“Did you call Ashley?” she asked.
He thrust his fingers into his hair. “I should, but... Man, I keep thinking this will all go away.”
“Maybe it won’t turn out to be a body.”
“Sure. That’s why they’ve been in there for—” he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time “—almost forty-five minutes.”
Had it really been that long? Heartsick, Beth gazed at the garage and tried not to imagine what was happening in there. The ridiculous attraction she’d felt for the man who might this minute be examining her mother’s dead body? There could be any number of explanations. She latched onto heatstroke. That was as rational as anything else.
* * *
TONY WATCHED AS Jess and Larry eased the contorted remains away from the constricted space between the two-by-fours, wrapping as they went to keep it as intact as possible, using the open black body bag as a tarp to be sure they didn’t lose anything that fell out with the body—or off the body—some of which was down to bones. He couldn’t look away.
Like most cops, he’d seen his share of dead people. Vehicular accidents could do hideous things to a human being. Domestic violence, strangling, gunshots, he’d seen the effects of all of them. None compared to these remains that were more disturbing by a long shot than finding only bones.
He’d seen photographs of Egyptian mummies, unwrapped to display withered brown flesh. He’d even read about a couple of cases where deaths had gone unnoticed until someone found a mummified body sitting in front of a television.
None of that had prepared him for the reality.
Once they had begun cutting the wallboard to remove it, he’d locked the door and taped coverings over both the window and the pane of glass in the door. He hated the idea that any of this woman’s children would ever see so much as a photograph of what she looked like now.
That was assuming this was Christine Marshall, but he didn’t have a lot of doubt. Missing woman? Body found in the same house? As his own father used to say, it didn’t take a rocket scientist.
This woman was petite. If she’d been any bigger, she couldn’t have been squeezed into such a narrow space. Even so, the angle of the feet—skeletal except for some gristle—suggested the killer had broken her ankles to make her flat enough to cover with wallboard.
The blond hair was suggestive, too, as were her teeth. They didn’t look like a young woman’s, displaying a number of metal fillings on molars and at least one crown. She still wore a polyester blouse that was apparently indestructible, as were nylon panties. No trousers, shoes or socks. His guess was that she’d been killed as she started to get dressed, maybe after sex. She could have been surprised from behind.
Jess and Larry laid the bag and body on the cement floor. She stood, staring down in pity and the horrified fascination Tony suspected was on his own face.
Crouching beside the dead woman, Larry shook his head. “I don’t know whether the ME can deal with a body in this condition, or whether we’ll have to hunt down a forensic anthropologist.”
“Morgue van on the way?” Tony asked.
Jess glanced at him. “Yes. It’ll mean opening the big door, you know.”
He did. So far, they’d shuttled whatever they needed from the van to the side door, hoping to avoid awakening too much interest from neighbors. What they’d found wouldn’t stay a secret for any length of time, though.
“Once that’s done, I’ll go talk to the family again. Get her dentist’s name.”
“Bitch of a scene,” Jess said sympathetically.
“No shit.” And it was barely the beginning of the investigation.
Chapter Three
MATT DEPARTED FIRST, which didn’t surprise Tony. Figured he’d leave his sister holding the bag. It was clear he and his father didn’t get along—maybe didn’t even speak. Tony wondered how Beth had talked him into helping with the great garage cleanup.
Something else had occurred to Tony, too. Matt would have been nearly an adult when his mother disappeared. Seventeen or eighteen. He’d have towered over her. What if he’d come home unexpectedly and caught her with a lover, say? Words could have exploded into rage.
Leaning against the back wall of the house, Tony shook his head. He was being premature. Tomorrow, they’d know from dental records whether this was Christine Marshall. Until he had that confirmation, there was no use doing too much speculating.
Beth slipped out the French door, looking surprised to see him. “I thought you’d gone.”
“I was waiting for you.”
“Oh. Why?”
“Couple of things.” He’d been worried about her, but he couldn’t say that. Keeping an eye on her the way he had today, that had had nothing to do with his job. What he’d seen was a strong woman holding up under painful circumstances, still able to be supportive to the rest of her family. At this point, he couldn’t afford to like her too much. “I don’t want anyone touching the stuff you packed that’s out here. Can I depend on your father to keep his hands off?” He’d debated moving it all into the garage, but that wouldn’t protect it from his main suspect. At least in this climate, at this time of year, he didn’t have to worry about rain.
“Yes. Good heavens! Even if he wanted to find something, how would he be able to figure out where it is?” Beth’s laugh was sad. “I don’t think he cared what we did with anything in the garage. Why would he now?”
Because his dead wife’s body had been discovered?
“People panic.” He watched her. “He didn’t try to put you off tackling the garage? Or ask you to keep hands off anything?”
Her eyes briefly narrowed, but she answered with a no before hesitating. “The only thing he said when we got started was not to throw away anything important.”
Though tempted, he didn’t say, What about your brother? Did he try to put you off? Maybe agree to help so he could steer you away from that part of the garage?
