Sullivan’s Evidence

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Although the photograph of Matthew Sheppard bore a shocking resemblance to Marcus, she couldn’t imagine him wearing a cowboy hat. It wasn’t his style. If he was the man in the picture, he would be a chameleon, changing his looks and personality to whatever suited his needs. For all she knew, the cars and the expensive home in Santa Rosa might not even belong to him.

  The house! Carolyn remembered. She called the escrow officer. “The person who purchased the home, Ms. Sullivan,” a woman named Sue Atwater told her, “left strict instructions that you not be informed of their identity.”

  “I’m sorry, Sue,” Carolyn told her, “but this isn’t a reality TV show. Why would a corporation purchase my home, pay off the existing mortgage, and give it back to me. I don’t want the money, okay? Tell them the deal is off.”

  “You can’t do that,” the woman said, agitated. “All the paperwork has already been signed and the deed sent off to be recorded. This was a very complicated deal, Ms. Sullivan. Everyone involved worked long hours to put it together this fast. If you’d like, I can mail you your check. It’s for $432,000. If I were you, I’d be ecstatic. Someone loves you very much.”

  Carolyn gulped and swallowed. She could send both the kids to college, make some badly needed repairs on the house, replace the appliances, buy real flowers, maybe even hire a gardener after John left for college. No, she thought, a gardener was too extravagant. But she would have a savings account for the first time since her divorce. “Who signed off on all of this?”

  “The person who holds your power of attorney,” Atwater advised. “Don’t you know who that is, Ms. Sullivan? We verified the papers were legitimate with your attorney.”

  Suddenly Carolyn knew. “His name was Neil Sullivan, right?”

  “Well, since you already know…”

  She thanked the woman, hung up, and immediately called her brother. “You stinkpot,” she said when he answered. “I just got off the phone with the escrow company. I love you more than life itself, but I can’t let you give me almost half a million dollars. Jesus Christ, Neil, what were you thinking?”

  “I knew that old biddy at the escrow office couldn’t keep her mouth shut,” Neil said, laughing. “It doesn’t matter. I was going to tell you anyway. You think I was going to let Marcus take credit for it? No way, man, not when I can get home-cooked meals out of you. Not all the time, of course. I never realized that you can really cook.”

  “Neil…”

  “I’m doing fabulous, Carolyn,” he said, bursting with enthusiasm. “Everything I did while the kids were here has sold, and for huge amounts, way over my normal prices. If you’d read the paper, you might know about it. Four galleries in New York have asked to give me a show. I’ve got several million in paintings in my storage shed. I have more money than I could spend in three lifetimes in my bank and investment accounts. You have no idea how much I have because I’ve been hoarding it.”

  “I still can’t…”

  “Listen to me,” Neil continued. “I’ve been living in this controlled environment for half my life. I’m free, don’t you see? Messy rooms, clutter, even dirt doesn’t bother me. You and the kids did this for me. I see so much more life everywhere now. I don’t have to date only the models who pose for me. I can go out in the world now. Maybe I’ll find a nice girl, someone I can marry. I’m even thinking about having kids for the first time. I can travel. What you’ve given me is priceless.”

  “What if it doesn’t last?” Carolyn asked. “It might be a fluke, sweetie. If you get stressed out—”

  “No,” her brother told her. “I’ve already seen my psychiatrist. It’s a breakthrough. Once you go through that wall, you’ve made it. You don’t think I’ve been under stress after the things that happened to you and the kids.” His voice became firm. “You’re taking that money, Carolyn. Don’t take away my joy. I would have helped you before if you hadn’t been so hardheaded. That’s what families do, they help each other. Are we square now? Promise me you’re not going to mess this up.”

  Carolyn’s breath caught in her throat. She had fought hard to maintain her independence, to never lean on anyone. But she could sense how much this meant to her brother. “I promise,” she told him. “You’re the greatest brother in the world.”

