Shards of Murder

by Cheryl Hollon

  “Given our history, I thought it would be good to have a chat before we started to work together again.” Parker felt sorry for the straining buttons on the front of Officer Boulli’s uniform shirt. Could they be dangerous projectiles? Shaking his head to clear his mind, he added, “Do you agree?”

  “Yes, sir.” Officer Boulli straightened up slightly and placed a hand on each knee.

  “I know we have had some differences in the interpretation of Code of Conduct for a Police Officer as published by the county of Pinellas and the city of St. Petersburg. In fact, our interpretation differences resulted in your suspension of duty after the murders that occurred at Webb’s Glass Shop.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So that we are clear, I wanted you to know that my professional recommendation was that you be dismissed from your position and not permitted to return.”

  Why does this man bring out the worst in me? His innate incompetence nearly got Savannah killed a few months ago. I need to handle this carefully.

  “No, sir.” Officer Boulli wiped his sweaty palms along the tops of his thighs, leaving a faint streak on his uniform trousers. “I didn’t know that, sir.”

  Staring at the stain, Parker attempted to relax his jaw. “That’s why I’m addressing this issue now, before we continue working together. I expect you to perform your duties with all due consideration of the Code of Conduct and Internal Operational Procedures as they are written as of this date.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What I mean is that I’m willing to start with a clean slate if you are.” Detective Parker leaned forward and folded his hands. “Repeat that for me, officer. I want to be sure that you understand my concern.”

  “Sir, you are telling me to watch my step.”

  “Good. Tell me what happens if I file another complaint against you.”

  “Sir, you won’t have to do that. I’m going to be very careful to toe the line.”

  “But since you are on probation, I want to know if you understand the consequences of another complaint.”

  “Yes, sir. According to procedure, if you file another complaint, I will be removed from duty until an investigation is carried out by Internal Affairs. If they find the complaint valid, I will be dismissed from employment with the City of St. Petersburg Police Department.”

  Leaning back, Parker said, “Very good, officer. We understand each other?”

  “Clear as crystal, sir.”

  From the right pocket of his jacket, Parker pulled out a notebook and nodded to Officer Boulli to do the same. “I have a line of investigation for you to follow in the case of Megan Loyola.”

  Officer Boulli opened his notebook on his knee and patted his pockets searching for his pen. His eyes grew wider as the search grew longer. He stood up to put his hand fully into each pocket and came up empty.

  “Sorry, sir. Can I borrow a pen?”

  “Of course, officer.” Parker pulled open the center drawer of his desk and tossed a cheap stick pen to Boulli. “I want you to start gathering statements from each artist who had a booth in the same row with Megan.” He pulled out a yellow sticky pad from the center drawer and copied down a name and address from his notebook. “Here”—he peeled off the top sticky note—“this is the name, address, and cell number of the organizer for the Spinnaker Art Festival.”

  Boulli took the sticky note and carefully stuck it in his notebook. “Yes, sir.”

  “Find each artist. Interview them in such detail that I get a clear picture of Megan’s movements from Friday night through Saturday night. It’s important to be accurate with the times that each artist had any contact with Megan. We need to build a timeline for her movements during the Spinnaker Art Festival.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Aren’t you going to write that down?”

  “No, sir. I’m clear about my assignment.”

  “Very well. Call me every hour on the hour to report your progress. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Detective Parker stood up and waved a hand to the door. “Well, get going, then.”

  Officer Boulli stood so quickly the notebook slipped off his knee and fell under the desk. “Shoot. Oh, sorry, sir.” He scrunched his bulk down to peer under the desk. “Sir, it’s right by your foot. Would you mind?” he wheezed.

  Pressing his lips tightly together, Parker stepped back and moved his office chair out of the way. The notebook had fallen open and he could see the illegible scribbles and notes. Picking it up and handing it over, he stared directly at Boulli with cold eyes. “Not an especially good start.”

  “Yes, sir.” Boulli took the notebook and disappeared like a schoolboy on the last day of school, leaving behind a breath of fresh air.

  Detective Parker sat down and slowly lowered his forehead to the top of his desk.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Looking up at Forensic Specialist Sandra Grey, he grinned sheepishly. Her skirted suit accentuated her slim, athletic build. “I’ve just spent the last five minutes being a bully. I’m a hypocrite—a card-carrying hypocrite.”

  “That’s impossible.” She sat down and crossed her shapely legs, showcasing a pair of black patent peep-toe high heels. “You are one of the kindest detectives I know. And I should know. I deal with the entire lot of you nearly every day. What gives?”

  “I had a discussion with Officer Boulli and I came down on him like a ton of bricks. I don’t think it was particularly effective, and I believe I’m the only one in the conversation who will be affected by my rant.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it was, but on the other hand, I’m confident that Officer Boulli will be left completely unfazed.”

  They looked at each other for a silent second, then both burst into uncontrolled laughter.

  Sandra recovered first. “Honestly”—she caught her breath—“you couldn’t have picked anyone more perfect to bully. He is so concerned with himself, it simply doesn’t register.”