If that’s what Matt had had in mind, he’d failed in a big way, hadn’t he?
Beth looked at the fruit of their weekend’s labor. A strip of yellow crime scene tape now wrapped the pile. “Will you have to go through it all?”
“Very possibly.” Considering how much was still in the garage, too, he almost groaned. “It depends what was out here, how you reorganized it.”
“We’ve already dumped some stuff in the garbage can,” she said suddenly. “And the recycling container, too.”
He sighed. “I’d better take a look in both before I go.”
“I was going to order a Dumpster tomorrow.”
“Hold off for now. I’ll let you know when it’s okay to go ahead.”
She nodded, looking more drained than upset, which was understandable. He’d been lucky today to have her cooperation, to have her answer questions. That didn’t excuse the way his body stirred at the sight of her.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
“Yes. I got Dad to eat a bite. I suggested he spend the night at my place, but he’s set in his ways.”
A spark of irritation reminded Tony of what her father had said earlier. Bethie was old enough to take over helping her sister and making meals, so nothing changed all that much. Maybe he shouldn’t admire her for enabling her father’s selfishness.
She’d probably say she loved him enough to overlook some flaws. Tony grimaced out of view. God knows, he kept performing chores for his mother that she could afford to pay to have done. Of all people, he should understand.
As they walked the narrow passage alongside the house, Beth slid a glance at the window, covered with sheets of newspaper, before she looked determinedly away. Tony touched her back.
“Try to think about something else.”
She gave a broken laugh. “I never drink, but I’m reconsidering that. I go right by the liquor store on my way home.”
She wrinkled her nose. “One reason I stay away from even beer and wine. My stomach doesn’t handle alcohol well.”
“Your father likely to drown his worries tonight?”
“I doubt he has so much as a beer in the house. He’s never been a drinker either.”
“Maybe you inherited the weak stomach from him,” Tony suggested.
He stopped long enough to take that look into the garbage can and the recycling container, verifying what she’d said, before following her to the front of the house.
Beth stopped at the white Civic parked in the driveway. He guessed it to be ten years old or so. The brother drove a shiny black Kia Sorento that looked new. The other car at the curb earlier was an older Volkswagen Golf. Emily’s, he presumed. Apparently Dad owned the Buick sedan, showing its years. Tony wasn’t much surprised that John Marshall didn’t bother to regularly upgrade what he drove.
Beth opened the driver-side door but, instead of getting in, gazed anxiously at Tony. “Will you be coming out right away in the morning?”
“Likely,” he said. “If this isn’t your mother...well, that leads to other problems, but it’s clear we’re looking at murder here.”
“Could you tell, um, what happened to her?”
“You mean, what killed her?”
Unhappy, she nodded.
“A depression at the back of the skull is a possibility, but it could have occurred post-mortem.” Somebody—say, her father—had had to haul the dead woman out to the garage, probably drop it on the concrete floor. Or it could have been dented when the body was forced into the narrow space. The rest of the scenario he was still playing with.
Could there have been construction materials handy out here? That was a question he’d have to ask but, for now, he held it in reserve. Otherwise, the killer would have to have driven to the nearest lumberyard and bought a single sheet. How had he unloaded it and gotten it into the garage without being noticed? After all these years, would anyone remember something so seemingly insignificant? Of course, anyone but the homeowner carrying the wallboard in would likely have drawn more attention from neighbors. Yet another reason to focus on John.
“The medical examiner might be able to spot something else,” he said. “After so long, it’s sometimes impossible to pinpoint cause of death. What we do know, though, is that she didn’t wall her own body up in that garage.”
“No. I...understand.” Beth smiled weakly. “You probably had things you’d rather have been doing today, huh?”
He gripped the top of her car door, smiling again. “I was mowing my lawn when the call came. Wondering why I hadn’t waited until it had cooled down.”
Her smile was the most genuine he’d seen yet, adding a radiance to a face some might describe as plain despite translucent skin, a pretty mouth and eyes that were a soft gray-green with hints of gold.
“Still,” she said.
He grimaced, conceding the point. No, this wasn’t the way he’d have chosen to spend what was supposed to be a day off. On the other hand, he’d sought the promotion to detective because he liked puzzles.
If not for the call, he’d likely never have met her either.
The thought startled and dismayed him. She wasn’t a suspect, but she was part of this investigation and, therefore, taboo.
Tony let go of the door and took a step back. “You take care, Beth. I’ll let you know what we learn in the morning.”
Whatever she’d seen on his face drained her of that momentary vitality, letting exhaustion and anxiety take over again. He ignored his pang of regret, watching as she slid into the car, buckled her seatbelt and fired up the engine, all without looking at him again.
* * *
SHORTLY AFTER THE dental office opened the next morning, Tony was able to talk to Dr. Hugh Koster, a short, pudgy man who explained that his X-rays hadn’t been digital thirteen years ago. He’d have to send someone to search records stored in a back room.
