Chapter Thirteen
The following evening, Vernon phoned Radhauser to remind him of the meeting he’d set up with Monty Taylor, after his shift at the Ashland Co-op ended at 7 p.m.
“I can be there in ten minutes.” Radhauser checked his watch. 6:54. “Wait for me before you ask or tell him anything.
Vernon and Monty were already seated at the small table in the interrogation room when Radhauser arrived. The walls were painted puke green. The room doubled as the police break room and smelled like left over pizza, stale coffee and cigarette smoke.
Radhauser introduced himself. “Is there anything I can get you? A cup of coffee or a soft drink?”
Monty had a slight frame, with fine, handsome features and dark, neatly-styled hair. Sitting with his back erect, he seemed to be coiled with a kind of animal energy. “You could get me some fresh air. It stinks in here.” There was disdain in his voice as he brushed his hair back from his forehead.
Radhauser opened the window to the sounds of traffic flowing steadily across the plaza and a street musician playing Lady of Spain on the accordion. “You sure you don’t want something to drink?”
“No, thank you. How long is this going to take? I have a photography class at 8 p.m.” He folded his hands on the table top.
Radhauser pulled out a chair and sat. The fluorescent lights above them hummed and flickered the way they’d been doing for weeks. Someone needed to replace the damn bulbs.
Monty leaned forward. “I don’t know why I’m being questioned by the police. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
The same old story. No one ever admitted to doing anything wrong. “Because when something happens to a child in Ashland, we look at the list of pedophiles and people like you with an arrest record involving a kid.” He looked Monty in the eyes. “That little matter in Indiana.”
Monty shifted his gaze to the window. It was dark now, except for the streetlights and the golden glow from the restaurants across the street on the plaza. “That was five years ago. And the charge was all a big misunderstanding.”
Radhauser leaned back in his chair. “Yes. They usually are. You looking for an apology?”
“No,” Monty said. “I’m looking for reasons you called me in here.”
“The child in question was about the same age as that nephew you were so fond of.”
Again, Monty raked his hair back with pale, trembling fingers.
“You’re here because you were in Lithia Park on Monday morning and made advances toward the little boy—the one you wanted to push on the swing and photograph.”
“Of course you want to blame me. Once even accused of being a criminal, I’ll always be one, right?”
“Do you know Skyler Sterling?”
“I wouldn’t say I know him. But I do remember seeing him.”
Radhauser leaned his elbows on the table. Liar. Monty had taken dozens of photographs of Skyler. “That child you remember is dead.”
Monty jerked back as if he’d been slapped, an incredulous look on his face. “That’s so sad. He was an adorable little boy. How did he die?”
“He was murdered.”
Monty shifted in his seat. He clasped his hands together and squeezed so hard his knuckles whitened. “Murdered? That beautiful little boy?”
Good. The man was nervous. Radhauser caught something in Taylor’s eyes. A hint of both sadness and panic. Was he sad because he hadn’t meant to kill Skyler? “Don’t you read the paper?”
Monty’s face tensed. “No. No, I don’t. And what’s his murder got to do with me? I may have been arrested, but it wasn’t for killing a kid. I’m studying to be a child photographer. I hope to open my own studio. I love kids.”
“Sure,” Vernon said. “You love them all right.”
“How was he murdered?”
“Why don’t you tell us?”
Sometimes suspects grew confused or tired and gave up their denials. The one thing that never broke the guilty was unbearable guilt over what they did. If you looked into their eyes, all Radhauser ever saw was regret for getting caught.
“Because I have no idea how he was murdered. Don’t try to pin this on me.”
Radhauser pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his western blazer and spread out the photographs he’d taken in Taylor’s darkroom. Bryce had verified the photos were of Skyler.
“You had no business in my private space.”
“A search warrant made it my business.”
“I admit I take pictures of kids in the park. It’s part of my class work.”
“Hundreds of kids go to Lithia Park every day. Why did you only photograph Skyler Sterling?”
