As they walked outside, Ruth said, “You can reach me through my office, Lieutenant. Franklin, can I call someone for you? A lawyer perhaps.” She looked at the lieutenant from the corner of her eye.
“Call my friend Hyrum Green; he’ll want to help.”
“The dentist in my building? I didn’t know you were friends,” she said, not knowing why it seemed odd to her.
“Just call him, he knows all about my dream,” said Franklin. Samuelsson placed a hand on the top of Franklin’s head, guided him into the backseat of Peirce’s car, and slammed the door.
Ruth stood in the middle of the street as both unmarked police cars drove away.
“Hey, wait,” she shouted. “I came here in Franklin’s car.”
She took her cell phone from her pocket to call a taxi. “Well, that’s a perfect end to the evening.”
Part 2
Thirty days before Sylvia’s murder
The wildest colts make the best horses.
‒Plutarch
21
Sylvia Radcliffe met Hyrum Green during a routine dental visit. He was gentle and kind and eased her pain. She was smart and sophisticated with a bit of a wild-child nature. She wore her skirts a few inches above the knee with thigh-high boots and fitted blouses that were just tight enough to slightly stretch across her breasts, giving any red-blooded man an opportunity to peek between the buttons at her expensive, lacy undergarment.
Maybe what attracted her most to Hyrum Green was the fact that she could never catch him looking. By her third dental appointment—an extraction, a cleaning, and a complaint of a slight toothache for which Hyrum could find no cause—she began to push the limits of modesty. She opened an additional button on her blouse, thus allowing a slightly better view of what she believed to be her best assets. She positioned herself in the chair so the view was available but not blatant enough to appear slutty. Dr. Green approached the dental chair and immediately placed a bib under her chin, totally obscuring the invitation.
Well, covering the patient with a bib was standard, but again she watched his eyes, and although they seemed to scan the vicinity, there was no recognition of the assets.
It’s understandable; he’s concentrating on finding this mystery toothache. She felt guilty about the ruse, but his indifference to her slightly erotic behavior was having a damaging effect on her self-esteem.
Her right hand was resting on the arm of the dental chair, and as he leaned over her to examine her teeth, his upper body lightly brushed her knuckles. Sylvia took this opportunity to ever-so-slightly raise her hand, exerting a small amount of pressure against his chest. Hyrum immediately shifted his position, creating several inches of space between them.
Well, he is married. He could be very dedicated to his wife.
Sylvia was now in a contest she did not want to lose. As he worked, she began to scoot down a little in the chair, which caused her skirt to rise just above her boots. No reaction. Now she shifted as though she were trying to get comfortable, and in the process she slid down so that her skirt was high enough on her thighs to almost show the bottom of her panties. Without looking down, Hyrum grabbed a second paper bib from his instrument tray, unfolded it, and placed it on her lap.
Oh, my God, he’s gay. This had now become a considerable embarrassment. Sylvia enjoyed flirting and the occasional tryst with a married man; it boosted her ego. She thought of these dalliances as opportunities to hone her seduction skills, preparing for the day she would meet Mr. Right. On occasion her advances had been met with some indifference, but she had never struck out so completely before. She knew she should have switched to fat-free lattes and cut out that occasional pizza at the mall.
Hyrum said, “Excuse me,” and walked from the examining room. Sylvia immediately reached under the bib and buttoned her blouse all the way to her chin and pulled her skirt to its original length. When he returned he said, “Well, Ms. Radcliffe, here is an appointment card for your next checkup. Let me know if you have any more trouble with that tooth.” Sylvia jumped from the chair as soon as he removed the bibs and walked as quickly as possible to the outer waiting room. She looked at the card he had handed her and began to laugh.
“Is everything all right?” asked the receptionist behind the desk.
“I’m fine. I thought I had lost something, but I guess I didn’t.”
She read the card again: I’ll call you during the week. We could meet for coffee. You didn’t have to try so hard. I was interested from the first button, Hyrum.