  Detective Parker removed a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I hope you’re right, but it’s a good lesson for me to stop trying to be what I’m not.” He stowed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “Thanks for the best laugh of the day, but besides cheering me up, why are you here?”

  “First”—she glanced at the folder on his desk—“I wanted to be sure you had the preliminary autopsy report. They get lost occasionally. Second, I wanted to confirm drinks downtown at The Canopy at six. Third, and most interesting, I’ve been examining the glass shard that was embedded in the victim’s wound. I’m not an expert on art glass, but this fragment seems quite unique.”

  He smiled with his eyes. “Canopy confirmed.” Then a crinkle appeared between his brows. “How are they unique?”

  “Well, they’re curiously luminous without adding what I can only call ‘shiny bits’ to the composition.”

  “Okay, how does that help?”

  “I think this is a new or relatively rare process in glassmaking that could be a driving motive for Megan Loyola’s murder. But I can’t find anything on the Internet about glass like this.”

  “So, you’re saying that we need expert consultation?”

  “Yes, we do.” Sandra rose and poked a finger into Detective Parker’s chest. “I think Savannah Webb would be very helpful as that expert.”

  “Before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s go over to the murder room.”

  They walked across the open seating area of the St. Petersburg Police Department’s Crimes Against Persons Unit and entered the first conference room in a bank of conference rooms. Along the back wall was a sliding panel system of corkboards flanking a whiteboard in the center of the room. The corkboards were peppered with bits of paper reports, photographs of the scene, and a snapshot of the victim.

  The whiteboard took center stage and was customized for the transient nature of fast-moving investigations. Across the top of th
e whiteboard were the magnetic labels SUSPECT, ASSIGNMENT, and INVESTIGATOR. The first name under the Suspect column was “Savannah Webb” and under the Assignment column was written “discovered body—judge at festival—needs alibi.” Finally, listed under the Investigator column Detective Parker had written his own name.

  Detective Parker stood feeling a flush creep into his face. He pointed to Savannah’s name. “I would sign her up instantly except for the very annoying fact that she is our top person of interest.”

  Sandra tilted her head. “You know that’s ridiculous.”

  “Yes, but until she is eliminated from the investigation, I can’t use her as a consultant.”

  “What are you doing to clear Savannah?”

  “Following other leads.” He grinned. “I think she’ll manage to clear herself. Unfortunately, not quick enough to serve as an expert consultant, but facts are facts.”

  “Yes, but—”

  He held up his hand and ticked off his fingers one by one. “One, she discovered the body. Two, she was one of the last known individuals to talk to Megan. Three, Savannah chose Megan to win the top prize. Four, her business card was found on the body. Five, she has no alibi. I have to follow the case leads no matter where they take me. In the meantime, I’ve found another local expert we can use.”

  “Oh, who is it?”

  “He has a glass shop in the downtown area: Frank Lattimer.”

  Chapter 10

  Tuesday Morning

  Opening up the back door of Webb’s Glass Shop, Savannah could tell that someone was already there. The office’s overhead lights were flipped on. It couldn’t have been Amanda; she would have turned on the classroom lights as well. Savannah gently placed her backpack and keys on the desk and walked into the dark classroom.

  She turned on the lights as she went from the classroom into the display and retail room. Beside the front door was a comfy dog basket filled with Suzy, Jacob’s beagle service dog, wearing her blue vest, matching booties, and eyes bright in welcome. The door to the custom workshop stood wide open and Savannah let out the deep breath that she didn’t know she was holding.

  Of course, it’s Jacob.

  Walking into the custom workshop, she found Jacob circling the large workshop table stacked with the Spinnaker Art Festival artist applications. He was sorting them into perfectly aligned piles.

  “Good morning, Jacob.”

  He lifted his head and nodded slightly, not missing a beat in his sorting.

  “Any news?”

  He shook his head no and continued sorting.

  “Good luck, then.”

  She left him to his sorting process. Jacob had an affinity for recognizing patterns in disparate bits of data. If anything could be gleaned from the applicant database about Megan’s death, Jacob was going to isolate that data.

  She rubbed the back of her neck to loosen the knot of tension. I’m jumpy because of Megan, but there really isn’t any reason for me to be spooked. This wasn’t like last time, when employees at Webb’s were killed.

  Returning to the office, she yawned and reached into her backpack and took out the small shards she and Edward had collected from the grass behind Megan’s exhibit space. Taking them back into the custom workshop, she turned on the light table and placed the shards on the bright white surface. Lit from underneath, the shards looked like glistening bits of fire. They were even more luminous than when Savannah had seen them in Megan’s central glass figure.

  She grabbed a magnifying glass and looked closer at the shards. The glass looked different, but she didn’t know why. After several more minutes of close examination, there was nothing more for her to do. She wrapped up the shards and returned them to her backpack.

  I need to have Keith look at these.

  Since Amanda had closed the shop last night, Savannah didn’t expect her until right before the start of the workshop at ten. She returned to the display and retail room, quickly stepping through the opening-of-the-shop routine. Savannah was pleased to see Edward coming through the front door with a French press, cups, and a pile of cranberry scones.

