Avenged

by C. M. Sutter

“Friends, sure, but boyfriends, no.”

  Kate continued while I took notes. “How about the names you can think of?”

  “But they’re her neighbors. Even her handyman and the lawn care guy were her friends, but it isn’t like they hung out together. She gabbed with them as they did their work, but that’s it—totally innocent stuff.”

  “And all of them could stop by without raising suspicion?” Kate asked.

  “Yes, I suppose. Phil Jensen lives down the street—he’s a widower—and so is Scotch Bradley.”

  Kate raised a brow. “Scotch?”

  “His real name is Scott, but everyone calls him Scotch, for apparent reasons. He favors Scotch as his drink of choice.”

  “And he lives where?”

  “On Rockridge too.”

  “How about the lawn guy and the handyman?” I asked.

  “You’d have to check her cell phone. I can’t remember their names at the moment.”

  “May we see a recent picture of your mom?”

  “Of course. Excuse me.” Tracy rose and went into the library.

  I watched her through the French doors as she pulled out photo albums from the cabinet next to the fireplace. The front door opened, and I recognized the voices of Billings, Clayton, and Jack. Seconds later, Jack peeked around the corner. I pointed at the library, and he nodded. He entered the kitchen and leaned over the table. “Getting anywhere?”

  “Slowly. We’ll see.”

  “Okay, keep her talking. The patrol deputies are interviewing the neighbors.”

  “There are two widowers the mom was friendly with who live on this street.”

  Jack scratched his head. “From what Clayton said, the manner of death was strangulation by pulling a rope of shirts over the bathroom door while Mrs. McDonald was on the other side?”

  “That’s how it appears.”

  “That takes strength, Amber. I guess it depends on how old those widowers are, but I’ll make sure Patrol checks them out.” He tipped his head toward the other side of the house. “I need to see what Lena has.”

  “Roger that, boss.”

  Seconds later, Tracy returned to the table. “I brought out a few albums. I’m sure I can find a recent picture. My mom liked to keep photos neatly organized in albums to show her friends. She wasn’t the type to store pictures on her phone.” Tracy opened a velvet-covered album and began paging through it. She closed it within seconds and opened another one. “Here we go. These were from Easter. They’re probably her most recent ones since Thanksgiving and Christmas haven’t happened yet.” She pulled out a photograph and handed it to me. Her eyes began to water. “What am I going to do without my mom, especially during the holidays? She meant everything to me.”

  I squeezed her hand. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. We can’t bring your mom back, but we can certainly get justice for her.”

  Chapter 12

  Keith went from room to room as he tried to think of something to sell. By the time the sheriff’s office figured out who was behind the killings, he’d be long gone, but that would only happen if he had enough cash to take to the road and disappear. Selling the farm, which was paid for, would have been the perfect way to make a bundle, but it, like everything else, was owned by the trust.

  I don’t have a freaking pot to piss in or anything valuable. The only thing in my name is my car, and I need wheels to get out of town.

  Keith took the stairs to the third-story attic and pulled the string on the hanging bulb. He looked around then noticed the old steamer trunk that sat beneath the half-moon-shaped window. He hadn’t opened that trunk for years and had forgotten it existed. The attic was nothing more than a catchall until that day.

  There has to be something of value up here.

  He crossed the squeaky wooden floor and blew the dust off the trunk’s top. He knelt down and pulled up the latch then lifted the heavy lid. Inside, he found his mother’s jewelry box, her wedding dress, his father’s Army service uniform, and several miscellaneous wooden boxes. He pulled out the first box and opened it. He stuck in his index finger and pushed trinkets from one side to the other. Old cuff links, several tie tacks, and two digital wristwatches filled the space.

  Junk. It’s nothing more than dime-store crap.

  He tossed that box aside and moved on to the second one. He lifted the lid and found three antique pocket watches. He held them up to the light, and they appeared to be gold.

  Now that’s what I’m talking about.

  Those would go downstairs with him for closer inspection. He moved on to his mother’s jewelry box. He carefully pulled out each of the four drawers. It was a mixed bag. Some items looked like cheap trinkets, and others didn’t. He lifted the box out of the trunk. That would go downstairs too. He would inspect the jewelry closely with the magnifying glass that sat in the desk drawer of what once was his father’s home office.