***
Hyrum called Sylvia and asked her to meet him for a drink about a week after her dental appointment. She knew he was married and that this relationship couldn’t develop into anything other than a short affair, but he had such wavy black hair and light eyes that always seemed to sparkle when he smiled, and he smiled most of the time. His hands were delicate but strong, and she liked the way they felt against her skin. They would meet at a local pub for a drink and inevitably end their evening either at a motel or sometimes make love in his car if they didn’t have the patience or restraint needed to reach the motel. Hyrum was forceful, yet there was gentleness to his lovemaking, although you couldn’t prove it by the damage he inflicted on Sylvia’s wardrobe. She knew that this affair was wrong—it wasn’t fair to his wife—but she just didn’t care; it was an outlet, a release from her day-to-day cares.
The “business” Mort and Sylvia had started was stressful. She always worried that someone would connect the recent string of jewelry thefts to the jewelry store that she managed. Hyrum was a diversion from that constant worry. He was calm and self-assured. Sylvia was safe when she was with him. Not like the time she spent with Mort. Mort and Sylvia never had any romantic interest in each other. “He’s my mother’s boyfriend, for Christ’s sake,” she’d said when her sister, Emily, accused her of trying to seduce him. Yet she never thought of him as a surrogate father either. He was more like an arrogant older brother who always thought he knew what was best for her, but could be easily manipulated with a smile, or a pout, though on occasion she found a good old-fashioned “Are you fucking crazy?” worked just as well. Ultimately Mort did whatever she told him to do. He was very skilled at the execution of the “job,” but not the planning. The last time he did his own planning he spent twelve years behind bars.
Hyrum and Sylvia continued seeing each other once or sometimes twice a week. Since she was one of his patients, she would find excuses to stop by his office before her weekly therapy session with Dr. Klein. After all, they were in the same building. She would stop by to ask a question like “What kind of electric toothbrush should I buy?” or “Did I leave my phone book here on my last visit?” Some of her makeshift justifications for visiting must have seemed pretty lame because his dental hygienist, Michelle Ackerman, became suspicious. Each time Sylvia stopped by to see Hyrum, Michelle would stare and then look away when Sylvia met her eyes. At first she thought Michelle was jealous and wanted Hyrum for herself, but he assured Sylvia that he and Michelle had no personal involvement, only business.
Still, this presented a problem on several levels. First, if Michelle told Hyrum’s wife of their affair, his marriage would be in jeopardy, not to mention the negative effect on Sylvia’s reputation. Second, Michelle could cause Hyrum’s wife to hire a private investigator who might accidentally find evidence of Sylvia’s side business with Mort, an even worse disaster. Third, his wife might not leave him, but force him to end their affair, a result Sylvia was not quite ready to accept. So something needed to be done about Michelle.
Hyrum didn’t seem to appreciate the seriousness of the situation. Either that, or he was afraid to approach Michelle about the subject. Sylvia called Hyrum from her cell phone as she arrived for her weekly session with Dr. Klein.
“I think she knows something.”
“Who?”
“Michelle, your dental hygienist.”
“What does she know?”
“Us, she knows about us. S
he keeps looking at me, and I can tell she knows.”
“It’s your imagination, Sylvia; she knows nothing.”
“Talk to her, Hyrum. Talk to her today. Find out what she knows.”
“Don’t panic, I’m sure she doesn’t have a clue, but I’ll check before the end of the day.”
“Please, Hyrum; I’m not the only one who has something to lose.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You have your marriage to protect, and I have my reputation. I wouldn’t want anyone delving into my past, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want someone examining yours.”
Hyrum was silent for several seconds. “What do you mean by that? What do you know about my past?”
“Ah, nothing. I didn’t mean anything. It’s just that everyone has something from their early life that they don’t want exposed.” Hyrum paused again while Sylvia bit her lip. She had said too much.
She could hear Hyrum breathing into the phone. Finally he said, “I said I’ll talk to her.
