”
“She’s a tad confused. They’re getting her a good doctor, though.” I went on before Shawn could ask any questions about what kind of doctor. “She had that little tu
xie with her when the police picked her up and he’s at my place now.”
“Otto?” Shawn said. “He was an imp—that’s for sure.”
“That’s him.” I smiled and sat back, not wanting to say anything to Shawn that I shouldn’t.
I was surprised when Tom rested a hand on my knee before addressing Shawn again. From the tension I felt in his touch, I had the feeling this whole encounter with Shawn had been more difficult than he’d let on. Small-town policing was different from the larger police force in North Carolina where he’d been an officer years ago.
He said, “What do you know about the dead husband, Otto? What happened to him?”
Shawn said, “She once told me he died in a car wreck several years back. She said she missed him.”
Tom pressed on. “Do you know anything else about Mrs. Schultz that might help? Ever meet any of her relatives? Her friends?”
“Never met anyone at her house when I went there. There’s some grown kids, and I remember her talking about out-of-town cousins. I was more interested in the cats, as bad as that sounds.” He rubbed his forehead again. “God, forgive me, I should have paid more attention.”
Tom sighed heavily. “You feel guilty. I get that, but it won’t help us, Shawn. I need facts.”
Liam said, “Tom’s right. Let’s get through these questions and then you can leave.”
“I’ll switch gears. What can you tell me about Chester?” Tom asked. “You’ve had plenty of interaction with him. When did you see him last? Aside from lying dead between those twin beds, I mean.”
Liam sat straighter in his chair. “Shawn, since we’re talking about the victim now, I’ll remind you that you don’t have to say anything.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide. I didn’t hurt him,” Shawn said.
“But at one time you did hit him,” Tom said. “That’s why he took out the restraining order, right?”
“That was several years ago,” Shawn said through clenched teeth.
“I know. But tell me about it,” Tom replied.
“You don’t have to, Shawn,” Liam cautioned again.
“No, no. It was stupid of me and I want to answer. See, I called him to come pick up an injured dog—this was before I had any good way of dealing with injured animals. I thought he was too rough with the animal. We exchanged words. I only hit him after Chester got his rifle from his truck and was about to put the dog down. I had to stop him. That’s not his job and he knows it. So I grabbed the rifle and maybe the rifle butt popped him on the jaw. Okay, it did pop him on the jaw.”
I shook my head. I’d heard only part of this story. “But that was so wrong of Chester.”
“Tell me about it. I didn’t even hit him hard, but he fell down and acted like I’d killed . . .” Shawn’s face flushed. “Anyway, he took out the restraining order.”
“Why didn’t you tell the judge about the rifle and how he was about to do something that he should have been fired for?” I couldn’t hide my outrage. What Chester had done was despicable.
“Oh, I did. But the judge didn’t believe me.” Shawn looked at Tom. “And just so you know, I wasn’t the only concerned citizen Chester pissed off. You might want to check that out.”
“Do you have names?” Tom took a small notebook from his pocket.
“If you give me time to think on it, I can probably come up with a few people. It was stuff I heard from folks who came to the shelter to adopt. I see a lot of people in the sanctuary and right now I couldn’t remember one word any of them said to save my life.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do I have to save my life, Tom?”
“Shawn,” Liam cautioned again, “I am strongly advising you to stop talking. You’ve said enough.”
Thing is, if I were in Shawn’s position, I’d keep talking, too. Being suspected of committing a terrible crime would make me talk until I lost my voice in hopes that I’d be believed.
Shawn squeezed his eyes shut. “I have to cooperate. Otherwise Tom will think I did it.” He rested his arms on the table and leaned toward Tom. “So, what else do you want to know?”
Tom said, “When as the last time you came face-to-face with Chester Winston?”
“In person? Longer ago than I can remember. The court allowed me to call him about reports I got from people who spotted strays or dead or injured animals. It was his job to take care of the ones I couldn’t get to. We were allowed to communicate that way—on the phone about business. But I couldn’t go near him.”
“Do you have any idea what he was doing in Minnie Schultz’s house?” Tom sounded as baffled as I was—probably as we all were.
Shawn raised his head and squinted over my shoulder, no doubt considering the question. Then he looked back at Tom. “It had to be about all those cats, right? That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Tom said, “At least we’re on the same page. The cats connect you, Mrs. Schultz and Chester. But what exactly does that connection mean, if anything?”
Shawn shook his head. “I have no idea.”
