"Me?"
"And your phone. Has anyone else died around you in the past few years?"
"My grandfather died about five years ago in Georgia. Cancer. Nothing weird about it, and no connection here."
Peter sighed. It couldn't be that easy. "Whoever took your phone might return it. If it turns up, don't touch it, call me immediately."
"Why?"
"It might have trace evidence. I doubt it, but we could get lucky. Anyone else at the dog park with deaths around them?"
"Most of the morning crowd at the park are over forty, some are retired or nearly there. By the time you're that age, people have died around you. I'm still having a hard time accepting that someone killed Luthor. But a serial killer? At the dog park? That's mental! So are you looking at single males between the ages of thirty and fifty? Isn't' that the profile? There's plenty of those at the park."
"Doesn't have to be a guy. Women kill, too, and they have more subtlety. Whoever it is, isn't impulsive and is very organized and detail oriented. I suspect they're very intelligent.
Lia sighed. "So we can't blame this on the homeless guy who's been sleeping in the picnic shelter."
"Afraid not. Unless you let him get near your bag."
"Are you kidding?"
"Didn't think so. Look, I know you don't like the idea of saying any of your friends could be a murderer. But serial killers are often really good at acting normal, so you might not be able to tell. How about this. Who in that group couldn't have done it?"
"Well, Jose."
"Why not?"
"When he gets mad, he puts it right out there. He's too straightforward about everything. If he got mad at you, he'd punch you in the nose, then he'd forget about it. And I don't think he could keep a secret to save his life. His wife Carla says she's got to put a cap on his poker money because he's always losing." She thought for a moment, "And he's too good-natured to keep his mad on long enough to plan something like this."
"Good. Who else?"
"Jim's retired. He was an engineer, so he's smart and organized. He does this 'Mr. Cranky Pants' routine, but it's mostly for entertainment value.
"So how does that work?"
"If you tell him he should have done something a different way, or if Terry dumps too much Republican propaganda on him, he gets blustery, all out of proportion. But he's not nearly as irritated as he seems. At heart, he's the guy you go to if you want to talk about something that's bugging you. He's also the most consistently spiritual person I know. He's Catholic and makes a real effort to live according to his faith. He doesn't make noise about it, he's not preaching or showing off. You wouldn't know that about him unless you got to know him well, so I can't believe it's an act."
"Okay." Peter filed that away for further consideration. It wouldn't be the first time piety hid a murderous nature.
"Catherine . . ." Lia twisted her mouth and nipped a corner off a violet tile while she considered the dog park diva. "Anyone who dyes their hair to match their dogs has to be detail oriented. And she's narcissistic enough to not care much about other people. I don't know if she's smart enough."
"How so?"
"Well, she's really obvious in her little games at the dog park, and I think she believes she's being subtle. Wouldn't your serial killer have a more accurate perception of how people are responding to them, if they're going to fool everyone?"
"Maybe, but not necessarily."
"Besides, she doesn't get her hands dirty. If she shoplifted as a teen-ager, I'm sure she paid the maid's kid to do it for her. She pretty much wallows in not knowing how to do anything practical. I'd think a killer like you're describing would need to be self-reliant and resourceful. Catherine is neither."
"Huh."
"Aside from that, I think underneath everything, Catherine really wants to be liked. I think a lot of her posturing comes from insecurity. I know that doesn't quite sound narcissistic, but that's Catherine. I don't think you off people when you're looking for attention."
"You sure you're really an artist and not a shrink?"
"Geezlepete. This is giving me a headache. I can't think anymore right now. Can we continue this some other time?" She set down her nippers and gave Peter an imploring look.
"Sure. Lia, I know this is hard, and finding the person could get ugly and even dangerous. I really appreciate your help. I know it's hard to keep all this inside, too. Do you have any friends across the country, someone who has no connection with Cincinnati?"
"Yeah, I've got my sister in Texas."
"If you need to talk to someone besides me, talk to them. Please don't share anything about this being murder with anyone here, no matter how much you trust them."
"Okay."
"Seriously. That person might be innocent, but you don't know who they'll tell. I mean it."
"I said okay," Lia huffed.
"Look, will you feel weird if I come hang at the park tomorrow? It would be good for me to see more of your crew, but not if it's going to make you nervous."
"Let me think about it. Can I call you in the morning?"
Lia showed Peter out. When she returned to her work table, it all seemed so pointless. She shoved the template aside, planted her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands. She stayed that way a long time.
Chapter 11
Monday, May 16
Sometimes being a cop sucked, Peter mused while he drove down Westwood Northern Boulevard. Viola was in the back seat, panting in his left ear while she caught the breeze coming in the window. All he ever wanted to do was serve and protect. But what happens when doing just that hurts someone? Especially if, for once, he wanted to get closer to that someone. Would Lia always associate him with Luthor? Too bad he didn't have Brent as his full-time partner, he would have made Brent break the news to Lia so she wouldn't associate him with Luthor's betrayal, or with the news that one of her friends was probably a murderer. And if she took his advice and called her sister, well, Sis was probably urging her to leave town . . . permanently.
