“Did she ever complain about it?”
Matt’s stomach twisted. “No. She was a realist. We often talked about it. She had the same appreciation for my job that I did. Knew that it was important. She did her part to support me by not complaining about the demands on my time. When we solved a difficult case, she felt as though she’d had a part in the success. Sometimes that made me feel worse—that she accepted it so well.”
Seth tapped his lower lip with his forefinger and looked at him. “Do you think you’re being a little hard on yourself? If you had spent more time with Mary, would it have changed the outcome of her death?”
Matt shook his head. “No, but it might have eased some of my guilt.”
“Do you still have the anger issues at God, at yourself?”
Matt ran his hand through his hair, considering the question. “Not so much anymore. I still don’t understand the why of her death. But that’s nothing new. I’ve dealt with that in law enforcement, asking why violent things happen to innocent people.”
He turned in the chair to look directly at Seth. “I’ve found myself becoming interested in another woman...but I haven’t acted on it.”
“Why not?”
“There are a lot of complications I’d rather not go into. But the major reason is it makes me feel unfaithful to Mary.”
The pastor nodded in a knowing way. “It’s been two years, Matthew. Do you think Mary would mind that you were getting on with your life?”
The question gave Matt pause. He knew Mary wouldn’t want him to become less than he had been because of her death. “No, she wouldn’t mind.”
“Looking at yourself today, how far along would you say you are in your grief recovery?”
Matt gave the question the attention it deserved. Truth to tell, he hadn’t considered healing in those terms. The conclusion he reached brightened his outlook. The sorrow had lessened. “On a scale of one to ten, I’m about a seven. I’m not sleeping well, but better. The job helps. There are lots of bad people out there to take off the streets. I believe that’s God’s purpose for my life. Doing the job well gives me a great deal of satisfaction.”
Seth smiled, gave his hand a pat. “I know the feeling. Next Thursday. Same time?”
Twin Falls Police Station
Punctual as always, Davis and Hunter sat across from Matt at the conference table.
“Anything new?” Matt asked. He pulled out a chair, then propped his feet up on another one.
Davis had his notebook on the table. “We checked the old retreat files. No seminars that weekend. However, an onsite grounds keeper, Robert Cook, lived in the apartments. He wasn’t on duty that weekend, but he could have been there.” He shook his head. “We’ll never know for sure.”
“Why’s that?” Matt asked.
“He’s dead. Died last week,” Hunter replied.
Matt leaned forward in his seat. “Foul play?”
“No. Lisa says complications from alcoholism, cirrhosis of the liver, et cetera,” Hunter said. “We’re running a background check on him.”
“I’ll ask Joe Wilson to tape the place off, and Hunter will write up a search warrant, see if we can find a judge to sign it tonight. If we pull that off, McCulloch’s people will be out to tag and bag everything in the morning.”
Hunter turned to Davis. “How come I always get the easy jobs like writing up the warrants and making a judge mad for calling him away from his dinner?”
Davis slapped him on the back. “Cause you’re better at the details than I am.”
“Anything else?” Matt pulled his feet off the chair and stood. A thought occurred to him. “Which retreat apartment did Cook live in?”
Davis gave him a knowing grin. “The one with the great view of the burial site.”
Pryor Neighborhood
Davis and his partner left the station. The Pryor neighborhood was first on their list. Sam gave them the names of two people who still lived there.
This was the routine of most investigations. Foot soldiering, from house to house, asking questions. To be honest, he preferred it to sitting in the office making phone calls. The real action was on the street.
Hunter finished off a bagel then wiped his mouth with the small white napkin the vendor provided. “We couldn’t afford to live in this neighborhood.”
“With my single status, I don’t want a house. Condominium living is great. No yard work. But I know what you mean. These places sell for five to ten times their original value.”
Davis tugged his tie closer to his neck, then centered the perfect Windsor knot as they reached the first home on the list, Mrs. Elsie Kaufman.
The Kaufman home, a Tudor style two story, sat back on the lot with a manicured lawn on a curved driveway.