Taylor’s face softened. His eyes welled. “Because he reminds me of someone I loved.”
Vernon shoved his chair back and stood. “Could it be your nephew—the two-year-old you molested?”
“I was accused. But those charges were dropped.” Monty coiled tighter into himself, like a frightened animal with his leg in a steel trap. “It was all a big misunderstanding.”
“From what I understand,” Radhauser said. “Your sister dropped the charges with the stipulation you leave Indianapolis and never come back.”
“She overreacted. I was babysitting for my nephew. We were taking a bubble bath. Nothing happened. My sister, Angela, is an overprotective single mother. Scared of her own shadow. And what if he does resemble Kayden? That doesn’t mean I killed him.”
Vernon’s face twisted in disgust. “That resemblance got you aroused, didn’t it?”
Taylor turned his gaze to the window again—to strollers on the plaza enjoying the autumn evening and the accordion music, now a jazzy rendition of Fly Me to the Moon. “You want me to confess. To tell you I hurt that kid. But I didn’t. I was at school.”
Radhauser glanced at Vernon, then back at Taylor. “When you went inside Bryce’s house, asked for a drink of water and reached for a glass, you saw Skyler’s bottle and decided to drug him. I suspect you meant to tranquilize him, but used a little too much. Maybe you planned to come back to the house and kidnap Skyler once the drug took effect. Did you go into his bedroom? Unlock a window?”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I did nothing of the sort. I went to my class at 8 p.m. on Monday. Ask my teacher at Rogue Community College. Riverside campus. I came straight home. Ask Mrs. Carmichael. She’s like a mother hen and always waits up for me.” Monty checked his watch. “I have fifteen minutes to get to class. Please may I go now?”
Even if his alibi checked out, that didn’t mean he hadn’t put the drug in Skyler’s bottle.
“Go ahead,” Radhauser said.
Vernon shot Radhauser a look, then turned back to Monty. “Stay close to home.”
Monty stood and hurried from the room. Once he was outside the interrogation room door, he turned back. “If you want to question me again, I’m bringing a lawyer with me.”
Radhauser hadn’t eliminated Monty as a suspect. But why would he drug Skyler, if the plan wasn’t to kidnap him after he fell asleep? It would be easy to do. Bryce was deaf and Monty knew it. He could have entered the house without detection. Scott probably wouldn’t have awakened. Radhauser’s daughter, Lizzie, could sleep through a hurricane. What if Monty returned to the Bryce home after Mrs. Carmichael had gone to bed, and saw the lights on? Or the ambulance in the driveway? He would have raced back to his room at the boarding house.
“As well you should.” Radhauser heard the hint of disappointment in his own voice.
Once Monty had gone, Vernon grabbed his jacket from the hook behind the door. “I’ll check with the college and his landlady.”
“Good,” Radhauser said. “And assign McBride to keep an eye on him. Have her stakeout the park playground. Now that’s Skyler isn’t around, this pervert might start stalking another kid.”
Chapter Fourteen
When Radhauser phoned the Lazy Lasso to find Dana, he was surprised to learn she had returned to work so soon af
ter her son’s death. But who was he to judge? The quiet in the house had been more than he could bear and he’d returned to the Pima County Sheriff’s office only a week after Laura and Lucas were buried.
As he walked into the restaurant late Monday night, Radhauser was reminded of the Silver Spur in Catalina, just outside Tucson, where he first met Gracie. He thought about the rich, sugary smell of the pineapple upside down cake the Spur served and how he once used it as a daily excuse to see Gracie. His mouth watered.
The decors of the two restaurants were similar—barn wood siding and planked wood floors. Even the waitress uniforms—western skirts and cowboy boots had the same, slightly provocative, air about them. Without the peanuts on the floor, however, the Lasso seemed a bit more upscale. Instead of the bridles and lariats that covered the walls of the Spur, framed photographs of famous country and western singers covered every wall at the Lasso. He tipped his Stetson to Johnny Cash as he stepped through the swinging doors from the lobby into the bar and restaurant.
