Smart, But Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 3)

by Nancy G. West

  I scowled at him.

  “Eric Lager is another of your professors. You broke into the university lab, in the dark, dressed in black to avoid detection, and were found at the feet of a dead man who was probably murdered. I don’t see how you can avoid being charged with trespass, burglary…possibly murder.”

  Meredith’s hand covered her mouth. “I should have stopped her, Sam. I should have called you sooner.”

  Ames glanced over.

  “What Aggie did isn’t your fault, Meredith,” Sam whispered, shaking his head. “There seems to be no stopping her.”

  I rubbed my wrists together and realized my baby’s bracelet was missing. Her hospital bracelet, my only link to her, the bracelet I’d cherished as my talisman for years, was gone. And I couldn’t search for it. It appeared I’d lost my baby a third time. My luck had run out. Tears spilled down my cheeks.

  “You’ll go with me, won’t you, Sam? To jail? To vouch for me?”

  “That’s not possible, Aggie.” I could barely hear him. “Officers are forbidden from involvement in a case not associated with their assigned duties. I haven’t been assigned to this case. I didn’t even know Eric Lager was dead. If I involve myself with a friend charged with a crime, it’s a major rule violation. I’d be suspended and probably kicked out of the department. While the night detective works the scene, the patrolman dispatched here first will transport you to Central Police Station, then to be magistrated.”

  “You knew I’d probably be here? And you let me get arrested? Without my even going home first?” I knew I sounded illogical and pathetic. I was getting desperate. How could my friend…maybe even my future husband…desert me? My life was ruined. I wished I’d died with Eric Lager.

  When Sam leaned closer, his hair flopped on his forehead. “Believe me, Aggie, I’d give anything if you hadn’t done this. But you did. I have to follow the law.”

  I wished I could see his doggy eyes better behind the tortoise-shell glasses so I’d know if they held any sympathy at all.

  “I hoped I was wrong about your being here,” he whispered. “If I stay at the scene too long where a crime occurred, the department might think I’m involved. Then I can’t help either one of us.”

  “Can I go with her,” Meredith asked, “and vouch for her, or try to post bond or something?”

  Sam shook his head. “You can’t go with her. Neither can I.”

  He walked over to Officer Ames. “Looks like she got too curious and decided to find out why that other professor died. Bad timing. I know you have a job to do.”

  She nodded and made a note on her pad.

  Thirty-Three

  We heard the EMS van’s engine start and saw two men carrying a stretcher toward the vehicle. Grant walked over to Officer Ames. “Poor devil. At least they’re being quiet about it. Enrollment is already down. We don’t need a media circus around here.”

  Everyone had agendas. Even when a man—two men—had been murdered. Light from the back door of the building flooded across the lawn. Officer Mangum approached.

  “We’re about done here, Officer Ames.” He saw Meredith. “Who are you?”

  “Aggie’s friend, Meredith Laughlin.”

  I heard a car start near the EMS van and did not look in that direction.

  “I interviewed her,” Ames said, looking pleased, “and got her contact info. They’re classmates. Detective Vanderhoven, SAPD Homicide, talked with her too.” She looked around. Sam was gone. Ames shrugged. “He was another friend of this woman—not on the case.”

  “And why were they here?”

  “They were apparently worried about her, couldn’t get her on the phone, came to look around campus and spotted her on the lawn.”

  “Okay, Officer Ames. Give me your report. I’ve got the other information. Charge is burglary. Pending toxicology, homicide may be added later. I’ll take Ms. Mundeen down to Central Station. You can go back on patrol.”

  He gave UHT’s security guard a card. “Thanks for your help, Officer Grant. Call us if you think of anything. We’ll be in touch.”

  Mangum took my arms, with me still handcuffed, in front of Meredith and Ames and Grant, and steered me toward his patrol car. I was mortified. At least it was nighttime and the whole student body wasn’t ogling the spectacle of a mature student being hauled off.

  I looked up at Officer Mangum’s expressionless face. With his less-than-generous spirit, I’d think of him as Officer Magnanimous. I knew I shouldn’t have broken into Dr. Carmody’s apartment and into the lab, but my intentions were good. I only took his papers to try to find his killer. Now I was arrested for burglary and suspected of homicide? I never thought this could happen.

  “What happens at Central? What does it mean ‘to be magistrated?’”

  Magnanimous ignored my questions and opened the back door of his car. I felt his hand on my head—fortunately, not on the sore spot. I remembered seeing criminals on TV being eased into squad cars so they didn’t hit their heads. Criminals. Who stole for their own benefit or who hurt people.

  I thought I was going to pass out. I couldn’t possibly go to jail. With criminals.

  There was a partition between me and Magnanimous, but I could see through it out the front of the vehicle. His radio squawked occasionally.

  He drove off the campus and turned south on Broadway. I gawked through the front and side windows, wondering how long it would be before I drove down this street again. I stared at every landmark so I wouldn’t forget it.