He thought back to the message he found on his cell when he got out of the shower. She hadn't sounded too disappointed to be talking to voicemail. She said she'd be gone from the park by 8:30, if he wouldn't mind waiting until then to run Viola. Meanwhile, she would call if she thought of anything that might help him. Did she just want some space, or was this a full blown brush-off?
He knew she wouldn't be there, but he still scanned the parking lot for her car as he pulled in. Well, he had background checks an phone records to review, he could give her a day or two. No more than that. Lia was closest to the center of this thing and the first of Detective Dourson's Axioms for Investigators was find the center and stick to it.
Anna pulled up as he was letting Viola out of the back seat. "Why, Detective Peter," she smiled, "You're becoming quite the regular. Does this mean you plan to hang onto Luthor's orphan child?"
"Hello, Anna. Jury's still out. But she's growing on me. It would help if she learned how to vacuum. Or if she could at least shed in a designated shedding zone."
"Designated shedding zone. That'd be a cute trick. You talk to Jim and he'll tell you that her purpose is to teach you all about unconditional love, and if she were perfect, you couldn't love her unconditionally."
"Say again?"
"She has to be flawed. If she didn't inconvenience you in some way, then you'd never have to decide to love her anyway." She opened the back of her SUV and CarGo jumped out. CarGo stood perfectly still while Anna clipped on his leash.
"I'll give that some thought. So Jim is a philosopher, is he?"
"Our very own Will Rogers. I imagine you're too young to remember him."
"I think I had a layover in an airport named after him."
"That would be Oklahoma City."
At the top of the drive, they met Terry exiting the corral. "Greetings, Detective. How goes your investigation?"
"As they say in cheap paperbacks, we are pursuing all leads."
; "Ah. And are there any leads?"
"That would be the question, wouldn't it?"
"Did you ever figure out where that gun came from?"
"Still looking. You got any ideas?"
"Not yet, my good man."
"You still got my card?"
"Indeed I do. And the search for the elusive source of Luthor's firearm continues."
Peter shook his head as Terry, Napa, and Jackson headed down the hill. "Does he always talk like that?"
"Like a British country squire? Always, though I've never caught him saying 'pip, pip' or 'tally-ho,' thank goodness."
Peter meandered the park, chatting with the group he privately thought of as "the usual suspects." Anna introduced him to several others. Everyone was interested in Luthor's suicide. All volunteered whether they had witnessed Lia's argument with Luthor, or been in the park at all that day. Nadine charmed him with her sincere interest in his accent and Kentucky upbringing, as well as her appreciation of Appalachian culture. He found himself telling her all about his great-grandmother's quilts and his grandfather's wood carvings. Marie put him on the spot, asking what the people were supposed to do with Pit Bull complaints. The dogs were illegal inside city limits, but there were no provisions for enforcement. While he was trying to figure a reasonable answer for her, she changed the subject, and asked if he styled him self after fictional homicide detective Joe Morelli or Lucas Davenport, or was he a Virgil Flowers? She wiggled her eyebrows flirtatiously at that last name. At this point a newcomer named Charlie told Marie to stop tormenting him. Charlie made a hobby of rehabbing classic cars. Peter spent several minutes hearing about Charlie's projects and debating the merits of Lincolns versus Caddys.
Viola raced up with a ratty tennis ball she'd found, so he took her to the back of the park where he could throw it for her while observing the crowd from a distance. They all seemed so normal. But that was the point, wasn't it? To be a wolf in sheep's clothing? It boiled down to two things: who had access to Lia's bag on Saturday, and who fit his profile. He wondered about Terry. Some killers like to insert themselves into investigations. Was that the source of his interest in the gun? Did Marie's mercurial temperament hide secret taunts? Did Charlie's relaxed, 'good old boy' demeanor mask a shrewd nature? Peter sighed as he leashed Viola and headed back to his car. Perhaps a few hours reviewing the file would give him some ideas.
~ ~ ~
It had been nagging at him ever since he spoke with Detective Dourson. He knew he'd seen an old Luger somewhere, sometime. Not recently. Now he thought he had it. She'd still be at the park. He could call her cell. He picked up the phone and dialed.
"Hey, this is Terry. I was just wondering something. You know that old gun of your dad's? . . . What kind of gun was it? . . . Really? You're certain? I could have sworn it was a Luger. Have you seen it lately? . . . How long has your nephew had it? . . . Because Luthor killed himself with a Luger and I've been trying to figure out where he got it. If you had a Walther, then it couldn't have been yours . . . I agree, it's mystifying, where he came up with it."
~ ~ ~
Lia looked at the stack of molds she had set up so far that day. She'd decided to work on 'truth' pavers, since truth was causing her so many problems right now. Realizing that she hadn't known the truth about Luthor, wondering what the truth was about her friends. Could one of them have killed him? Why? Luthor was self-centered, but he wasn't deliberately cruel. He wasn't particularly moral, but he wasn't the sort to mess with people, either. Who could he have stirred up enough to make them want to kill him? If this was a serial killer, if it was like in the movies, the motive could be obscure. Maybe it was the color of his hair, or he said the wrong thing at the wrong time. She knew she'd never get over this until the truth came out.