A chestnut-brown-haired girl with a freckled nose and inquisitive dark eyes greeted him at the hostess podium, the same way Gracie had once greeted him at the Spur. “Welcome to the Lasso. I’m Angela. Dinner for one?” Her long hair was tied up in a ponytail. She looked no more than eighteen.
He touched the rim of his hat, introduced himself and showed his badge. “I’m looking for Dana Sterling. I understand she works here.”
Her face lit up. “Dana is my best friend. She’s on break right now.” Angela nodded toward a booth beside the window where Dana sat smoking a cigarette and nursing a soda.
He slid into the seat across from her. The whole place smelled like red meat grilling over open flames. His stomach growled. Gracie’s hospital meatloaf had left something to be desired. But as much as he wanted to take a break for a real dinner, the case wouldn’t let him.
“Detective Radhauser.” She put out the cigarette. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m investigating the death of your son. I need to ask you a few questions. Is there some place more private we can talk?”
The color left her face. “You can’t think I had anything to do with Skyler’s death.”
He stared at her for a moment, wondering why she jumped to that immediate conclusion, then asked again about a more private place.
“We have a room for birthday parties in the back,” she said. “It’s empty.”
She led him into a small room with a long table that seated fourteen. The walls were painted with balloons, wrapped gifts, and birthday cakes with blazing candles.
Radhauser closed the door and they took seats directly across from each other. “The autopsy report came back,” he said. “The ME determined that Skyler died from a drug overdose—not the injuries he sustained from either fall.”
“A drug overdose? How could Skyler have gotten hold of any drugs? Bryce is always so careful with the boys. I can’t believe…”
“Tilly claims Bryce doesn’t take any drugs stronger than over the counter painkillers for his headaches.”
“That’s the truth. Bryce is a pure-living person. He doesn’t drink or smoke. Did Skyler get into the Tylenol with codeine I take for menstrual cramps? I put it on the top shelf in the medicine cabinet. Neither of the boys could reach it without a ladder.”
“The drug wasn’t anything we found in your medicine cabinet.”
“Then how did Skyler get hold of it?”
Angela knocked, then opened the door. “May I come in?” Without waiting for an answer, she stepped up to the table. “Are you okay?” she asked her friend.
Dana nodded.
Angela turned to Radhauser. “May I get you something to drink or eat?”
“Coffee would be great,” he said. “Black.”
Dana waited until Angela left, then repeated her question. “Where could Skyler have gotten hold of a drug that could kill him?”
“He couldn’t have,” Radhauser said. “Without adult help.”
“What are you saying?”
“Someone murdered your son.”
Her eyes widened. She closed them, as if trying to shut out the image his words must have conjured.
Radhauser wasn’t sure she was breathing. A fat silence ballooned into the air—a unique stillness with a ticking heartbeat.
Radhauser let himself settle into it. His intuition was strong from listening to suspects lie to him over and over. Gracie jokingly referred to it as his “lying piece of crap detector”. It wasn’t something he was born with. Radhauser learned to trust his capability to sift through lies and bullshit and get to the heart of a matter very quickly. Dana was a little too calm for a woman whose toddler had been murdered.
She opened her eyes. “Reggie was sad and angry at the memorial,” she finally said. “He has his own guilt about not loving Skyler. I mean not loving him as much as he loves Scott. But he didn’t mean it when he accused Bryce of killing Skyler.”
Angela delivered Radhauser’s coffee, then turned to Dana. “You don’t look so good. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“How could I be okay?” Her voice was edged in sarcasm. “This detective just told me someone murdered my baby. How can anything ever be okay again?” There were tears in her eyes now—the first ones Radhauser had seen since they started this conversation.
Angela looked at him as if checking to see if Dana was telling the truth. “Who would murder an innocent baby?”