Eight
After it was obvious even to me that Shawn had nothing more to share about Chester or Minnie Schultz, at least for now, Liam offered to drive him back to the sanctuary, probably so Liam could get a better feel for his client. After they’d gone, Tom gave me a much-needed hug.
“Thanks for helping out,” he said. “I doubt Shawn would have calmed down if not for you being here.”
“I don’t know if that’s true, but I refuse to accept for a second that he killed Chester.”
He sidestepped this by saying, “One thing I’m sure of. He doesn’t believe he did. But enough cop talk. I’m starving. Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll call in an order to the Main Street Diner for my folks since they’ll probably be here all night working with me. Could you pick up the food? Candace uploaded the crime scene photos and—”
I held up my hand. “Remember? No cop talk. Consider your request done.” We kissed good-bye, and as I left the building, I checked my phone. It was past five but I didn’t feel hungry at all. I felt tired. The stress of this day had walloped me. Most of all, my heart felt bruised. No matter what kind of person Chester was, he didn’t deserve to die so violently. As for Shawn? He didn’t deserve to be handcuffed and treated like a criminal. That, however, could have been avoided. I couldn’t blame Tom for doing his job. It was an unintended consequence and I sure hoped Shawn would cooperate from now on.
Before I drove to pick up burgers, chili dogs and fries, I sat in the van and pulled up my cat cam to glimpse what was happening at home. The kitties were awake and probably ready to play. “I’ll be home soon, my sweeties,” I whispered as I closed the app. Just seeing them move and stretch and nudge one another made me feel more serene as I drove out of the parking lot. Yes, all I needed was a hefty dose of my feline friends to set the world straight again.
Once I picked up and delivered the food, I still felt drained. I needed coffee—maybe with half the caffeine so I could sleep tonight. Belle’s Beans, a little café with the best coffee in the world, was on the way home. I stopped in and ordered a half-decaf vanilla latte to go. The young woman behind the counter wore an oval name tag that said BELLE. Her real name, I knew, was Tina. All the baristas wore those tags. Belle Lowry, the owner, saw this as a way to make everyone feel comfortable in her lovely coffeehouse—as if they were being served by the person whose name was attached to this establishment. Soothing music emanated from overhead speakers, and at this time of day, most of the lacquered tables and stools were empty. I always enjoyed the bustle in the morning, but as I waited for my order, I decided this atmosphere was so . . . pleasant. After a truly unpleasant day, I appreciated this.
I grabbed my coffee and was ready to leave when I practically ran smack into the real Belle as she was coming in through the entrance.
&nbs
p; “Hey, Jillian,” the white-haired Belle said. “You never visit at this time of day. Were you down at the police station because of the murder? Is Shawn really under arrest?”
Nothing that happened in this town got past Belle. But I had to set her straight. “He was never under arrest, Belle.”
“But Jessie Turner told me he was in handcuffs and—”
“I promise you—he wasn’t under arrest. He was troubled about the cats we found at Mrs. Schultz’s place and didn’t want to leave her house until every cat—”
“Ah, I get it. Your brand-new husband insisted he get out of poor Minnie’s place and he wouldn’t leave. Has Shawn settled down?”
“He has. Do you know Minnie very well?” I asked.
“Not well. Knew her husband, Otto, better. His death was such a tragedy.” She shook her head, appearing genuinely down.
“Do you have time to tell me about him—and what you know about Minnie? See, I have this kitten that belongs to her. I’m keeping the little guy while she’s hospitalized. It would help me to understand her better—and maybe understand little Otto, the tuxie kitten.”
“I always have time for you, Jillian. Let me grab a cup of tea and I’ll join you at a table.”
She hustled by me, and I chose one of the low tables toward the back. I smiled at the thought of a woman who sold coffee for a living drinking tea.
Belle soon joined me, her pink lipstick applied perfectly—probably because she was wearing new glasses, the white frames studded with rhinestones. Before she finally gave in and visited the eye doctor, Belle’s lipstick was often misapplied, either well below her lips or beyond the corners of her mouth. It always made me smile, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her when I saw her like that. Today, it wasn’t a problem and I noted her linen outfit complemented her coloring. Belle was much older than I was, but her energy never failed to amaze me. Running a busy place like this certainly took plenty of stamina.
“What would you like to know about Otto?” Belle set down a single-serving teapot and a cup in front of her.
“Wait a minute. I need to hear about this first.” I stared at her cute little teapot. “You own a coffeehouse and yet you drink tea?”
The Cat, the Collector and the Killer Page 5