  Maybe I can sell off the furniture and appliances too. If the price is cheap enough, people will buy anything.

  Downstairs, Keith glanced at the time on the microwave—one o’clock. No wonder he was hungry. He pulled open the refrigerator door and stared inside. The shelves were filled with four Granny Smith apples, a jar of peanut butter, a pint of sour cream, a half loaf of bread, and a Pyrex container of leftovers from before he headed south. Going to the grocery store was the last thing on his mind. He lifted the casserole lid and stuck his nose inside. It didn’t stink. He dumped the contents on a plate and popped it into the microwave.

  After lunch, Keith checked his bank account balance on his phone. November’s direct deposit of three thousand dollars had been made. He breathed a short sigh of relief, but he knew it would be the last check he’d see. Keith still needed to make some quick cash and plan how to kill the next person on his list.

  Chapter 13

  We gathered back at the sheriff’s office conference room, each with our notepads open and a carafe of fresh coffee centered on the table. A stack of Styrofoam cups and the condiment basket sat next to it. I began to pour as Jack took his seat with a thud and let out a groan. He tapped his pen against the table.

  “That wasn’t exactly how I had my morning planned.” He looked from face to face. “Anybody and everybody, start throwing out ideas. I’m sure there isn’t one person here who has ever seen a sight like that. What does it mean, and why target Leslie McDonald? What do we know about her life and her recent activities?”

  Kate broke the silence. “I got a little history from the daughter, Tracy. Apparently, Mrs. McDonald used to be a forensic psychiatrist in Milwaukee County. She retired five years ago with plans of traveling the world with her husband, who was also retired. He had been a biology professor at Marquette University for twenty-five years prior to that. The home on Rockridge Circle had been their weekend retreat until they retired. That’s when they sold their Milwaukee home and moved to Washburn County full time.”

  Clayton whistled. “On our wages, I’ll never know what that kind of money feels like.”

  I smirked. “None of us will, Chad.”

  Kate huffed at Clayton’s interruption. “Can I get back to my interview with the daughter?”

  Jack gave Clayton the eyeballs and picked up his coffee cup. “Go ahead, Kate.”

  “Anyway, the intention for their retirement was to travel the world and enjoy a fun-filled, relaxing life, but the husband passed away seven months later of pancreatic cancer. It spread rapidly, and he was dead within three months of his diagnosis.”

  “Wow, that sucks,” Billings said.

  I lifted my cup and took a sip.

  “The daughter said that in addition to Leslie’s lifelong friends, she knew the neighbors casually and struck up conversations with the handyman and lawn service guy now and then.” Kate turned to Billings. “What was the outcome of Patrol’s interview with the two widowers on Rockridge Circle?”

  “According to the knock and talks, none of the neighbors saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. Neighb
ors driving out and the mailman coming in, that’s all.”

  Jack wrote that down.

  “The two men in question”—Billings checked his notes—“Scott Bradley and Phil Jensen, didn’t know anything and were as shocked as the rest of the neighborhood. Also, they’re both pushing seventy. Don’t think they’re capable of lifting one hundred fifty pounds of dead weight.”

  I gave Billings a somber look. “Literally.”

  Jack tipped his head toward the carafe, and Clayton pushed it across the table. “Thanks.” Jack filled his cup then flipped the pages of notes he had compiled. “According to Lena’s initial exam, Mrs. McDonald had been dead for about an hour when we arrived. Her body temperature was ninety-seven degrees.” He scratched his chin. “The person most likely to have seen something unusual would have been the mailman. He’d have to deliver to the entire loop, plus he’d be driving slowly. Find out who he is and talk to him.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Clayton said.

  I looked at Jack. “We have deputies going through the house, right? There has to be a clue somewhere, a nasty email or message on her phone.”

  “Dan took her phone back with him and passed it off to Tech. They’ll glean what they can from it—text messages, emails, names on her contact list, and the like. Tracy gave us Leslie’s passwords and log-ins. We also need to find out where those roses came from. Hit up every florist and garden center in town.”