When they neared the front door, a woman’s shrill voice shattered the morning’s silence.
Hunter glanced at Davis. “What’s that?”
Davis grinned. “Maybe the princess found the pea under her mattress.”
Hunter cast a quizzical glance his way. “Should we intrude?”
Davis walked up the steps and rang the bell. “That’s what we do, partner.”
The shouts stopped. The door jerked open. A woman glared at them from the entryway. Her upper lip wore the tale-tell wrinkles of a smoker. Her angry scowl erased any beauty she might have possessed.
It only took a second for Davis to realize this couldn’t be Elsie Kaufman. Too young. Elsie Kaufman would be in her late sixties.
The woman looked at Hunter, then at Davis. “What do you want?”
Davis flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Davis, this is my partner, Detective Hunter. We’d like to speak to Elsie Kaufman, if she’s available.”
The woman’s face relaxed as she focused on him. “My mother doesn’t live here anymore. She’s in Serene Acres Rest Home. I’m her daughter, Dora Hastings. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“We understand your mother lived in the neighborhood at the time Penny Pryor vanished.”
Dora stood aside, inviting them in. She led the way to the living room. They followed her into a large room with a warmth, inconsistent with Dora Hastings’ personality.
A man of about forty, with a dark receding hair line, sat in a rose-print chair near the window, legs crossed, a newspaper open on his lap, a frown etched grooves in his brow.
Davis let his gaze roam around the room. Beige drapes printed with delicate pink roses covered the windows. The fabric pattern continued on chair covers and throw pillows on the earth-tone sofas. Furniture formed a conversation group around the focal point of the room, a huge cream-colored fireplace. Too feminine for his taste, but beautiful.
Dora failed to introduce the man. He stood, holding out his hand. “I’m Todd Hastings. Please, have a seat.”
She shot Todd a cold glance, then turned to face Davis. “We were about to have coffee. Would y’all care to join us?”
Hunter shook his head. “No thanks, but don’t let us stop you.”
“That’s okay, no hurry.” She leaned back against the couch. “It’s been all over the neighborhood that the police found Penny’s body.”
Davis nodded. “We’re questioning anyone who lived in this area when she vanished. Your mother’s name came up on our list.”
“Yes, my mother lived here when it happened. So did I. I knew Penny. We weren’t friends, but I babysat her once. Really sad. Her folks were always fighting. Sam slapped Lily and Penny around. I never trusted Sam Pryor. He always seemed too quiet to suit me.”
Todd Hastings lowered his paper. “Dora, you shouldn’t say such things. Those poor people have enough—”
“—you don’t know anything about this, Todd. It happened before we were married.”
Hastings folded the paper, slapped it down on the end table, and left the room. Minutes later, a back door closed with a bang.
Davis returned his attention to Mrs. Hastings. “Did you ever see Sam actually strike Penny?”
&n
bsp; “Never saw him hit Penny.” Dora pulled her thin lips into a smirk. “I heard that he slapped Lily once. I saw the bruise on her cheek.”
Through the picture window, Davis watched Todd Hastings as he got into his car, the tires spinning on the cement as he backed out of the driveway.
Further conversation with Dora ranged from her suspicions of Sam Pryor to her concerns about her neighbors. Davis threw a glance at Hunter before heading to the door. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Hastings. We’ll let you know if there are any further questions.”
Back in the car, Hunter turned to him. “You remember in Proverbs, where King Solomon said that it’s better to live in the wilderness than to live in a palace with an angry and contentious woman?”
Davis shrugged. “So?”
“In case you missed it,” Hunter said. “He had Dora Hastings in mind.”
Davis grinned. “It’s a wonder Todd Hastings hasn’t murdered her.”
“That’s easy,” Hunter said. “The only way to get rid of that one is to drive a stake through her heart, then shoot her with a silver bullet.”
Davis pulled into the street and glanced over at his partner. “She did give us one useful piece of information, provided what she said is true. It’s a stretch, but we can add Sam Pryor’s name to the list of suspects.