  We cruised by ButterKrust Bakery. I’d heard the company had been sold and would stop baking bread. For now, it was lighted from within with bakers and machinery working through the night. Inhaling the pungent aroma of baking bread almost made me cry.

  We headed toward downtown San Antonio. Instead of getting on Highway 281 South, he stayed on Broadway until it turned into Losoya. Maybe he wanted to show a police presence downtown, or maybe he enjoyed driving through the heart of the city seeing the lights and living vicariously with late-night tourists who weren’t going to jail. He continued to Commerce Street and turned right. We drove past entrances to the San Antonio River Walk and saw lights twinkling from restaurants at river level. Would I ever celebrate there again?

  The imposing façade of San Fernando Cathedral loomed on a street to our left. Not far after that, just before Commerce Street rose in an arc in front of us, he got into the left lane and swung onto Frio Street.

  Frio was lined with buildings. I was surprised to see Double Tree Inn on the left next to a building which was part of the University of Texas at San Antonio’s downtown campus. UTSA had a second building on the other side of the street. This might be as close as I’d ever get to a university again. I couldn’t believe that instead of studying for Tuesday’s class, I was in a patrol car.

  Past UTSA, down a side street to the right, I saw two small decrepit buildings: River City Bonds and Country Bail Bonds. Surely, if they actually intended to put me in jail, I could post bond. I’d invested the money I earned at the bank, so my bank account held only what I needed for a few months’ living expenses.

  A huge building loomed ahead, the sign reading: “Frank D. Wing Municipal Court Building.” Underneath, it read “Magistrate.” Was that where I was going? Magnanimous turned left before he reached the court building and headed for the city’s Central Service Area Police Department.

  Thirty-Four

  Office Mangum removed me from the backseat of his patrol car and walked me, handcuffed, into Central Police Station. The female officer just inside the door searched me again, while the officer at the desk watched, his dark eyes unreadable. How could I possibly have snatched anything with handcuffs on?

  Mangum marched me to the desk, and I squinted at the desk officer’s name tag: Detective Anthony Cruz. He raised his eyebrows.

 
“What do we have here?”

  “A UHT security guard saw light in the science building and called SAPD,” Mangum said. “Dispatch sent me to the university. When I arrived, I found the suspect near a victim in the lab. EMS arrived and pronounced him dead at nine forty-five p.m. The medical examiner arrived and processed the body for evidence. Then the contract ambulance took the body to the ME’s office—autopsy will be held as soon as possible.” He gestured toward me. “I have her listed on my report as actor in the burglary. Homicide said they’ll take care of the rest after the ME determines cause and manner of death.”

  It was bad enough being pushed from place to place like a sack of meal. They talked about me like I wasn’t standing right there. Actor in the burglary? I hadn’t stolen anything from the lab. Homicide? Me? That was preposterous.

  Cruz, evaluating me with unfriendly eyes, reached for the papers and called out, “Number one. Homicide.”

  They’d already decided I killed somebody?

  Officer Mangum nudged me toward a row of metal chairs attached to each other that flanked the walls. Before I could sit, another officer appeared by the desk in plainclothes. His name tag read Detective Raymond Botowski. He reminded me of Igor, but he was smaller with sandy hair.

  He took the papers from Officer Cruz. “I’ll take her back. Mangum, I’ll beep you when she’s ready for transport.”

  “Number is 4-0-1-1. I’ll be at Double Tree. Eating.”

  As Mangum fled to food and freedom, my stomach rumbled. I felt empty, but I didn’t think food could maneuver around the lump in my throat. Botowski pointed me down a hall and walked behind me. “Third door on the right.”

  When he pushed open the door, I peered in. Metal desk. Neat except for stacks of folders in a tray. Comfortable looking, cushioned chair behind the desk. Hard metal chair in front of the desk. He pointed me toward it.

  I went over, sat and waited while he flipped through pages.

  “Agatha Emory Mundeen?”

  I nodded.

  “Says here you broke into the laboratory at UHT. Dressed in black with…let’s see…rope, flashlight, nail file, dental implement used to pick locks and two pairs of gloves, wearing one pair.”

  I nodded.

  “Have you ever been arrested?”

  “No, sir.”

  “We’ll run a criminal history. If you’ve ever been arrested, it will show up.”

  “You won’t find anything.”

  He leaned back in his chair and studied me. “You don’t look much like a burglar.”

  “I’m not.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I needed to go to the bathroom, wash my hands and clean the dark makeup off my face. If they let me go, I’d probably be frisked again when I returned, so I crossed my legs.

  Botowski combed through police reports, periodically glancing up at me. I was suddenly very tired. My throat lump slid down to join the jumping beans in my stomach.

  He rearranged himself in his chair and motioned to an officer outside the door who heaved his bulk inside the doorframe.

  “If I remove your handcuffs, you will remain seated in that chair,” Botowski stated.

  I nodded. He walked toward me and, with the supersized officer lurking, removed my handcuffs. I rubbed my wrists and stretched my shoulders forward.

  “All right. Let’s see how this goes.” He clicked on a recorder, put his elbows on the desk, clasped one fist over the other and asked me to repeat my name and address. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you by the court.”