  “Now that,” Neil said, “that’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Are you still bringing the kids over tonight? Rebecca has real talent. We may have another artist in the family. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “Yes,” she said, her thoughts turning back to Marcus. “We’ll talk more tonight.”

  Carolyn went to the bathroom, then returned to her desk. There was no proof as yet that Matthew Sheppard had murdered his wife. Maybe the man had moved away from San Diego after Lisa disappeared, developing a new identity because he feared becoming the subject of a police investigation. People who weren’t killers still had skeletons in their closet. An unknown assailant could have kidnapped Lisa while she was out somewhere and killed her. But then, why would her husband tell Detective Fisher that she’d gone to St. Louis to live with her grandmother? Since the woman was dead as well, they couldn’t confirm that Lisa hadn’t spent time in St. Louis before she moved on with her life.

  No matter how she spun it, Matthew Sheppard was the most likely suspect in the death of his wife.

  Carolyn needed to talk to someone. She thought of Veronica, but her friend had enough problems on her hands. She hadn’t had a chance to ask Hank if he knew anything about the death of Lester McAllen. Camarillo was out of his jurisdiction, but he could make some inquiries for her with the sheriff’s department. What she was interested in were the ballistics reports, so they could determine if the same gun had been used in both crimes.

  She knew the only person she could lean on for objective advice was Brad. It took only a few steps before she entered his office. “I need to talk to you about something,” she said, closing the door. “You’ll need to keep it off the record. You got a few minutes?”

  “Off the record, huh?” he said, loosening his tie. “I’ve got all the time in the world for that kind of talk.”

  “Never mind,” Carolyn said, turning to leave. “This was a bad idea.”

  “Get back here,” Brad said, smiling. “You can’t hold a carrot over my head, then walk away. You know curiosity is my only weakness.”

  “Right,” Carolyn said. “You have so many weaknesses, it would take a year to remember them all.”

  “Come on, don’t be mean to me. I’ll spend all day trying to figure it out.” He became serious. “Sit down, Carolyn. I guess you’re not in a joking mood after what happened to John. How is he?”

  “He’s doing fine,” she told him.

  “Well, at least we put the insanity issue to rest on Carter,” he said. “The prelim is scheduled for next week. You said in your report that she’s claiming some guy murdered her girlfriend. Think there’s any truth to that?”

  “She seemed sincere,” Carolyn told him. “But then again, Helen is a highly proficient liar. I assume she told the same story to the police and they didn’t buy it. Maybe more will come to light at the prelim.”

  “What did you want to talk about?”

  “Marcus,” she said, taking a seat in a chair in front of his desk.

  “Humph,” Brad said, walking around and perching on the edge of his desk. “What’s going on?”

  “You know the San Diego woman who was buried in the Alessandro Lagoon? We thought Holden killed her, but his DNA doesn’t match. Then the PD got a picture of the husband of Lisa Sheppard, who disappeared about the time his wife was murdered. Hank thinks the photo of Matthew Sheppard looks like Marcus, the man I’ve been seeing.”

  “What? Wait a second,” Brad said, throwing his hands in the air. “This Marcus guy is a suspect in a homicide? I knew your judgment in men was no good. Next time you need a guy, let me know, and I’ll find one for you.”

  Couldn’t he be serious for more than five minutes? “I guess you must be right, Brad,�
� Carolyn said, “I dated you, didn’t I? We both know that was a mistake.”

  “You made your point, okay? The world is coming to an end, and I’m an insensitive oaf for not believing you. Everything’s going to work out. You’re a strong woman. So, you hit a bump in the road.”

  “More like a land mine,” Carolyn grumbled.

  “What happened to you and John was terrible,” Brad went on. “Shit happens. Have you forgotten what I went through last year? That maniac Raphael Moreno attacked me. The little shit broke my back. I could have been paralyzed for life. You warned me not to come down hard on him, but I refused to listen. I didn’t let it bring me down, though. My back healed, and I went on with my life. The good news is that you and John are all right.” He paused, fiddling with his right ear as he thought. “As to your boyfriend, don’t jump the gun. See how things play out. It may not amount to anything. Until you know for sure, there’s no reason to panic.”