CHAPTER 17
Serene Acres Rest Home
The scent of disinfectant burned his nose, as Davis strode to the information desk and asked for Elsie Kaufman. The receptionist directed them down the hallway to room 232. The smell of cleaning chemicals intensified as they made their way down the wide corridor.
At Elsie Kaufman’s room, the door stood open. Davis knocked on the doorjamb. “Mrs. Kaufman?”
A woman sat near a bed, by the window. She looked up, a smile on her face. “I’m Mrs. Kaufman.”
The area was small, about twelve by fifteen. The section near the door held standard industrial furniture. An ancient woman lay on the bed, her thin body curled into a fetal position her breath came in open-mouth gasps.
On the other side, someone had crammed a few small pieces of elegant furniture into the room.
Elsie Kaufman stood when they entered, shook hands with both men, then returned to her chair.
She reminded Davis a little of her daughter, but her eyes held a serenity he didn’t think Dora would ever possess.
At about five-foot-seven, Elsie Kaufman stood tall. Gray hair swirled into a knot at the back of her long graceful neck, her skin looked pale and smooth. She wore a simple blue dress that seemed incongruent among the housedresses of the other residents.
Intelligent blue eyes seemed to appraise him and Hunter. “Come in. Please have a seat, gentlemen. I’m afraid I can’t offer you refreshments. Unfortunately, that’s one of the many luxuries my new home doesn’t provide for guests.”
Davis introduced himself and his partner. “We’re fine.” He pulled over a chair from the other side of the room. Hunter sat on the side of Elsie’s bed. “Have you heard Penny Pryor’s body has been found?”
“Yes, Dora called me with the news.”
“Can you tell us what you remember about the night she vanished?”
Hunter took out his notebook as Davis spoke.
“Actually, I saw very little.” She pushed a strand of gray hair back into the hair clasp. “My husband and I helped with the search that night and again the next day. Most of the neighbors joined in to help. A terrible night for the Pryors. My heart broke for them. We kept a close eye on our children after that, afraid the monster would return. Thankfully, that nightmare never came to fruition.”
Davis leaned forward. “Do you know anyone from your neighborhood that drove a white panel truck back then?”
She hesitated for a moment. “A policeman lived a few houses down from me. As I recall, he drove a white police van. I ran into him at the market last year before Dora brought me here. I remembered him because he and his wife used to walk past my house on their evening stroll. They would stop to chat. I hadn’t seen him since he moved. He said his wife passed away some time ago.”
“Do you know his name?” Hunter asked.
”Not his last name, but his first name is Don. He’s a security guard at Global Optics. It was stitched on his uniform when we met at the market.”
Hunter caught his eye, then jotted something down in his notebook.
“Anything else you remember about that night that could help us find Penny’s killer?” Davis asked. “Was Don a member of the search party?”
She shook her head. “I don’t recall seeing him, but there were a lot of people there. I did see a van similar to his a little earlier that evening, but I don’t think it belonged to Don. I only remember because the police asked if we’d seen any strangers in the neighborhood. Of course, it was getting dark. I could be mistaken.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry I can’t provide you with more useful information.”
Davis shook her hand when they rose to leave. “On the contrary, you’ve helped quite a bit. Thank you for your time. May we come back if we have further questions?”
“Of course. It’s good to talk with someone, even if the subject is unpleasant. I don’t get many visitors, other than Dora and Todd. He brings me lunch from McDonald’s from time to time.”
On their way out, a small black woman inched down the hallway in a wheelchair. Someone had removed the footrests and she walked the chair with her feet. A snail could have outrun her.
Davis smiled down at her. “May I help you go somewhere, ma’am?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. I want to go to the front to visit for a spell.”
“Sure. Hold up your feet. I’ll take you there.” In the vestibule, he helped her onto the sofa and left the wheelchair where she could slide into it when she wanted to leave.
”Thank you kindly, young man.”