  “Hey, luv. Hungry?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m more interested in coffee, but those scones smell delicious.”

  “Good. Back in the office?”

  “Do you want to share some with Jacob?” She glanced at the opening of the custom workshop.

  “You know his food issues.”

  “Of course, nothing with berries, which, oddly, includes raisins; I forgot for a second. Sometimes my Southern Lady training works on autopilot.”

  “I thought your mother died when you were only ten. Who gave you Southern Lady training?”

  She tilted her head and grinned. “See, you don’t know everything. I spent summer vacations with my mother’s parents in Kentucky. Gran and Gramps owned a small horse farm near Lexington. She taught me how to cook, how to sew, and how to flirt. Gramps taught me how to fish and how to ride a horse. It was wonderful. I don’t think I could have survived without them.”

  “So, they’re gone now?”

  “Oh no, they’re still up in Lexington. They don’t travel much anymore, but I usually spend some time with them in the summer each year. I’ll be doing more of that now that I’m living in the same time zone. In fact, I think there’s a direct flight from Tampa.”

  “I know a bit about horses. I learned to ride when I was about six.”

  “Something else we have in common.” Savannah smiled, then frowned. “Did you get in touch with Wanda?”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t hard. I approached her about being an organizer over the food vendors for next year’s Grand Central Chili Cook-off. We’re meeting for drinks tonight at the Birchwood rooftop lounge downtown. Remind me again of what I’m trying to get out of her?”

  “It’s there on the whiteboard.” She pointed to the third line. “See, you need to investigate ‘upset Megan at reception.’” Savannah frowned. “I think we should add a column for assignments, don’t you?”

  “Brilliant.” Edward nodded.

  She stood and said, “Done,” then added an “Assigned To” column to the whiteboard. She wrote in who was investigating in each line.

  “Yes, I seem to have Swiss cheese for memory these days.” He stood close behind Savannah until she felt his presence and turned around. He smiled and looked down into her eyes. “I think I know why.”

  Savannah cleared her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, this makes it easier for us to keep track of the investigation.” She finished filling out the assignments and placed the marker back on the whiteboard shelf.

  “What about the shards we found behind Megan’s booth?” Edward pointed to the entry.

  “Good point.” Savannah wiped out “Festival grounds” and replaced it with “Glass shards,” then wiped out “Search for evidence” and replaced that with “Identify origin.”

  Edward took the eraser out of her hand and removed his name from the “Glass shards” row. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you with that one.”

  “Okay, fair enough. Are we all good?” She stood back and folded her arms, looking at the grid quite satisfied.

  The Case of Megan Loyola’s Murder

  Suspect Investigation Assigned To

  Frank Lattimer Subject of argument at festival Savannah

  Megan’s team Identify Amanda

  Wanda Quitman Upset Megan at reception Edward

  Glass shards Identify Origin Savannah

  Registration forms Find connection patterns in application database Jacob

  Leon Price Megan’s ex-boyfriend Savannah

  The front-door bell jangled madly as Amanda bustled into the shop. “I’m sorry to be so late.” She hurried into the classroom and then stood in the doorway to the office. “Did you check to see if I have all the materials the students will need for today’s class? Oh, hi, Edward. Are those your cranberry scones?” She wedged between Edward and Savannah to snatch a
scone from the tray. “Oh my goodness, thanks. These are my absolute, all-time, until-the-end-of-the-world favorite scones.”

  Savannah winked a “later” at Edward.

  “I haven’t checked the classroom yet. We were about ready to talk about the investigation. How did you get on with Duncan McCloud Gallery?”

  “Super! The managing director, Duncan McCloud himself, was working with three helpers. They were creating one of Duncan’s signature large etched vessels and it was a treat to watch the team coordinate their tasks. Unfortunately, the vessel got just a wee bit unbalanced and it broke into a million shards.”

  “Ouch, that is a heartbreaking sound.” Savannah recalled that sickening feeling when the same thing happened to her while developing vital skills in hot glass.

  “Yeah, they were upset. McCloud was great, though. He just laughed and said they would try again after everyone rested a bit.”

  Savannah grabbed the French press cafetière and poured more coffee into her cup and Edward’s, too. “What about Megan’s production team?”

  “Yep, I got the names of her team from the team that McCloud is currently using. Apparently they’re the best ones around. Even better, one of them was standing there as part of McCloud’s crew.”

  “That’s great. What luck!”

  “Yeah, it’s luck all right, but not great news. The one who was there was Vincent O’Neil. He was working with McCloud the night Megan was killed.”

  “Was there another assistant? It was a complicated piece.”

  “That’s where the good luck comes in. The other team member is Leon Price. He wasn’t at McCloud’s Saturday night with the others. They complained that it was a very difficult shift without him.”

  “That name is appearing with scary frequency,” said Savannah, scrubbing her forehead with her knuckles. “He was the artist that I was debating awarding first place to, but I went along with Megan. Their booths were directly across the aisle from each other. He was also late to the festival on Sunday morning. As her ex-boyfriend and rival, we need to focus on him. Great job, Amanda.”