See you tomorrow at seven thirty at the tavern?”
***
The next night, as they were leaving the tavern, Hyrum said, “You will be happy to know that I spoke to Michelle, and she is not going to be a problem. You were right about her suspecting that we were seeing each other, but we had a good, long conversation, and her friendship for me, and her wish that I remain happy, outweighed her perceived moral obligation to tell Elaine. She won’t say a word.”
“How can you be sure? She could change her mind tomorrow.”
“No, she won’t, and besides, she’s leaving town for a few weeks. I gave her some time off, and she’s going back to Colorado for a while. We can trust her.”
Hyrum was confident that Michelle would keep their secret, but Sylvia couldn’t leave that to chance. She would feel much more comfortable if she heard it herself from Michelle’s lips.
***
Each night at about five thirty, Michelle Ackerman pulled into her driveway. She pressed the button on the remote garage door opener, parked, and closed the overhead door behind her. Sergeant, her big orange cat, would return home for his dinner after a day of roaming the streets, rummaging through the occasional garbage can, and discouraging any interlopers from upsetting the feline pecking order of the neighborhood. He would walk, head held high, to the kitchen door, where Michelle would greet him with the respect he was due and invite him in for his dinner. That is, if she didn’t forget. Sergeant ran to the back door, sat, and waited. His tail flipped from side to side. Then he stood up on his hind legs and scratched at the door. Patience has never been a feline virtue.
The door rattled in the soft evening breeze; the cat’s pawing and scratching was moving it. He hooked one paw around the edge and pulled. The door moved, and he squeezed in through the narrow opening.
First stop was the countertop that always held his bowl. He paced back and forth, waiting for Michelle—it was that patience thing again.
Soon Michelle entered the kitchen through the garage door carrying three grocery bags. She struggled to the counter and propped the bags against the backsplash.
“What are you doing here, Sergeant?” she asked. “Have you been in the house all day?”
Michelle scratched Sergeant’s head and looked at the slightly ajar side door. She thought back, examining her memory of the last few minutes before she’d left for work that morning. She had put Sergeant out, and she was sure she had closed the door. Now she turned the knob and closed the door several times to see if it latched properly. It seemed to be working fine. Maybe she hadn’t been quite that conscientious. The unexpected phone call from her boss may have been more distracting than she thought.
“I’d like you to come in early—now, if you can. I have something important to discuss with you.”
He hadn’t said what he wanted, but she knew. Hyrum’s new girlfriend, Sylvia, had been staring at her with a hostile look, intimating that she thought Michelle was either jealous of her affair with Hyrum or about to expose their “relationship” to Hyrum’s wife.
Of course, Michelle would do neither. She would simply add this indiscretion to the other offenses for which she was already blackmailing him. She would simply continue to take Hyrum’s money to maintain her silence.
“What happened between us happened long ago,” Hyrum had said that morning. “There is no longer any evidence, and there were no witnesses.” Michelle knew that Hyrum was right. There was little she could do other than start a scandal. But even unproven accusations have their consequences, and she reminded him of that fact in no uncertain terms.
“I am the witness,” she told him. “I was the one who was wronged. You hurt me, and you hurt my family. If I tell my story, your career will be over. No parent will send a child to you again.”
Michelle wouldn’t tell Hyrum’s wife about this adultery or the other incident from their past for which she hated him. Destroying his marriage served no purpose, not while he was still paying. And she assured him that she expected their financial arrangement to continue until she decided to end it.
Michelle began unloading the groceries and thought about the trip she was about to take. She hadn’t been back to Colorado in years. Her father had moved there shortly after her mother died. He never remarried and lived a small life on limited funds. Michelle sent him a monthly check, part of the blackmail money from Hyrum, to supplement his social security check. Her father’s loneliness was another reason to hate Hyrum and to ensure that he never stopped paying. Michelle shook her head to clear away the pain of the past. There was much to do before her trip.
