by Laurel Dewey
“Fucking bitch,” he mumbled.
“So, that’s a ‘yes?’”
“Worthless piece of shit,” he said, nearly incoherently.
“I need a ‘yes’ or a ‘no,’ Mr. Honeycutt.”
His eyes opened wider and he looked at Jane with menace. “Yes,” he clearly replied, vitriol seeping from his lips. He pointed toward his amputated leg. “She’s the reason I had to get that cut off! And that bitch is the reason I’ll probably lose the other leg too!”
“You loan her money? Fifty grand?”
“Why?”
“Answer my question.”
He looked at Jane with a surly, evil expression. “I don’t have to answer shit! Nothing you do to me is any worse than what I’m going through right now!”
“You mean, like arrest you? Why would I have to arrest you? I asked if you loaned her money. Not whether you killed her.” A look of surprise was followed by a sweet smile of satisfaction on his face. “You didn’t know that she died? She did. And she suffered.” His smile turned into a sneer. Jane purposely worded the next sentence carefully. “Nobody will ever again be a victim of Carolyn Handel like you were.”
Honeycutt reached out and grabbed Jane’s sleeve. His strength belied the drugged out stupor he was quickly speeding toward. “Fuck victims!” he whispered. “Like that saying goes, ‘There comes a time when you better decide whether you’re hanging on the cross or banging in the nails.’” His eyelids fell like lead and he lost consciousness. As far as Jane was concerned, she was staring at the third and final investor of Carolyn Handel’s latest scheme.
She left Honeycutt’s room and returned to her Mustang. Jane felt the gathering of clues coming together in a loose, yet still imperceptible quilt of understanding. Her cell phone rang as she sped away from the hospital’s parking lot. It was Sergeant Weyler. The M.E. had made a preliminary finding on Carolyn Handel’s tox report. She had enough Demerol in her bloodstream at the time of death to choke a horse.
Ironic.
CHAPTER 7
Back at DH, Jane headed directly to the audio/video room to view Handel’s security tapes. While the tech assured her that the tapes “showed nothing out of the ordinary,” she waved him off and cued the video to the earliest point available, which was seventy-two long hours prior to the crime. It was tedious to watch the dual video of Handel’s front and back door. Jane slowly advanced the video, stopping it periodically to check the time code on the bottom of the screen and then continued the slow fast-forward motion. She watched Carolyn walk in and out of her house several times, only using the front door. Never once did the woman appear to look freaked out or anxious. If anything, she carried herself exactly as Laura Abernathy said, as if she “owned the room.”
Two hours passed and Jane’s eyes grew blurry, but she maintained her sentinel pose and continued to watch nothing happen. And then something finally did happen.
Joe Harvey could be seen walking up to the front door carrying a huge bouquet of flowers that looked like the Stargazer lilies Jane spotted in Carolyn’s entryway. She recalled how aromatic and fresh they were on that morning. Jane paused the video and checked the date and time code. It was Sunday afternoon at 2:45, which was two hours and change before Joe’s flight to California. This was strange behavior for Joe Harvey, Jane mused. If she was correct in her assumption that Joe felt badly about getting his friends involved with his aunt and based on his own obvious disgust at Carolyn’s cavalier attitude, what in the hell was he doing bringing her a large bouquet of her favorite flowers on a Sunday afternoon? Jane resumed the video playback and watched as Carolyn answered the door and clasped her hands together in a show of happiness when she saw the flowers before ushering Joe inside.
And then Jane waited. And waited some more. The guy had a flight to catch at 5:00 PM, which meant he needed to be at DIA by 4:00 PM. On a Sunday with no weather problems or rush-hour traffic to factor into the equation, Jane figured it would take about forty-five minutes from Cherry Creek to get to DIA, park your car, board the shuttle to the main concourse and check in. This meant he needed to leave his aunt’s house by 3:15. Why was he showing up with her favorite flowers at 2:45, knowing he had to book it in less than half an hour? Sure, it could have been done on purpose to give him a reason to make the visit brief. But, again, given Joe’s overt hatred of his aunt’s behavior, why bother?
