“No, no, I think not. I prefer to stay in the background. Let the kids get the credit.”
“Just one? It won’t take long.”
“No. A definite no, Ms. Kimball. You may think I’m a bit of a diva, but I’m actually superstitious. Never like having my picture taken. Each time someone does that, I fear a bit of my soul leaves me.”
“Oh, it’s such a small thing, Ellen. I know people will want to see the mastermind behind this production. Maybe one little picture?” Grace couldn’t understand why the drama coach was making such a protest about a photo.
“Ms. Kimball. What part of ‘no’ do you not understand?” Terry’s voice had shifted into a deeper, angry tone, while Grace stayed calm, smiling politely.
Now Ginger and her friend moved away from the window seat, watching Grace to see what she’d say. Even Grace sensed a quiet tension in the students sitting out in the seats, watching. No sense to have a scene here in front of frightened students. She paused for a moment, then smiled and said, “Fine. We’ll leave it as it is. I think I have enough to get a great spread. Thank you, one and all.” In the back of her mind, Grace thought about how she could get this photo. Terry simply wasn’t being rational about having her picture taken. Was there a good reason?
All the cast members began moving around, collecting their belongings, and getting ready to leave. Ellen Terry reminded them of their next rehearsal as Grace was putting on her coat. Her cell phone was in her right pocket, so she turned off the flash, taking a surreptitious photo of Ellen Terry on the brightly lighted stage. She checked on her cell screen to see if she got her. Then Grace offered Ginger a ride home, but the teenager had brought her mother’s car.
Leaving the building, Grace felt uneasy about this woman teaching teenagers, but she patted her coat pocket, thinking about the photo she’d taken. It seemed as if Terry had a fear of having her photograph taken where others could see her. Could it be more than simply a body image problem? She’d ask TJ about it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
TJ leaned back in her office chair Thursday afternoon going over the information she’d accumulated about both murders. She had told Dawn Johnson the truth when she said they were closing in on the murderer of both men. Information from Nebraska, from the crime lab, and from local interviews should be coming together today or tomorrow. Whenever she was close to the end of a case, her adrenaline kicked in, her senses were heightened, and her energy level went sky high. Already, her nervous system was telling her she would close the books on this one over the weekend. She could feel it, and the details of the puzzle were coming together. She heard a knock on her door, and Myers stuck his head in with a paper in his hand.
“Yeah, come on in, Myers,” she said, looking up from the paperwork cluttering every square inch of her workspace. “What’ve you got?”
“Tox screen on John Hardy, TJ. Just came in.” He walked over to her desk, laying it in the middle of the pile. “Anything else you need?”
“Yeah, Myers. An arrest warrant. Got any idea whose name to put on it?”
“Ah, not sure. Maybe Liz Hardy?”
“Hmmm. I’ll think about that one. You are right, however. She doesn’t have much of a fan club in town. What about the fingerprint we sent in to the Bureau of Investigation? Anything yet?”
“Not yet. I told them to put a rush on it since we already have two bodies, but I know it takes up to forty-eight hours with a rush. The guy told me they’d send it in to the AFIS database, so if this killer is in the system, we’ll know. I’m hoping to hear something this afternoon. You’ll be the next to know, TJ.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Myers.” She hardly heard the door close because she was back again to her evidence. She picked up the tox screen information from the tests done at the autopsy for Hardy. “Geez,” she said. “Someone wasn’t fooling around. Arsenic, strychnine, cyanide—quite a lethal cocktail. The question is, how was it administered?” She had done some research on strychnine since speaking with Martinez. Coffee would be the best bet because the strychnine would be bitter and the crystals hard to dissolve. The coffee cup had Harrington’s fingerprints, but no trace of poison. The murderer carried the poison in and out. That’s the only explanation for no container. Had to be someone he knew because, otherwise, why would he drink it? Liz Hardy carried a sack of some sort in, but I don’t know what was in it. Could have been a coffee thermos and a cup. She put the paper down, picking up her phone.