“Thanks for the coffee,” he replied. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I need you to give us some privacy.”
Angela saluted. “Yes, sir.” She turned and hurried out, closing the door behind her. When she was out of earshot, he continued his interrogation, his gaze focused on Dana’s face. “Your friend asked a very good question. Who would murder an innocent baby? And why?”
“I don’t know,” she said, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I knew?”
“Not if you were trying to protect yourself or someone you loved.”
She sucked in her upper lip, and her gaze flicked toward the ceiling before settling on him. “Wait a minute. I was at work when Skyler died.”
“I know. But the thing about an overdose is it can be prepared anytime. The medical examiner thinks the drug was administered in something Skyler ate or drank.”
“Bryce fed the boys lunch and dinner that day. Breakfast, too,” she responded, a little too quickly in Radhauser’s opinion. “He made their favorite pancakes. But he wouldn’t hurt either of them, especially not Skyler.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Bryce always identified with Skyler. But even more so after I told him about Reggie doubting the baby was his kid. Bryce never talks about it, but I think he may have grown up with a man who didn’t love him and maybe wasn’t his biological father.” She paused and thought for a moment. “At least I never lied about it,” she said, as if that were something noble, something she could be proud of.
“Finish your story.” Radhauser was interested in knowing something of Bryce’s past.
“Bryce said he was deaf because his so-called father beat the crap out of him with a baseball bat. And he wouldn’t pay for antibiotics when Bryce got ear infections. Don’t you see? Bryce would never hurt Skyler. Never.”
“I believe you,” Radhauser said. “But everyone who had contact with Skyler is a suspect until we determine otherwise. What about your ex-husband, Reggie Sterling?” He already knew Reggie thought Skyler was fathered by another man, but Radhauser wanted to hear Dana’s response.
Her face reddened. “He…he thinks Skyler screams too much. He said he couldn’t live with a kid that screamed the way Skyler does.” She stopped and a look of horror spread over her face. “I mean the way he did.”
“You just told me Reggie doesn’t believe Skyler is his biological son.”
“He doesn’t. But he never…I mean Reggie would never…”
“Is he Skyler’s father?” Radhauser asked.
She looked wildly around the room as if trying to find something to focus on beside the question he just asked. When she finally answered, her voice was soft. “I don’t know,” she said, her cheeks flushed. “There was someone else.”
Radhauser made a mental note to take a DNA sample from Reggie and call Heron. He kept the DNA of all his murder victims on file.
“Is this someone else aware he may be Skyler’s father?”
“No way,” she said.
“I’ll need his name.”
She gave him an uneasy look, then rubbed her hand over her face, pressing so hard the flesh whitened around her fingers. “He’s married.”
“I don’t care if he’s the Prince of Wales. I need his name.”
“We were drunk,” she finally said. “It was a one-night stand.”
The air hummed with waiting.
“We don’t have to involve his wife. I just need to eliminate him as a suspect.”
“I don’t know his last name,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “His first name was Paul. He was a customer. We…we got drunk together one night and did it in his car. I guess he was ashamed because he never came back into the restaurant again. So, he can’t be a suspect. He doesn’t know Skyler exists.” She paused and her eyes pooled with tears. “I mean existed.”
Radhauser gave her a moment to compose herself. “You didn’t work at the Lasso then, did you?”
“No, I waitressed for the Bistro in Talent. It was in that outlet mall, just off I-5. Bistro went out of business about two years ago.”
“So, why is Reggie so sure Skyler isn’t his son?”
“You saw Skyler. He’s dark-skinned with black hair and eyes. Scott looks exactly like Reggie. I think he thought Skyler would, too.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“He was suspicious because I’d come home so late that night and he said he could smell sex on me. Reggie was drinking heavily back then and real jealous.”
“Jealous enough to kill a child he believed was a product of his wife’s infidelity? A child he didn’t want?”
A River of Silence Page 12