Jason was in his studio, and he had a phone. Maybe he'd let her use it to call Detective Dourson. If he brought her Dewy's for lunch, she'd talk to him.
~ ~ ~
Peter sat, frustrated, at his desk. His attempts to track down Lia's cell phone had failed. It could be the killer had been smart enough to remove the battery and SIM card. It could be smashed to pieces, lying in a ditch. Chances of finding it intact with incriminating prints on it were nil. Unless the Tooth Fairy decided to deliver it to him. He visualized Dwayne Johnson in a tutu delivering the phone on a satin pillow. Then he imagined Dwayne Johnson in a tutu interrogating suspects, thwacking them with a fairy wand. He shook his head at this bit of foolishness, then turned to the rising stack of paper Morrisey's case was accumulating.
He didn't mind reviewing files. It gave him a chance to step back and get perspective. In addition to his notes from his interview with Lia yesterday, he had more phone records from Morrisey.
It would be tedious work, matching up the numbers with names. Hopefully, most of the numbers were already identified on the contact list or the previous set of phone records. This proved to be true as Peter worked backwards in time. Most calls were to Lia. More calls to her than from her, he noticed. Some were to Sharon, the waitress at Northside Tavern. Sharon wasn't on Luthor's contact list. Peter had to look her number up in the reverse directory. Desiree wasn't, either. He wondered why and decided Luthor was covering his tracks in case Lia got into his phone. Would she do that? She didn't seem the type.
In Sharon's case there were an equal number of calls going each way. Peter suspected Morrisey's would-be girlfriend had been deliberately not calling him any more times than he called her, so as to not seem needy. The occasional calls to buddies held no surprises. Likewise the calls to Desiree. Then, about three months back, a new number appeared. A quick scan of the rest of the record showed it popping up frequently, more incoming than outgoing, several times a week. Peter turned to his computer to run a search on the number when his phone rang.
~ ~ ~
Terry set the ladder carefully, using wood blocks under the right foot for leveling. He leaned it precisely against the eaves. He was getting too old to be climbing up on the roof, but it was an easy job and not worth waiting for his sons to come over. A little Black Jack in the right places should hold the flashing around the dormer windows for several more years.
While he worked, his mind drifted back to his last phone call. He never forgot a gun and he could have sworn hers was a Luger. The gun he remembered was larger and angular. Walthers were designed not to bulge under a jacket. He'd forgotten to ask where her nephew lived. Could he have known Luthor? But if the gun was a Walther, it was a moot point. The arguments were circular, leading nowhere. Was it worth calling Dourson? He'd make the call. Right after he got down.
Terry tested the top rung of the ladder like he always did, to make sure it was still secure. Then as he started down, something shifted. He was twenty feet up when one of the supporting blocks popped out. The ladder twisted slowly as it pulled over to the right, overbalanced, and then toppled. Terry had just a moment to appreciate his mistake and impending death before he cracked his head on the flagstone steps and lay still.
"I admit it," Lia confessed as she took a healthy bite from a hot slice loaded with garlic cloves, then set it back on a paper plate. She leaned her elbows on her work bench and sighed with satisfaction. "I'm a sucker for dogs and pizza. If a dog could make pizza, I'd marry him. I'd get legal advice from that lady in Europe who married her favorite dolphin. Maybe we'd run away to Europe, elope.
Peter kept a straight face. "And what if this pizza-baking dog is a girl?"
"You think after I've crossed species, that gender is going to be an issue?" She raised an eyebrow as she looked at him.
"So what if a guy makes really great home made-pizza, say he has a wood-burning oven in his back yard. Would he have to crawl around on all fours to get your attention?"
"With the year I've been having, it wouldn't hurt."
"I guess I can see that."
Peter briefly considered the impact this would have on his joints and winced. "You know, I had this mistaken impression that you weren't a high-maintenan
ce woman."
"I'm really not. I guess I'm put out with your gender. I'm thinking of going on a man-diet. What are they calling it? Something silly . . . a manbatical? I could join a nunnery." Lia wondered at her remarks to the detective. Had she been struck by the imp of the perverse? For some reason she seemed to be warning him off. He was a nice guy and obviously interested. Why would she want to push him away?
Peter pointed at the partially completed template sitting on her table. "Didn't you say you were working on 'truth' today?"
Lia sighed. "Truth is, I want to run away from anything that reminds me of Luthor's death. But I can't. I made a list."
"Oh?"
"It's the people at the park when I had the fight with Luthor, everyone I remember. It's over there." She gestured to the corner of the long work table. Peter scanned the page:
Terry
Jim
Anna
Catherine
Bailey*
Nadine
Marie
Jose
Charlie
"Why does Bailey have an asterisk?"
"I didn't see her at the park, but we had dinner later. She was trying to get my mind off the fight with Luthor. It didn't work very well."
"Hmm. So which of these people had access to your tote bag and your phone?"
"I left my bag on one of the tables while I threw balls for the dogs, and I chatted with everyone on the list. All of them, I guess. Look, I don't believe any of these people hurt anyone, but I know you have to go through a process. So as an exercise, I'll walk you through them."
A Shot in the Bark (A Dog Park Mystery) Page 9