The tape continued to roll as Jane pondered the possibilities. She leaned back in the chair as the minutes lapsed. What did she know for certain? Well, Carolyn loved Stargazer lilies so much so that a photo of her in her bedroom featured the aromatic flowers. Okay. What else did Jane know for sure? Carolyn was arrogant and believed the world revolved around her. She loved attention. According to Laura, Carolyn nearly hung herself on her book bag strap on the slide because she was showing off to the boys. So, putting these few pieces together, Jane let her mind wander into possible scenarios. If Joe had exchanged a few salty conversations with his aunt in regard to paying back his three friends, she might not have been eager to meet with him. But perhaps he knew how easily she could be manipulated by simply bringing her a stunning bouquet that she couldn’t resist? That would get him in the door. But what did they talk about for thirty minutes, given Jane’s determination that he had to be out of there at 3:15 to make his flight?
Jane turned her attention to the clock on the wall. She’d been drifting in thought for nearly forty minutes. She looked at the video screen but there was no sign of Joe leaving. Irritated, she fast-forwarded and then stopped to check the time code on the bottom of the screen. Something suddenly didn’t make sense. She fast forwarded again and stopped, checking the code. It was identical to the last one. Hitting the play button, Jane moved closer to the video screen. It was suspended. Asleep. Frozen.
Jane quickly reversed the tape to the point where Joe arrived with the flowers. Resuming the playback, she focused only on the time code, watching it count the seconds and minutes until it halted and the picture froze. “Holy shit!” Jane exclaimed. She figured she knew exactly when it was going to “wake up” and sped fast forward until the time code reactivated at 7:30 AM, the moment that Laura Abernathy entered the house and told Jane she punched in Carolyn’s code to deactivate the alarm. What she actually did, it appeared to Jane, was reactivate the security system. This was starting to add up. Jane recalled that when she ducked into the security alcove off Carolyn’s entryway on the morning of the investigation, she noticed a small digital clock on the security panel that displayed 2:00 AM. The techie told her that there might have been a power glitch and that once the power goes back on, the security clock on the panel would resume at 12:00 AM. Since two hours had passed at that point, it fit that Laura’s entrance into the house was the mitigating factor. Jane’s theory was born out when there was no video of Laura arriving at Carolyn’s house that morning but plenty of video of cops entering the front door, along with Weyler and Jane’s appearance.
Jane checked the time code on the active video. It seemed that it had a fail-safe internal memory since it “woke up” with the correct time. Jane had no clue how to suspend a security video and she was fairly sure that Laura Abernathy didn’t either. Rolling back the video, Jane found Joe’s arrival with the flowers. It took another seventeen minutes before the video froze. Time enough for Joe to get inside, maybe schmooze with his aunt and then disappear into the alcove while she arranged the flowers in her Waterford vase. It wasn’t outside the scope of possibility since Joe owned the same security system. S.O.S. was his oldest client, according to Joe. “She never paid me for the install,” he grumbled to Jane. Could Joe have possibly been involved with the installation of the system, thereby allowing him a better understanding of how it worked and the various functions it was capable of doing? Whatever the truth, it was too much of a coincidence that Joe’s arrival and the suspension of the security system occurred simultaneously. It led Jane to wonder about other possible videos she’d like to view—videos showing passenger
s departing on Colorado Mountain Airlines planes.
By the end of that day, Jane had seen and heard all she needed to create the possible scenario that led to Carolyn Handel’s death. While all the pieces weren’t in place, there were enough to formulate her next move. She waited until the following morning to implement it.
CHAPTER 8
Jane arrived at Laura Abernathy’s small home at 9:30 AM, parking her Mustang two blocks away. She made a quick call on her cell phone, feigning urgency in her voice that she hoped would be believed. A nervous edge crept up as she squashed her cigarette on the pavement and walked up the modest pathway to Laura’s front door. A large G hung to the right of the door. “God,” maybe? She rung the bell and Laura answered, still dressed in her nightgown and robe. The woman looked even older than when she first met her on Monday morning. What was it with the way Laura Abernathy seemed to age?
“Detective!” Laura said with a warm smile. “Did I forget a scheduled meeting with you?”
“No, ma’am. I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing. May I come in?”
Laura’s eyes twinkled, clearly adoring the attention. “Well, of course!”