  “My friend is trying to find an attorney for me.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “You’re a student at the university taking a science class?”

  “Yes. Science of Aging.” I rubbed my wrists and arms.

  “Aren’t you kind of old to be a student?”

  I glared at him. “I write a column about staying young and want to learn about the genetic effects of aging.”

  “Hmm. But your story is that you picked the lock to the science building and lab dressed like a burglar to look for clues to another professor’s murder that occurred a week ago?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What did you expect to find?”

  “I don’t know. I thought somebody had killed Dr. Carmody—the first professor—because he was working in the lab to discover a genetic breakthrough to delay aging.”

  “And you were going to find this breakthrough?”

  “I thought I might find something to suggest the direction of his research.”

  “Are you a scientist?”

  “No, but…”

  “How long have you been in this class?”

  “A week.”

  “Uh-huh. And you were going to solve the other murder by burglarizing this lab?”

  Heat rose up my neck. “I’m not a burglar. I didn’t take anything.”

  “Burglary,” he said, “is entering a building with intent to commit theft. Or committing theft or other felony without the consent of the owner.”

  I didn’t have anybody’s consent.

  But I never planned to steal anything…maybe just borrow something that looked like a clue and take it to Sam. Like Carmody’s papers.

  I reminded myself not to bring up Sam’s name.

  “And when you broke into the lab, you didn’t have any idea this other professor would be there?”

  “That’s right. Otherwise I’d never have gone in there.”

  “But you did know him, this Professor Eric Lager?”

  “Yes. He was director of the lab and sometimes helped Dr. Carmody teach our class.”

  “Did you ever meet him outside of class?”

  Was he insinuating there was a reason for me to kill Eric? I might as well tell him about the lab tour.

  “I saw him at Dr. Carmody’s funeral, and he invited me to tour the lab.”

  “Ah. So you did know him. How well did you know him?”

  What he implied was disgusting. “I knew him only as student and professor.”

  “Why did you agree to tour the lab with him?”

  “He probably knew what Dr. Carmody was working on. I thought I might get hints about what that was.”

  “So you learned a valuable secret and decided to kill the only other man who knew about it.”

  “No! I didn’t learn any secret. When I went back tonight, I didn’t know Eric Lager was even in there. And I didn’t kill him. I stumbled into him, and he was dead.” My heart beat like a hammer

  He studied me. “I understand the first professor died from some kind of fungus in his nasal spray.”

  I nodded.

  “Answer out loud for the tape recorder, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Officers found a bottle of nasal spray at the scene where you were found with the victim. Did you put it there?”

  “No, I saw it near him when he was lying on the floor.”

  “Do you know what was in the bottle?”

  “No.” I hung my head. “I didn’t kill Eric Lager. I’d never kill anybody.”

  “We’ll find out what killed him from the autopsy and toxicology report. We’ll request a quick turnaround on that. Then we’ll know whether to charge you as a murder suspect.”

  “I told you. I could never commit murder.”

  He flipped through his notes and turned off the recorder. “All right.” He punched numbers into his phone. “Mangum, she’s ready to be magistrated.”

  “What happens there?” Would this nightmare ever be over?

&
nbsp; “They’ll put you in a nice comfortable cell while they compile the officers’ reports. An assistant district attorney working night shift will review police reports to see if the facts support the charges against you. Then the clerks will gather everything for the magistrate, the Bexar County Judge who reads you your rights, lists charges against you and sets bond.”

  My eyes filled. “That could take a long time.”

  He crossed his arms. “Don’t do something to get yourself arrested. Especially on Saturday night.” He came over, told me to stand and handcuffed me.

  “Can I call somebody?”

  “You can make a call at the magistrate’s.”

  I would call Meredith. I prayed she could help me.

  Thirty-Five

  Officer Botowski walked me down the hall and handed me back to Officer Mangum, who stood waiting beside the desk. It was almost two a.m.

  I made it to the parking lot before I started crying.

  “I told him I didn’t kill anybody. Isn’t anybody going to listen to me? They’re going to put me in a cell at the magistrate’s building. And the magistrate has nothing but police reports about me. Will I even get to talk to him?”

  Mangum didn’t say a word. He put his hand on my head and pushed me down into the backseat of his patrol car. I sniffed hot, angry tears. Any officer assigned to drive a vehicle for SAPD must be bordering on mute. He drove across the street to the Frank D. Wing Municipal Court Building. The building was lighted against a pitch black sky. He parked and escorted me through a side door into a large room where people handled papers behind a large, square enclosure. Without a word to me, he handed me over to another officer. “She was interviewed at Central.”

  The magistrate officer took me through another room and put me into a large cell behind it. About fifteen people sat slouched against the wall in the eight-by-twelve-foot enclosure. Some of them were sleeping. If their eyes were open, they were bloodshot or looked sad or vacant. I found a spot on the floor between two people who didn’t smell too bad, put my head in my hands and sent up a silent prayer that if He’d help me get out of this mess, I promised never to break and enter again. And I waited.