“Myers, get me Liz Hardy on the phone, please.” Finding a blank piece of paper on her desk, she grabbed a pencil, and began making doodles. Eventually her phone rang and Myers had Liz Hardy on the line.
“Hello, Ms. Hardy?”
She was guarded when her voice came on the phone.
“Officer Sweeney. What can I do for you this time? I can’t imagine you have any questions I haven’t already answered.”
“Well, Ms. Hardy, I had a couple of questions I figured you might be able to help me with. You know, trying to tidy loose ends up.”
“I’ve told you everything I know, Detective.”
TJ sat back in her swivel chair, pulled out her desk drawer, and put her feet up. “This could well be the case, ma’am, but I have a couple of items I’m curious about. Only take a few minutes of your time.”
TJ heard an irritable sigh at the other end of the phone. Then, “All right, fine. What now?”
“When you went to see your husband on Sunday afternoon, did you carry anything into his office with you?”
She heard a silence at the other end of the phone. Then Liz Hardy answered, “No. Well, my purse.”
“Ms. Hardy, we have witnesses who saw you carry a bag other than your purse. Would you care to rephrase that answer?”
Silence once again. “This is silly, Detective Sweeney. It has nothing whatsoever to do with his death.”
“You’ll have to let me be the judge.” She waited, counting to ten. On nine, Liz Hardy spoke again.
“Well, if you must know, I took him a few packages of condoms because I was angry. I—I wanted to pull his chain.”
TJ didn’t know if she believed this story or not. “What happened to them when you left? We didn’t find any packages of condoms on the scene.”
“I changed my mind when I talked with him. Decided it was childish. I put the bag in my purse and simply walked out with it.”
“Would you have this paper bag at your house?”
“I went to the mall in Woodbury after I left, dropping it in a trash bin outside the store. It wouldn’t do to have my children finding these somewhere. I didn’t expect to stay long at the mall, so if your next question is about the storm that day, well, I missed it. I only had one thing to pick up, so I was in and out rather quickly.”
“You destroyed the anonymous letter and now this bag witnesses saw.” TJ looked down at her paper. She’d scribbled ‘condoms?’ ‘trash bin Woodbury’ on her doodle paper. She decided to switch the subject. Those trash bins were long emptied by now. “All right, Ms. Hardy.” She paused, shifting the pencil in her fingers. “I have another question I need to ask.”
“Yes.”
“This is on a totally different subject. I’m wondering if John ever talked to you about teacher evaluations.”
“Not really. I know he was concerned about some teachers, but mostly he didn’t bring his work home.”
“Did he keep any files or information at home, say, on a computer?”
Again, she heard silence on the other end of the phone. “I thought the police took his computer, but now that I think about it, one of the kids was playing with his electronic notepad while the police were here. They often did that—the children. I suppose the police might have assumed it was Jack’s notepad since he was playing games on it. Just a minute. Let me check.” TJ could hear her put the phone down, footsteps echoing across the room. Silence. Then he heard the footsteps return and shortly Liz Hardy picked up the phone. “I do still have his reader, Detective. Sometimes he u
sed it, but mostly the children played games on it. He has a jump drive sticking out of a port, probably some work-related stuff.”
“I’ll be over shortly to pick it up, Ms. Hardy. Thanks.”
The tone of the widow’s voice lightened considerably. “Oh. Well, that was easy. I’ll be here for one more hour. Then we have an orthodontist appointment. Fortunately, he has hours after school. Unfortunately, he’ll have to wait for his bill to be paid since the insurance money is being held up until you finish your investigation.” The last few words came across in a tart voice, causing TJ to smile.
“Should be soon, Ms. Hardy.” TJ heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone, and silence. “Closing in on all kinds of possibilities. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
The detective had two more jobs on her list. She scribbled a quick note to the principal at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows. Then she paused, considered the photo Grace had taken, scanned it, and paper-clipped the scan to the fax. She added her cell phone number, hoping the woman would get back to her. She’d drop it with Myers on the way out.