It wasn’t just hot in Laura’s house. It was “grandma hot”—the kind of stuffy heat one associates with one’s grandmother when her circulation starts to slow to a crawl. “What does the ‘G’ stand for outside?” Jane asked.
“Gratitude!” Laura replied, joining her hands in a prayer pose. “We must have an attitude of gratitude, detective!”
“Of course,” Jane nodded. “Carolyn didn’t have that, did she?”
“She sure didn’t!” Laura’s mouth turned up quickly. “I’m sorry the place is a bit of a mess. I just haven’t felt up to cleaning lately.”
The place wasn’t just a mess; it looked like somebody turned the tiny house on its end and shook it hard. Newspapers piled up on the kitchen table next to junk mail next to dirty plates. It was as if Laura had given up trying to create order in her existence. As Jane walked around the tiny, suffocatingly hot living room, the imprint of energy was that of a woman who wasn’t all there mentally and physically. It drastically contradicted Laura’s carefully coiffed appearance at the crime scene, with her pretty pink suit and matching purse. “Please have a seat, Detective.”
“Could I use your phone? My cell phone battery gave out.”
“Oh, of course.” Laura pointed to a tiny desk brimming with even more paperwork. “I’ll make us some peach tea.” She scurried into the kitchen.
Jane crossed to the desk. She had to remove several piles of papers to find the phone. Next to the phone was the caller ID box. Jane skimmed through the numbers and names, most of which were doctor’s offices. She checked well past the previous Sunday before replacing the papers back over the phone. Jane craned her neck to make sure Laura was still occupied in the kitchen before examining several of the pages. They were from various doctors, reminding her of her next appointment. Returning to Laura’s kitchen table, Jane took a seat, after removing several blankets from the chair.
“Would you like a little honey?” Laura asked, taking an inordinate amount of time to put the tea bags in the cups and pour the water.
“Sure. Are you feeling okay, Laura?” Jane’s voice was atypically quiet and subdued.
“Oh, not really,” she said, absently stirring the honey into the cups. “I’m so cold lately.”
Jane checked the time on the kitchen clock. She needed to speed this up. “Let me help you with those.” Jane got up and carried the cups of tea to the table, removing more debris from another chair so Laura could sit down.
“You are the sweetest policewoman I’ve ever met.”
Jane took a sip of tea. “Yeah, I hear that a lot. So, Laura, remember when you told me about that inspirational program you watched on the Family Channel? The one you didn’t want to miss when Carolyn called you? ‘Sharing of the Heart?’”
Laura looked at Jane, her smile still present. “Yes. My program.”
“People traveling the world finding what needs to be fixed or changed and making that happen?”
Laura sipped the tea. “Yes. That’s right. Oh, did I put too much honey in your tea?”
“I wanted to watch the show,” Jane continued, staying on track. “So, I checked to see when it was going to be on again. But I found out that no such show ever aired on the Family Channel. No such show by that name aired anywhere, in fact.”
Laura scratched her head. “Perhaps it was a video. Yes, that’s what it was. I get these things confused sometimes.”
“If it was a video, it wouldn’t have prevented you from going to Carolyn’s house that night when she called and left that urgent message.”
Laura took another sip of tea and smoothed the drape of her robe. “I don’t understand what you mean,” she said quietly.
Jane gently pushed the teacup aside and leaned forward. “Carolyn never called you last Sunday night. I checked your caller ID box just now. It holds fifty numbers and goes back two weeks and she’s not on there once.”
“Really? How strange.”
“I got a preliminary report yesterday regarding the fingerprints we found in Carolyn’s bedroom.”
“Oh?”
“They all belong to you.”
“Well, of course, I’m at her house a lot—”
“They are all over the lipstick container. The one you used to write ‘Karma is a Bitch!’ on Carolyn’s nude back?”
Laura’s smile melted into a disapproving frown. “Well, I see where this is going. I thought you were my friend, Detective. How fickle people are these days!” Her countenance became suddenly hard. “You do things for them all your life and all you want in return is a little ‘thank you,’ or gratitude. You have to have an attitude of gratitude, you know?” Her twinkly eyes stared at Jane with a steely glare. “You’re no different than ...”