  “Tracy mentioned that Leslie occasionally bought flowers at the grocery store. We should check them too,” Kate said.

  Jack nodded. “Good idea. Before any of that, let’s take an hour and try to dissect the scene. The killing method meant something to the murderer. We need to figure out what stringing shirts together to form a noose symbolizes.”

  “Maybe the killer works with clothes. In a store, a dry cleaner, at a tailor? It’s seems so far-fetched, though, that even those suggestions sound stupid,” I said.

  Clayton spoke up. “Maybe he has some kind of OCD with women’s blouses.”

  “Yeah, that isn’t going to work. It’s only ideas and vague ones at that. Let’s stick with what we know. Start pounding the pavement, people. If we’re lucky, we might catch a break with the phone log.” Jack jerked his chin toward Clayton. “Get on that mailman right away and let me know the second you hear anything, helpful or not.”

  “Sure thing.”

  We stood to leave, and the phone rang. Jack held up his hand. “Hang tight, everyone.” He picked up the receiver from the base. “Lieutenant Steele speaking. Yes, get it up here right away.” Jack hung up and dropped down in his seat. “We might have something interesting. Deputy Woods is bringing it up.”

  Minutes later, Woods passed the conference room’s glass wall, then a knock sounded on the door.

  “Come in, Woods. What have you got?”

  He had an evidence bag in his hand as he entered. Woods opened the cabinet behind Clayton and took out the box of gloves. He placed it on the table in front of Jack.

  Jack gave him a thank-you nod. “Okay, explain this to us.” Jack turned the bag to face him. Inside was a plain white envelope that had Leslie’s name and address hand printed on the front. The top left corner had no return address. Jack held the bag toward the ceiling light. A folded sheet of paper sat inside the envelope, nothing more.

  “I thought it seemed suspicious, sir. It was with the stack of mail on Mrs. McDonald’s kitchen counter. None of it had been opened yet, so I’m guessing it could be from this morning’s delivery. The lack of a return address is always questionable.”

  “You were still gloved when you picked it up, correct?”

  “Yes, sir, Lieutenant. I’m sure there are dozens of prints on it, though, from passing through the postal system.”

  “And I’m sure that was an intentional act on the sender’s part.” Jack looked at each of us. “Who has Tracy McDonald’s phone number?”

  “I do.” Billings flipped the pages of his notepad.

  “Call her and ask if Leslie knew anybody from Montgomery, Alabama.”

  We waited as Billings dialed her number, each of us reviewing our notes.

  “Tracy, it’s Detective Billings calling. I have a quick question for you, and I’d like to put you on Speakerphone if you don’t mind. Sure, one second here.” Billings tapped the Speakerphone icon and placed his cell on the table. “Okay. Can you hear me, Tracy?”

  “Yes, perfectly clear. I’m jotting down things I’ll have to take care of on my mom’s behalf.”

  “Understood. Tracy, did your mother know anybody in Montgomery, Alabama, or anywhere in Alabama?”

  “Alabama? No, not at all. We don’t have family there, and to be honest, I don’t believe my parents had ever visited the state.”

  “Your mom wasn’t on any nationwide dating site, was she?”

  “Oh my goodness, no! She would never do that, and she isn’t”—Tracy paused—“I mean wasn’t that computer savvy, anyway. My mom was far too cautious to do anything that risky.”

  “Tracy, this is Lieutenant Steele. We have a plain white envelope here, hand addressed to your mom. We believe it was part of today’s mail. There isn’t a return address on the envelope, and the postmark is from Montgomery, Alabama. Absolutely nobody from Alabama comes to mind?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then I’d like your permission to open it. It could be a clue.” Jack slipped on a pair of gloves and waited for her response.

  “Yes, please go ahead.”

  Clayton stood and opened the wall cabinet at his back. He pulled out the lone steak knife found years ago in the lunchroom. Nobody had ever claimed it, so we often used it as a letter opener. He handed it to Jack. Jack sliced through the tape on the evidence bag and shook out the letter. He held it by the side and slipped the knife’s tip under the seal. He slid the knife across the top of the envelope and whispered to Kate, “Go get Kyle.”