TJ dropped her phone in her pocket, grabbed her gun out of the desk drawer, and put on her badge. She went out the back door of the station to her truck, noting the thawing snow. It had been a decent day, weather-wise. The temperatures were high enough to melt some of the snow, and the late February sun tried to peek through the clouds at the end of the afternoon. She was humming as she reached her truck.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Grace dressed for the play Friday night, grimly considering her options for checking out Ellen Terry’s office. She wanted to get a look at the magazines on the drama teacher’s table, especially with the pair of scissors suspiciously close by. Reasoning that she might be able to sneak away while the play was going on, she slipped the theater tickets in her pocket, along with a small LED light she often used in situations where she had to look at an item—like a play program—in the dark. Her phone had gone off earlier, playing “A New York State of Mind,” and making her grin. It was Jeff, saying he was almost done and would meet her at the high school rather than picking her up.
On the way to her garage, she noted the clean sidewalk. Spring was only a few weeks away, her roses would blossom again, and the seemingly endless, bleak Midwest winter would fold her white blanket and pack herself away, leaving room in the heartland for a new season of warmth and possibilities. Grace thought again about how much she loved the seasons, a concept her Arizona children couldn’t understand. They had grown up in Illinois, but they hated the winters in the Midwest, leaving for a warmer climate as soon as they finished college.
She drove to Deb’s house to pick her up since Deb’s husband, John, would not go to any more Terry-produced plays. Then, thought Grace, after the play Jeff and I will have a leisurely wine-and-cheese after-party at my house—she started humming a melody she’d heard on the radio—and see what happens. She smiled at the thought. Having Jeff back was so much better than she could ever have imagined, even though they still had a great deal to talk about. At least he was willing to talk now.
She pulled up in front of Deb’s house, watching her friend walk blithely down the clean steps onto the cement sidewalk. Ah, it would be comforting to have this winter over.
“Hi, Grace. I’m glad to be getting out of the house to go somewhere fun. It’s one of the things I hate about winter—being cooped up or having events called off because of the weather. Well, this time we’re on!”
“Climb aboard. Jeff’s meeting us there. My neighbor, Ginger, says the play has come together, and they’re quite confident. Hope she’s right.”
“Still doesn’t make much sense to me to do this play after the deaths at the high school.”
“We’ll see. I have a feeling it’s going to be a night to remember,” Grace said, thinking about the small flashlight in her pocket.
When TJ’s phone rang, Myers came on, telling her Principal Bailey was on the line for her.
“Hello, Ms. Bailey. You must be working late.” She began doodling on a piece of paper and hastily moved the piles of paper on her desk, looking for her Bailey questions.
“Detective Sweeney. I’m sorry to get back to you so late. I was at a conference, but I stopped to check my messages once I came back this evening. I must say, your communication was quite cryptic, but when I looked at your photo of Ellen Terry I was truly puzzled.”
TJ breathed deeply, having found her list, and then let out her breath, all nerves on edge. “That’s exactly what I figured you would say. Is this picture the Ellen Terry who taught at your school?”
“No, not at all. Our Ellen Terry was in her early thirties, had blond hair, and was very slender.”
TJ wanted to bang her hand on the desk, overjoyed at Bailey’s reaction. She pulled back on her enthusiasm, telling herself to be calm. “Do you know the woman in the picture? Someone who knew Ellen Terry, perhaps?”
“Yes, yes, I do recognize this woman. Her name is Amy Deffly. She was a roommate to Ellen; as I remember, she often came to rehearsals to help her with plays. I thought she was a little…different looking, but she didn’t cause any trouble, so from what I could tell, she followed Ellen around, watching her work and helping with the theater productions. Now I’m confused. Why would Amy Deffly say she is Ellen Terry?”
TJ shook her head quietly. “I don’t have a good feeling about Terry’s whereabouts, Ms. Bailey. Can you tell me anything else about this roommate, Amy Deffly?”
The other end of the phone was quiet for several seconds. Unexpectedly, the principal began to speak again.