“Than Carolyn?”
“Yes. What? Are the two of you secret friends?” That cattiness that Jane detected when she first interviewed Laura reemerged.
The doorbell rang in quick successive tones. Right on time, Jane thought.
“Good Lord! Who is this?” Laura grumbled as she struggled to get up and cross to the front door. Jane got up and walked quietly to the opposite side of the door, away from view.
The doorbell was still ringing as Laura opened the door. Joe Harvey stood there looking frantic.
“Laura! You and I need to talk!” Joe asked Laura, his voice pitched up several octaves.
“What’s wrong, Joe?” Laura asked, confused by his appearance.
“I got a call about fifteen minutes ago from a desk sergeant at Denver Police saying that you had been over there yesterday, talking about Carolyn’s case and sounding erratic—”
“No, I couldn’t have been there yesterday. I was at the—”
“Laura,” Joe interrupted. “Remember how we talked at length about the importance of staying on message?”
“Yes, yes, of course ...” Laura looked at the floor, seemingly detached. “I’m so confused, Joe. First she shows up and then you . . .”
Jane slowly opened the door wider. “That was me who called you, Joe. I sucked a few heavy hits off my cigarette to make my voice sound good and raspy. Come on in.” As frenzied as Joe had just been, he suddenly became oddly calm and reserved. “Have a seat,” Jane suggested to both of them, motioning toward the cluttered kitchen table.
CHAPTER 9
Jane pulled up a chair and sat six feet across from them. Distance was always a good idea in situations like this. “’Staying on message,’ huh? You actually believed Laura could do that, Joe? You’ve known her longer than I have, but I figured that one out from day one. Finally, Laura was getting the attention she’d always wanted, instead of that selfish bitch Carolyn!” Jane looked at Laura. “When you constantly put yourself in a subservient position, it’s kinda nice to get a taste of what the queen enjoys. Am I right?” Joe reach
ed over and cupped his palm over Laura’s shaking hand. “So, of course, you’re gonna talk . . . and talk ... and talk.”
Jane directed her next remark to Joe. “I know that bothered you. When I was going over my time with you in your office, I noticed how you tensed up when I told you that Laura mentioned about the three investors putting in fifty thousand each. That was not for public consumption.” They remained silent. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” Joe stared at Jane, his upper lip quivering. “But, Joe, you actually gave yourself away before that. You told me you’d ‘heard’ about how your aunt was found and how ‘graphic’ it was. But then you stated that you and Laura had not talked in two months. So, she didn’t tell you about Carolyn. And Homicide didn’t disclose it to the media. The only way you knew what Aunt Carolyn looked like in her last hour on this earth is because you were there.”
“I showed you my airline ticket,” Joe declared, still unmoved.
“Yeah, that was a very nice cover operation you pulled off. You needed investor number one, Jacque Wilde, to help you with that.” Joe’s mouth tensed. “And she was all about making that travel happen! You bring people together to invest and make money and she makes travel happen, especially when she doesn’t get her money back.” Jane leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “But I can make video happen. I made video happen at Aunt Carolyn’s house and I made it happen yesterday at DIA when I asked to see security footage of passengers getting on that five o’ clock Colorado Mountain Airlines flight last Sunday. All I had to do was use the T word—Terrorist —and I could watch all the video I wanted as soon as I wanted to see it. And I got to see it all, Joe. All of it. I got to see you heading onto the tarmac for your five o’ clock flight. I also got to see Travis Wilde, Jacque’s kid. You know, the one who got fucked out of his heart operation and who needed one hundred grand to pay for it? Yeah. I got to see Travis in his distinctive CMA jacket walk out the door right after you and then, about five minutes later, all the way back down the hallway you can see him returning through another doorway pushing a covered cart. Unfortunately, there are no distinct camera angles showing what happened on the tarmac. But, my theory is, he got into an elevator alone with that cart and when those doors opened, two people got off the elevator. One left DIA and headed to Cherry Creek and the other, went back to that five o’clock flight to make sure the ‘baggage weight issue’ he created earlier would detain the flight as long as possible. I guess that’s what Jacque meant when she told me what CMA lacks in stature, it more than makes up for in customer service.”