“You don’t have to stop out here in the street. You’re more than welcome to park in the driveway.”
“Mr. Ames,” Kathleen said, guessing the identity of the man looking in her window, “we weren’t … that is, we weren’t coming to see you. We were just …” What were they going to do next?
“Mr. Ames, good to meet you” was Brett’s more hearty greeting to the man. “We could use some help.”
“Yes? Get down, Champ,” he ordered the very large, very hairy dog jumping up on Kathleen’s window. “How can I help you?” he asked again, pulling back the animal’s head.
“We seem to have lost our bearings. We’re looking for the Henshaw house. Nice dog you’ve got there,” he added, feeling he had to say something about the animal now straining on the leash to catch a squirrel.
“Dumb animal, you mean. Julia got it for the kids. Said it would teach them responsibility. So why the hell am I always the one walking the thing, is what I want to know. But you don’t care about that,” he interrupted himself. “You want the Henshaw house. It’s easy to get to from here; you just turn right onto …”
Kathleen ceased to listen and she suspected that Brett did too. The only place they could get to in town without directions was the Henshaw house. She didn’t think that they were going there anyway. Obviously Brett had just used any explanation he could think of to excuse their presence on this street. The dog, having lost interest in the local inhabitants, had resumed his interest in her. She moved her arm so he could no longer drool on it.
“Sorry about that. Down, Champ. Down, dammit. That’s what I think we should have named this animal: Dammit. Cute, huh? I once knew a guy who had a dog named that and now I know why, but Julia would never stand for it.”
“We appreciate your help, Mr. Ames,” Brett said. “I’m sure we’ll get there with your fine directions.”
“Anytime, anytime” was the reply they heard before Brett pulled the car away from the curb and they were off.
“So where are we going?” Kathleen asked, watching Mr. Ames and his dog jog off down the street in her rearview mirror.
“To the Henshaws’. I keep telling you that in a town like this, everyone knows everything about everyone else. If we don’t go there now that we’ve said we’re going, people will know about it and wonder why.”
The young girl who answered the door to the Henshaws’ was clearly thrilled to see Brett.
“Officer Fortesque, no one told me you were coming,” she trilled, as she opened the door wider for them to enter. “Do you want to see my mother? She’s in the kitchen, getting lunch. We just got back from church.”
“Who’s at the door, Chrissy?” Susan followed her voice into the hallway. “Detective Fortesque.” She was surprised to see him. “Why are you here? I mean … ”
Brett laughed. “You probably mean just that. We’re here to talk to you, if you have some time?”
“Why not? Nothing else has happened, has it?”
“No one else has been killed, if that’s what you mean. And we really don’t have a lot more information. Just a few things we would like to check out with you, if you have the time.”
“Sure. Come on into the kitchen. I’m finishing sandwiches for Chrissy. She has another swim meet this afternoon and I want her to eat early. Jed and Chad are off to a Mets game, so Chrissy and I are alone. You’re used to my kitchen anyway, Detective Fortesque. And you don’t mind, do you, Miss Somerville? I’m sorry, Officer Somerville.”
“You’d better call me Brett and her Kathleen. And you know we don’t mind your kitchen. Just lead the way.”
Chrissy was left standing in the hall as the adults went back to their business.
Susan returned to the counter and her sandwich makings. “I’d offer you something to eat or drink, but something always seems to go wrong, Brett.” She smeared mustard on some whole-wheat bread.
“I’m Susan’s jinx in the kitchen,” Brett explained to Kathleen. “And we don’t need anything to eat. We just want to talk. What do you know about the affair between Kevin Dobbs and Paula Porter?” he asked, jumping right in.
“Boy, you’ve come to the wrong person to ask about that. Everyone seems to have known about that but me,” Susan answered ruefully. “I was at a party last night and it was mentioned as casually as the weather. I honestly think I’m the only person in town who didn’t know about it. And Doug and Nancy, of course.”