Sergeant sat on the counter, looking at the cabinet that held his box of food. If cats could communicate using telepathy, an ability many people believe they possess, he would have been fed by now.
A sound emanating from the second floor caused both Sergeant and Michelle to turn their heads toward the staircase. A man’s voice, barely audible, was coming from her bedroom. Michelle opened the pantry door and grabbed the Louisville Slugger leaning against the doorframe. She had found the baseball bat at the Goodwill store and bought it for three dollars. She didn’t play ball. The bat was intended to keep a single woman living alone safe from prowlers.
“Who’s there?” she called. “I have a gun, and I’ll use it.”
Sergeant, sensing the distress in Michelle’s voice, leaped from the counter and retreated to safety under a kitchen chair. Michelle, however, advanced, bat at the ready, and began to climb the stairs. With each step the voice became louder. She couldn’t tell what he was saying, but there was nothing he could say that would justify his presence in her house. Michelle reached the open bedroom door. She held the bat shoulder high and leaned into the doorway. Now the man’s words became clear: “And if you call in the next ten minutes, we will include a second jar of Miracle Jewelry Cleaner at no cost. Just pay separate shipping and handling…”
Michelle set the bat against her shoulder and shut off the television. Hyrum’s call this morning must have upset her more than she had thought. First she had failed to close the kitchen door after letting Sergeant out, and now she discovered she’d left the television on.
“Oh, Hyrum, I’m going to make you pay for this,” she said with a smile.
Five minutes later the bat rested against the side of the dresser while Michelle packed for her trip. She shuttled outfits from the closet to the bed, then carefully folded each in an attempt to minimize their need for ironing when she arrived in Colorado. On the next trip to the closet, a man’s hand slowly reached out, grabbed the bat by its handle, and pulled it behind the drape.
Michelle returned from the closet to find a stowaway in her suitcase. Sergeant had found the courage to join her in the bedroom and had worked his way into the middle layer of slacks and tops, undoing Michelle’s careful handicraft.
“Sergeant!” she scolded. “You’re not coming with me. Annabelle promised to take care of you while I’m gone. You like Annabelle, and you’ll be ri
ght next door. She’ll take good care of you; don’t make me feel guilty for leaving you behind.”
Michelle studied the cat’s intense stare. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you understood every word I’m saying.”
Sergeant’s ears perked up, and he raised his head. He was actually looking past Michelle at the movement of the drape behind her.
“I’ll be back in two weeks. It won’t be so bad.” Sergeant arched his back as he saw the tip of the bat move out from behind the drape and rise up.
“Well, you don’t have to make me feel bad about it. It’s not like I’m giving you away.”
Sergeant hissed, leaped from the suitcase, flinging clothes out, and ran out of the room.
“Hey, come back here. I would take you with me if I could. I still lo—”
Her last word was interrupted by the cracking sound of the bat against the side of Michelle’s neck, a moment of silence, and then the thud of Michelle’s body collapsing to the floor.
Sergeant stood under a kitchen chair and watched the man with the baseball bat carry Michelle down to the living room and sit her on the sofa. He arranged her hands in her lap and leaned her head, now angled at thirty degrees to her body, against the sofa back. Next the man walked into the kitchen, tapping the bat on the counter as he walked.
Sergeant crouched down. He stayed very still and only snapped his head up when startled by the chimes of the front doorbell. The man was also startled. He walked to the kitchen door and opened it without making a sound. He was about to leave when he noticed that he still had the bat in his hand. As he turned to lay the bat on the counter, Sergeant ran through the open door and hid under a holly bush next to the house.
***
Sylvia looked at the address on the folded scrap of paper on the passenger seat. The streetlights barely illuminated the numbers on the mailboxes. She drove slowly, studying each house. Hyrum had said that the situation was under control and that Michelle wouldn’t be a problem, but something in his voice was unconvincing. Hyrum was her lover all right, but that didn’t mean she trusted him unconditionally. No one received that honor from Sylvia without first earning it, and so far no one had.
(Un) Sound Mind Page 17