Not an hour later, he called back.
“I’m looking at them right now. I received the X-rays from the medical examiner’s office, too. Do you want to see them side by side?”
Since he did, Tony drove right over.
He already knew from the heaviness in the dentist’s voice that they were a match. Once they stood in front of a light box where the last full-mouth X-rays from Christine Marshall were displayed right above a computer monitor showing the new ones. Even Tony could see that the fillings and crown were in the same places. The dentist also pointed out a crooked eyetooth and a hollow in a molar, which he’d noted should be filled to prevent inevitable decay.
“No question this is her,” he said, snapping off the light.
Tony leaned a hip against the counter in the exam room. “I’m not surprised. Do you remember Mrs. Marshall, Dr. Koster?”
“Yes, she was in here often,” he answered readily. Seeing Tony’s raised eyebrows, he said, “She had three children, also all patients. And her husband was, and is, a patient as well.”
“How did she strike you?”
“She was a lovely woman.” He smiled crookedly. “I’m happily married, but not blind. Her youngest looks a lot like her. Petite, blonde, a few freckles across the nose. My impression was that Christine had more force of personality, though.”
“She and her husband seem like an odd fit.”
Dr. Koster assumed a polite facade. “I don’t know him well enough to say. He’s a quiet man.”
Tony thanked him, accepted the X-rays and delivered them to the ME’s office.
Instead of starting his car right away, he rolled his head to loosen tight muscles and thought, Crap. There were reasons not to make this call—but he’d promised.
* * *
BETH’S LEGS GAVE OUT and she dropped onto the sofa, clutching her phone. “Oh, my God.” She shouldn’t be surprised but somehow was anyway. Or maybe the straightforward news had just offered a fresh injection of shock. “All those years...” Her throat clogged.
Over the phone, Detective Navarro’s velvet, deep voice sounded as sympathetic as it had in person. “I’m afraid so.”
“I need to let Matt and Emily know.” Her mind spun. “And Dad...or have you already called him?”
“Please don’t call him,” the detective said, the order thinly disguised. “I’m on my way over there now.”
“I’d like to be there when you talk to him.”
“I need to speak to him alone. I’m sure you understand.”
Of course she did. “Should I call an attorney for him?”
“I can’t advise you on that,” he said stiffly. “Surely he can make that decision for himself.”
It would never cross her father’s mind. Did he understand that he had to be considered a suspect? Beth knew he was incapable of an act of violence, and even more so of having the presence of mind and practicality it would have taken to hide the body.
Battling nausea, she thought, Not the body. Mom.
“I shouldn’t have called you,” Detective Navarro said, an odd note in his voice. “I need to ask you not to contact your brother either.”
“Matt? Why?”
The little silence that followed let her know how naive she sounded.
“He was the oldest, likely to remember the most,” he said finally.
That wasn’t it. What he meant was Your brother was nearly an adult. He lived in the home. I have to look at him.
And to think she’d let herself feel as if she and the sexy detective had formed some kind of bond. That he’d called her the minute he learned anything this morning because he liked her, thought of them as working together to find the truth.
Being nice under these circumstances was manipulative. And don’t forget it.
Matt could take care of himself. He’d ask for an attorney the second he sensed the detective’s real motives. Dad would not only remain clueless, he could easily be pressured into saying things he shouldn’t.
So much for the silly thoughts she’d allowed herself last night about Tony Navarro. Foolish for other reasons, too. She hadn’t seen a wedding ring, but he could be married, or at least involved with a woman. The way he’d looked at her could have been entirely in her imagination.
“Beth?”
How many times had he tried to recall her to the conversation?
“Thank you for calling,” she said and hung up.
She located her telephone directory, a year out of date, but this was Frenchman Lake. Change came slowly. In moments, she scanned the listings for attorneys in the yellow pages. DUI. Personal injury. Tax problems. She flipped the page back, at last seeing a category for criminal law. Her finger paused on William Schaaf, until she saw he was in practice with one of her parents’ friends. Even if Dad had never met this partner...no.
She picked another name at random.
A receptionist said she thought Mr. Ochoa might be available. He was and sounded interested in what she told him. “I’d like to help, but I’m due in court in fifteen minutes,” he said. “Can we put the interview off until one-thirty?”
Hoping for courage, she promised to tell the detective he had to wait until her father’s attorney could make it. Then, panicked, she tore out of the house and exceeded a few speed limits on the way to her father’s.
An unmarked police car was already parked at the curb. Beth ran across the lawn and let herself in, following voices coming from the family room, where she found the two men were already seated.
The flash in Detective Navarro’s dark eyes told her how unwelcome her intrusion was. He rose to his feet. “I thought I made clear that you can’t be here for this interview.”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t plan to be. However, my father’s attorney will be. Mr. Ochoa can’t make it until one-thirty, so you’ll need to come back then.”
Back Against the Wall Page 4