“Well, we know that it’s true. Kevin admitted it,” Kathleen said, watching Susan put the food on paper plates, put the plates on a tray, and pour milk into a waiting glass.
“Let me take this out to Chrissy.” Susan picked up the tray and left the room.
“Now why did you say that?” Brett’s voice was angry.
“Say that Kevin admitted it? Why not?”
“We can keep what we know—or think we know—to ourselves. We’re here to get information, not to give it.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong.”
“You didn’t think” was all Brett could say before Susan was back. She wondered why the two officers were glaring at each other. Maybe she should offer them some coffee?
“You said you were surprised to hear about the affair. Was that just because you didn’t know about it?” Brett asked, perching on a bar stool.
“Well, I was surprised that everyone knew but me, yes. But I was also surprised that it was happening at all.” She sat on an identical stool and started to clean off the counter. “It seems so unlikely, you know.”
“Unlikely?” Kathleen thought she could ask and not risk censure from Brett. Her own opinion was that a thirty-nine-year-old woman’s affair with a sixteen-year-old man was more enviable than unlikely. When she thought of Paula Porter, she thought here’s a woman who didn’t waste all her time doing cute suburban things. Here was a woman with guts. Of course, look where it got her.
“Unlikely in what way?” Brett persisted, when Susan didn’t answer Kathleen.
Susan stopped what she was doing, mayonnaise jar in hand. “I don’t know the answer to that really. It just doesn’t sound like Paula …”
Brett jumped out of his seat, interrupting her. “Could I use the phone? Privately, I mean. I just had a thought. It’s not that I’m not interested in what you’re saying …”
“There’s a phone in the study,” Susan said. She didn’t have time to say anything else as he rushed from the room.
“Do you have any idea what that was about?” she asked Kathleen.
“I have an idea,” Kathleen lied. “Why don’t you tell me just why you think this was so unlikely? I don’t understand that word myself.”
“Well, you didn’t know Paula, of course.”
“Of course not, but wouldn’t any woman have an affair under the right circumstances?”
“I don’t know about that,” Susan said. “It seems to me that some women would never have affairs and others may just be waiting for some man to come along and …”
Brett thought it was lucky that his call had been finished in so short a time, before these two really started to argue.
“I’m going to get a call here,” he announced, reentering the room. “It should be soon. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
“Now, you were saying?” Brett encouraged, resuming his seat.
“I was trying to explain to Kathleen that Paula wasn’t the type of person to have an affair.”
Kathleen opened her mouth, but Brett was there before her. “Why not?” he asked.
“It has nothing to do with her views on morality or her beliefs,” Susan said slowly. She really didn’t know how to explain. “It’s just a gut feeling I have that she wasn’t that type of person. I know, I’m not explaining well. Let me try again.”
“Take your time,” Brett urged.
“Paula was a very methodical person. If you gave her a list in ABC order, she would go straight down the list and do everything in sequence. And she w
ould do it well. But she wouldn’t do anything extra. She just wasn’t a person with any flair or pizzazz.” She stopped. If only she could make them see the Paula she knew. And why Kevin? That was it. Kevin.
“I know what I’m trying to say. I know what doesn’t make any sense to me. It’s not Paula; it’s Kevin and Paula. If Paula had an affair, the man would have to come to her. She wouldn’t be the one to start it: she just wasn’t the person to start anything. And Kevin is a nice kid, but I can’t see him seducing an older woman. If he was having an affair with an older woman, the woman would have to come after him, and Paula wasn’t the type to go after anything. Am I making any sense at all?” she asked, knowing her syntax was lacking.
No, thought Kathleen, but kept it to herself.
“You’re saying that if either Kevin or Paula were sleeping with someone, it would have to have been started by the other person.”
“And since neither of them would have started it, then how could it have begun? Yes,” Susan insisted. “But everyone seems to agree that they were spending every afternoon in the tennis shed, so I must be wrong.”