“Yes, ma’am, glad to help.”
Outside, Davis remarked, “From all outward appearance Elsie Kaufman’s mental ability is above average. Not everyone would have noticed where the security guard worked. And Don Tompkins’ absence from the search party could mean he’d taken the body to the retreat.”
Hunter nodded. “Yeah, I saw where you were headed with that question. Anybody who didn’t join in to find Penny could be our murderer. It’s a place to start. However, the killer could have hidden the body in the van, then joined the search. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I hear you, pal, but I think Tompkins would be too smart to do something stupid.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They used bloodhounds in the search. As a cop, Tompkins would know better than to hang around the neighborhood with a body in his truck the dogs could sniff out.”
Sara Bradford’s Home
Hunter twisted Davis’ arm to go to a barbeque rib joint for lunch. Davis hated the messy hands, but he had to pacify his partner from time to time. Hunter wasn’t into bean sprout sandwiches. Davis filled his plate with beans, coleslaw, and grilled chicken, without the sauce.
After lunch, they drove under the overpass to Highway 75 and turned left, headed to the outskirts of town to talk to Jacob Jamison’s widow.
Davis rang the doorbell. A plump, smiling Hispanic woman answered the door. After introducing him and his partner, he asked to see Maddie Jamison. The housekeeper disappeared for a moment. Her slight accent drifted through the doorway.
“Miss Maddie, two police detectives are here to see you.”
“Show them into the library, Beatrice, please.”
Beatrice returned to lead them down a spacious hallway to a large, mahogany paneled room, one wall filled with leather bound books. A healthy fire blazed in the hearth.
A small well-dressed woman sat in a brown leather chair near the fireplace. She waved them in, indicating the matching sofa across from her. “Thank you, Beatrice.”
Maddie Jamison turned her attention back to them. “Have a seat, gentlemen. You must be the detectives looking i
nto Penny Pryor’s disappearance. Lily said you might stop by. I suppose I should call it a murder now. It’s difficult to think of Penny in that way.”
Davis handed her his card. “Yes, ma’am. What can you tell us about that night?”
“I’m afraid I won’t be of much help. My husband and I were out of town when it happened. We knew the family. Penny and my niece, Sara, were best friends. Penny was a sweet child, energetic, always with a smile on her pixie face. Such a tragedy. Not the sort of misfortune that usually happens to people you know.”
Hunter pulled a notebook from his pocket.
“Did you ever know Sam Pryor to abuse his wife or daughter?” Davis asked.
“Nonsense. If I’d suspected anything of the kind, I would have reported it. Let me guess. You spoke to Dora Hastings. Sam Pryor worshipped his daughter. He would never have harmed her. He did spank Penny, but I didn’t have a problem with that. Penny could be very strong-willed. In my personal opinion, if there were more spankings, there would be fewer Dora Hastings in the world.”
She stood and walked to the hearth. “Dora’s vicious innuendos can cause real trouble for Sam and Lily. Which they don’t need to deal with while they grieve for their daughter.”
Davis listened politely, but Maddie couldn’t know for sure what had happened in the Pryor home. How many times had he heard people become incredulous to learn a neighbor was a killer? Evil people were adept at blending into society.
“I’m a little over-sensitive where Dora is concerned.” Maddie returned to her chair, a slight frown wrinkling her brow. “Dora’s mother, Elsie, is a good friend of mine. About a year ago, Elsie had pneumonia. For some reason, she started to hallucinate, became confused. Dora took advantage of the situation. She placed her mother in a rest home. Elsie didn’t fight it, even gave Dora power of attorney. I think Elsie feared she had Alzheimers. As it turned out, she had a simple reaction to a medication her doctor prescribed. Once off the meds, she returned to normal.
“Dora took control of Elsie’s home, automobile, and bank account. Elsie Kaufman doesn’t belong in Serene Acres any more than I do. Dora refuses to let her leave. I’ve tried to intervene, but my attorney says there’s nothing I can do.
Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense Page 38