  “There’s more that I haven’t told you,” Carolyn said with a sharp intake of oxygen. “A day after I met Marcus, Lisa Sheppard’s remains showed up in the lagoon. When Marcus and I had lunch on Saturday, Tracy Anderson’s husband came up to me in the restaurant, enraged over Holden’s release. He thought I had something to do with it. I was upset, so I started running off at the mouth about Holden.”

  Now she had his full attention. “What exactly did you tell him?”

  “Practically everything.” She nervously scratched her arm. “I told him Holden buried Tracy Anderson in the lagoon. Don’t you see? What if Hank is right, and Marcus really is Matthew Sheppard? He could have used the information I gave him to dispose of his wife’s body so it looked like Holden killed her. I feel terrible, Brad. I know better than to discuss my work. The case was ten years old, though, and I didn’t think it mattered.”

  “You only screwed up if Hank’s assumptions are accurate.” Brad told her, returning to the other side of his desk and picking up the phone. “What does he have on your boyfriend outside of the physical similarities?”

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Hank. I want to find out what else he knows.”

  “Please don’t,” Carolyn said, her brows furrowing. “I didn’t ask you to get involved. I only asked you to listen because you’re my friend. Hank and I have enough problems getting along without you stirring everything up.”

  “Whatever.” Brad put the phone back in the cradle. “Here’s what I suggest. Don’t let Marcus know that you suspect anything. Ask leading questions. You’re the best at this stuff. Listen, and watch his reactions. If he isn’t telling the truth, you’ll be able to tell. Trick him, catch him in a lie. I don’t know…just do what you do.”

  “Okay,” Carolyn said, satisfied with his advice.

  Brad continued, “Hank is probably being overprotective with his favorite probation officer. That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be careful. Cut and run if you get any bad feelings from this guy. Rely on your instincts. They’ve always paid off for you in the past.”

  “Thanks, Brad.” She stood and started to leave when he walked over and pulled her into his arms. Looking up at him, she said, “Sometimes I feel sad that things didn’t work out between us. I’ll always care about you, Brad. You know that, don’t you?”

  “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

  It was an awkward moment. Carolyn pulled away and headed toward the door. He was a good man, except in certain areas. In time he might set aside the fast cars, young girls, and other bad habits he’d acquired. It was hard to imagine him any other way, though. Carolyn kept her head down as she made her way back to her desk. If what they said about Marcus was true, Brad would seem like a choir boy.

  Mary was waiting for Carolyn inside her cubicle. “I need to go over the procedure for collecting evidence with you,” she said, holding up a paper sack.

  “I know how to collect evidence,” Carolyn told her, annoyed that Mary was pressuring her. “I started out in supervision.”

  “Urine samples aren’t the same. And I doubt if you’re going to be able to control the situation like you do with a probationer.”

  “I haven’t agreed to do this.”

  “Don’t you want to be prepared if you do?”

  In answer, Carolyn directed her friend to an interview room. The two women took seats at the small table. Once Mary had given her several evidence bags and rubber gloves, she told Carolyn to place her hands on the table. Brandishing a small pair of scissors, the detective clipped a chunk out of the nail on Carolyn’s right thumb.

  “Why did you do that?” Carolyn exclaimed, jerking her hand back. “Do you want my DNA now?”

  “No,” Mary said, “what we need is Marcus’s blood. I wanted to make certain you wouldn’t have a problem scratching him.”

  Carolyn stared at the jagged nail. “I could have just stabbed him with my toenails. I haven’t gotten around to trimming them lately.”

  Mary did a double-take. “Gross,” she said. “And you’ve been having an affair with this guy?”