The phone rang at her elbow. “Hello. Yes, he’s right here.” She handed the receiver to Brett. “Your call. Do you want to take it here?”
“No problem.” His need for secrecy seemed to have disappeared. “Hello … speaking.” He listened for a short time. “Very interesting. Thank you very much. You’ve been a very big help.” He hung up.
“Well?” asked Kathleen. He’d better not leave her out of this in front of Susan.
“Well, it turns out that Susan may have very good instincts,” he began.
“How so?” Kathleen asked, doubting it.
“That was the lab on the phone. I was checking on the autopsy. They routinely check vaginal fluids, you know.”
“And?”
“And Mrs. Porter had no sexual relations with anyone within forty-eight hours of her death.”
“They’re sure?” Kathleen asked. “What if the man used prophylactics?”
“They can still find traces of either synthetic material or lubricant,” Brett answered. “Yes, they’re sure.”
“So what were they doing in that shed?” Susan asked.
“An interesting question. And one we’d better find the answer to quickly …”
“Mom, company!” Chrissy’s voice called from the front of the house.
“Susan. I saw the police car in the driveway …” A large, sandy-haired man entered the room. His clothes were definitely suburban-casual like those of the other men in Hancock, but with a difference: his madras shirt had epaulets on the shoulders and his slacks had more defined creases. There was a certain military air about the man. Kathleen had guessed his identity.
“Doug, hi. Yes, the police are here.”
“There you are,” Doug Dobbs said, ignoring Susan’s greeting and directing his attention to the two officers. Kathleen thought that he probably was in the habit of ignoring things that didn’t interest him.
“What are you going to do about my son?” Doug Dobbs towered over them where they sat.
“What do you think needs to be done about your son? Brett asked quietly.
“I think you’d better find him and stop hanging about in kitchens, that’s what I think.”
Brett Fortesque stood up. “In the first place, we didn’t know that he was missing, Mr. Dobbs. And in the second place, we’re here investigating a murder, not looking for missing children.”
Doug Dobbs wasn’t going to let the power go quite that easily. “Are you telling me that you don’t care if my son is missing?”
“Is he involved in this murder investigation in some way, Mr. Dobbs?”
“He was very close to Mrs. Porter. Hell, he was having an affair with Paula. Everyone knew that. You must know that by now.”
“You knew?” Susan gasped.
“Sure did.”
Why, the bastard is proud of it, Susan and Kathleen thought at the same time. “Damn chauvinist” was their appraisal and unknowing joint condemnation.
“But that doesn’t mean that he had anything to do with her death. And I think you ought to find out just where he has gone.”
“How long has he been missing, Mr. Dobbs?” Brett asked, unwilling to mention their interview with the boy, but wondering just where he had gone after they dropped him off near his home less than half an hour ago. How missing could he be in so short a time?
“I’m not sure how long. My wife and I took the younger kids to church around nine this morning. Kevin said he had to work at the pool—and that was an untruth and my kids don’t lie to me, officer. Anyway, we came home about ten minutes ago—”
“He’s been missing ten minutes?” Kathleen’s disbelief was apparent in her voice.
“I don’t know just how long he’s been missing, but I found this.” He glared at her for the interruption and handed the sheet of paper he had just taken from his pocket over to Brett, asking, “I suppose now you’ll do something about this?”
“Let me find out what this is first” was the impatient answer. Brett unfolded the sheet and read for a few minutes. “We’ll certainly have to look into this as regards to the murders, but you’d better turn it over to your local police immediately. They’ll know what to do with it.”
“The local police? Are you crazy? What do they know how to do? They’re paid security guards. They couldn’t solve a crime if their lives depended on it. I want my son found and brought back home, and I want it now.”