  Kate pushed back her chair and left the room.

  Jack blew open the envelope and looked inside. He turned it over, and the letter dropped out. “I have the letter out now, Tracy. Give me just a minute to see what it is.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Jack unfolded the letter and smoothed it against the table’s surface. He began to read the contents then closed his eyes and shook his head. He jotted something on his notepad and slid it across the table to Billings.

  I leaned in at Adam’s shoulder and read the note silently. In short, Jack said to end the call any way Billings could. There was no way Jack would tell Tracy what was written on that sheet of paper.

  “Tracy, it’s Detective Billings again. It turns out the letter was nothing more than a pitch for a time-share.” He sighed. “I imagine that’s why there wasn’t a return address. They wanted the potential buyer to be curious enough to open it and read what was inside before tossing it in the trash can. We’ll keep you updated on our progress, though.”

  “Okay, and who will contact me about my mom’s remains and when I can plan her funeral?”

  “That would be the ME, but unfortunately, because this is an active case, your mom’s remains will have to stay at the morgue until the investigation is over.”

  We heard sniffling through the phone line. “I understand. Thank you, Detective Billings.” Tracy clicked off the call, and Billings hung up his cell.

  “What the hell does that letter say?” I had observed that Jack was livid.

  “That son of a bitch is evil incarnate. I’ll pass it around the table, but basically, the killer had a beef with the doctor that stemmed from some long-ago occurrence. Apparently, something has resurfaced and triggered his pent-up rage.”

  Seconds later, Kyle walked in with Kate. “What do you have, Lieutenant?”

  “Glove up and take a seat. I’m going to pass this around the table, but I’ll paraphrase it first. He wrote that he would kill her, but she wouldn’t know when or where. He’d swoop in unseen, possibly while she slept, possibly while she shower
ed, or possibly when she opened the front door. He’d take her life in the worst way imaginable. Pleasure would fill his body while pain would radiate through hers. He’d enjoy every breath he took as hers was being snuffed away, and he’d feel invigorated and alive while she’d feel the life slowly drain out of her body. Killing her, he said, was necessary to balance the scales.” Jack ran both hands through his hair. “I left out the expletives, but you get my drift.”

  Jack slid the letter toward me. My eyes darted from left to right across the paper as Jack continued talking. I finished reading it and passed it to Kyle.

  “The killer is definitely somebody Mrs. McDonald came in contact with at some point during her life. It may not have affected her in any way, shape, or form, but apparently whatever it was caused our killer to hold a long-lasting grudge. He’s living the saying ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold.’ The question is, revenge for what?”

  “Boss?”

  “Yes, Amber?”

  “Don’t forget what her occupation was. She may have pissed off a lot of people in the past with her psych evals.”

  “Good point, but that would be tough to track. It wouldn’t hurt to speak with old colleagues of hers, though.” The letter made its way around the table, then Jack scooped it up and placed it on the glass under the copier lid. He printed off a dozen sheets and handed them out. He gave the original to Kyle. “I want this fingerprinted immediately. Call me if anything pops up in the database.”

  Kyle placed the letter and envelope in the evidence bag, resealed it, and walked out.

  “Okay, we know this wasn’t a random murder. Mrs. McDonald was definitely the target. Get out there and hit the streets. Talk to anyone and everyone she knew. Exclude the immediate neighbors. Amber, see if Tech can give you a printout of Leslie’s contact list. That would be a good place to start. I want the handyman and lawn care guy interviewed in person. Get a feel of the others during a phone interview. You can decide which ones do or don’t need a face-to-face with you. Billings, you go with Amber. Kate, you and Clayton find the mailman, talk to him, then start on the flower shops. I’m going to follow up with everyone here and call the Montgomery, Alabama, PD. Maybe they know of a killer at large.” Jack rapped the table with his knuckles. “Let’s go.” He tipped his wrist. “I want everyone back here at five thirty. We’ll have a follow-up meeting, then I’m cutting you loose for the day.”