  “You mean the murderer?” she said bitterly. “He likes to have sex in the dark.” She leaned forward. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a maniac try to rape you and then shoot your son? My beauty needs haven’t been a high priority these days. Now what am I going to do after I claw Marcus for you?”

  “You’re going to cut off the rest of the nail and put it in an evidence bag. If it doesn’t look like enough blood is on your nail, then you need to collect a hair sample. Don’t use a brush. What we need is a hair with a root. That way, we can get the DNA results back overnight.”

  Carolyn’s mouth fell open. “You want me to yank hair out of his head?”

  “Just a few strands. You can act like it got snagged. Wear something with a zipper—jeans or a jacket. I don’t want you to actually snag it. I want you to pull it when he isn’t looking.”

  Carolyn asked which detective had investigated the Grace Findley homicide.

  “Duffy Crenshaw. The case hasn’t even got past the prelim. What do you have to do with it?”

  “The DA charged Helen Carter with violating a restraining order. I guess they thought she was going to plead insanity, so they wanted me to talk to her. She swears she’s innocent.”

  “Don’t they all. You’ve got enough problems, Carolyn. Why waste your time with scum like Carter? I hear she’s got a record a mile long and has been working the system since she was a teenager. The case has some holes in it because Carter had previously lived with the victim on the premises. The DA’s office wouldn’t have filed, though, if they didn’t think they could bring in a conviction.”

  Carolyn knew Duffy Crenshaw. A man only a few months away from retirement, he might not have given the case the attention it deserved. Something Helen Carter had said kept darting around inside her head. “You asked me to do you a favor regarding Marcus,” she said. “Now I want you to do something for me. Send over everything you’ve got on the Findley homicide. Don’t say anything to Hank or Duffy. I just want to check a few things out.”

  “No problem,” Mary told her. “I’ll call Records now. The file should be on your computer by the time you get back to your desk.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Thursday, October 19—6:05 P.M.

  She needed a gun, and this looked like the place to buy one.

  Kathleen had spoken to a few private detectives, deciding they couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag, let alone track down a man as deceptive and shrewd as her husband. What she really needed was an assassin, but she didn’t have the necessary contacts. Her home was a horror chamber to her now, so she dumped the Darvocet her doctor had prescribed in her purse and took off to San Diego. The Percodan was gone, and she couldn’t get it refilled. She was experiencing a few withdrawal symptoms, so she doubled up on the Darvocet.

  Kathleen exited the 101 freeway to avoid rush-hour traffic, getting lost and ending up in a seedy area of Oxnard, a city a few miles from Ventura. Ca
lifornia law prohibited her from walking in and buying a handgun off the shelf. A clerk at the first gun shop she’d visited had given her an application to fill out and told her to come back in a few weeks for gun training. What the hell did she need gun training for? She’d been married to a Dupont. His ancestors had made their fortune in munitions and gunpowder. Not only was George a member of the NRA, he had an extensive gun collection and had insisted that his wife become proficient in the use of firearms. Once the instructor at the pistol range began calling Kathleen “Deadeye,” George got jealous and stopped taking her with him.

  Kathleen found another store and attempted to bribe the owner. Suspecting she might be an undercover cop, he asked her to leave. Since her intent was to shoot her husband, she decided gun control had its merits.

  Nothing was going to stop her, though.

  Once she made a decision to do something, Kathleen never backed down. As a child, she’d suffered from acute asthma. Her brother had run track, and she’d sat in the bleachers and watched him, clinging to her inhaler and wishing she could be normal. By the time she was thirteen, without her mother’s knowledge, she started running laps after school on the track at the junior college behind her house. Her asthma improved considerably, and before she knew it, she was running upwards of an hour without stopping.

  She went on to run high school track, winning the league championship in the half mile. Her trophies were still lined up on a shelf in her home in Carmel. When she became overwhelmed with the frustrations of the real estate business, she would go look at the trophies and remind herself what she’d overcome to obtain them.