“It’s not what we’re here to do, Mr. Dobbs. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“You can’t help me? You damn well better help me. If my kid isn’t found, everyone in town is going to be thinking that he killed those women. And I won’t have him accused of anything like that—even if it’s just gossip. So you do as I say and find my boy. I did some very important surgery on the governor’s son and I’ll be happy to remind him that he owes me a favor. You’ll be hearing from your superiors!” Doug Dobbs turned and stalked off, leaving the paper in Brett’s hands. Kathleen took it from him without asking, read it through, turned it over a few times looking for identifying marks, and handed it to Susan.
“It’s okay if I read this?” she asked, dying to do so.
“You might as well. You’ve probably figured out what it’s all about” was Kathleen’s begrudging answer.
“But this says he’s run away from home” was Susan’s surprised response to the letter.
“What did you think it would say?” Kathleen asked.
“I thought he had been kidnapped.”
“You thought what— You know, that’s an idea …” Brett changed his mind in the midst of his sentence.
Kathleen picked up quickly. “You think he might have been kidnapped and the kidnappers forced him to write this letter? Is that possible?”
“Well, the way things are going, I certainly wouldn’t rule out any possibility. What I don’t understand here,” Brett continued, “is why Kevin was so worried about telling his father about the supposed affair. It appears Doug Dobbs is almost proud of his son’s … uh … conquests.”
“Possibly Kevin didn’t know how his father would react,” Kathleen said.
“You know, I don’t think that’s it,” Susan said. “I was surprised by Doug’s reaction, but the more I think about it, the more I think that it is the only reaction he could have. The man is a lousy male chauvinist and everyone knows it. Kevin must have known too. Or does a son not know that type of thing about his own father?”
“If everyone knew it, you can bet Kevin did too,” Brett said.
“So you think he must have been kidnapped, and forced to write this fake note. And that he wouldn’t really run away to escape his father’s wrath because his father, in fact, would have been proud of his affair with Paula Porter,” Susan summed up.
“But that doesn’t make sense either,” Kathleen protested.
“May I ask why not?”
“B
ecause we were with Kevin half an hour ago and he seemed honestly scared that his father would find out about Mrs. Porter,” Kathleen explained. “Now, if we assume that the boy would judge his father’s reaction to that news correctly—well, then what was he so afraid of?”
“That he would be kidnapped?” Susan offered.
“But he may not have been kidnapped,” Kathleen protested. “And if he was, surely he wouldn’t have known about it ahead of time.”
“You know, there’s something interesting here,” Brett said, ignoring their speculation.
“What?” Susan asked.
“Are you going to tell us?” Kathleen questioned.
“Did you both read the note?” he asked, still looking at it.
“Of course,” they answered together.
“And it says …” he began.
“It says, ‘I feel like I’d better leave now. I’m going to hit the road. Please don’t worry about me. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. Love, Kevin.’ ” Kathleen had grabbed the letter from his hand and she had read out loud.
“Look at the outside,” Brett ordered.
“Nan!” she exclaimed.
“It’s addressed to his stepmother,” Brett said, smiling.
“If it’s addressed to me, don’t you think I ought to be the one reading it?” Nancy Dobbs asked loudly, entering the room, followed by Chrissy Henshaw.
“Mommy, Mrs. Dobbs is—”
“I know, Chrissy. Thank you for showing her where we are. Now would you leave us alone?” Susan asked, waving her daughter away, and wondering just why the child was hanging around today. Usually she was more than happy to be with her friends, and she did have that swim meet.
“I repeat, don’t you think you ought to let me read it?” Nancy Dobbs asked in a determined way when the adults were alone.
Brett handed over the note without saying anything, and Nancy took it in the same manner. Like the others, she read it through quickly and then went back over it more slowly. “It really doesn’t say very much, does it?” she asked, folding it up and starting to put it away in her jeans pocket.
“Your husband left that with us,” Brett forestalled her. “He wanted us to investigate the boy’s disappearance.”
Murder at the PTA Luncheon Page 16