“I only spoke to Amy Deffly on a couple of occasions when I had a few moments and went down to watch play rehearsals. At first, I was a bit concerned because she seemed…odd. You see, I had to consider she was coming into my school working with underage adolescents. Something about her made me apprehensive. Couldn’t exactly put my finger on it.” She paused for a moment, then began speaking again. “I had this feeling of suppressed anger or, well, I hesitate to say, violence. I never saw her say or do anything violent; it was just a feeling under the surface that she might be a bit scary. However, Ellen Terry was her friend and roommate, and I totally trusted her ability to make good decisions. Since nothing was reported by kids or parents, I thought maybe my concerns were pointless.”
The detective took in another deep breath. “Ms. Bailey. I know you said at the end of the year you received a resignation from Ellen Terry. Did you see her after the last day of school?”
“No, I didn’t. I remember telling you I was really surprised when she sent a resignation in by mail.” She paused. “Oh. I see what you mean. This isn’t good, is it?”
“No,” said TJ. “Did Ellen Terry still have paychecks coming? I know teachers are paid throughout the summer.”
“Yes, of course. They would have been direct-deposited to her bank account. Would you like me to check with our financial people to see if they went out? I don’t deal much with the financial end of paying teachers. Since it is Friday night here, it will wait until Monday. Would you like me to check on that?”
“Yes, please do,” said TJ. “And Ms. Bailey, thank you so much for your help. I hope to call you again after the weekend with good news. But I’m afraid I fear what I can already hear in your voice.”
Again, TJ heard a silence at the other end of the phone. She heard Ms. Bailey’s voice come on again, this time hesitant, almost on the edge of a sob. “You’re welcome. I’ll—I’ll check with the financial people.” Then TJ heard a long pause. She waited. “I’m afraid I can’t—can’t talk any more. Next week, Detective.” TJ heard the phone connection click off.
“Well,” TJ said out loud, “some of the pieces of the puzzle are clicking into place. Funny thing about institutions—unfortunately, people slipped through the cracks because the record keepers were too busy to follow through.” Ellen Terry had been hired after school began, and Johnson admitted her records came through with her fingerpr
ints from the earlier school. Because the beginning of the year was so busy, she hadn’t had her re-printed, but figured she’d get around to it later. Later never came.
“This means,” TJ continued out loud, “Amy Deffly sent Ellen Terry’s credentials and fingerprints, along with her own photo, to the Endurance district, hoping time was on her side. It was. That, of course, leaves us with still another question: Where is the real Ellen Terry?”
She pushed in her desk drawer, grabbed her gun and badge, and pulled her coat off the hook just inside her door. Stuffing her cell in her pocket, she walked out to the main desk to tell Myers she was heading over to the high school.
“You might want to see this first, TJ,” said Myers. “It’s the fingerprint report. Came in a few minutes ago. They got a hit.”
“Let me guess: the print on Grace Kimball’s letter belonged to someone named Amy Deffly.”
Myers looked down at the fax, checking the name, and said, “Wow! How did you know? Are you psychic or something?”
“Because I’m a genius, Myers, a freaking genius. I should have picked up on this sooner. Let me see the report.”
She looked at the folder with a picture of Deffly from 2006 when she was arrested in Michigan on a homeless/vagrancy collar. Her last known address was in Minnesota.
So, thought TJ, she’s kept her nose clean since 2006 as far as arrests. But it’s only the tip of the iceberg. What lies beneath?
“Thanks, Myers. Call Jake Williams and have him get an arrest warrant for Amy Deffly signed by Judge Kollert…for now, on threatening Grace Kimball, based on the fingerprint on Grace’s letter. We’ll add more charges later. Send him to Endurance High School with the warrant. I’ll be in the back of the auditorium.”
“Right, TJ. You can be reached—”
“—on my cell. Myers, get on it quickly.”
“Right. Got it!”
Death Takes No Bribes: An Endurance Mystery (Endurance Mysteries Book 3) Page 20