“We haven’t been allowing any calls, ma’am.”
“Oh, I see. Who, who . . .?”
“Shari Fleming was murdered sometime last night.”
“Shari? Murdered? Are you certain it was Shari? How could anyone possibly want to hurt Shari?”
“We’re trying to find that out. And part of that process is to check up on everyone’s whereabouts at the time of the crime. What time did your husband return from work last night?”
“I don’t think I recall exactly. I was on the phone with my sister. I know it was after six o’clock, but definitely before seven.”
“Did he go out anywhere that evening?”
“No. We had a quiet evening at home. Went to bed after the eleven o’clock news.”
“When did you get up?”
“When some rude crank caller woke us up this morning.” At Lucinda’s prompting, she described the conversation she had with the anonymous man on the phone and reiterated her husband’s story about the two additional calls.
“How would you describe your marriage, Mrs. Irving?”
“My marriage?” she said with a laugh. “I do love my husband, Lieutenant. And I believe he loves me. But after thirty years together, it’s pretty predictable – almost boring.”
“Boring enough to make it easy to succumb to temptation?”
“Oh, heavens, no. It would be the death of Robert’s career. He’s so close to retirement now. That’s not something either one of us would want to put at risk.”
“Are you sure you can speak for your husband, Mrs. Irving?”
“I trust my husband. He’s not a lusty kid anymore. He is honorable, thoughtful and considerate. No, Lieutenant, I have no reason to believe he’s cheating on me.”
“What do you know about his relationship with Shari Fleming?”
“With Shari?” she said with a grin. “Oh, good grief, you’ve been talking to Monica, haven’t you?”
“Why do you say that, Mrs. Irving?”
“Who else? Make sure you get Monica to tell you about the three or four other affairs my husband has had. Good heavens, to listen to her you’d think old Robert was a stud muffin.”
“So this isn’t the first time Ms. Theismann has suspected your husband of an affair?”
“Oh, no. And she never tells me directly, but she always makes sure someone will.”
“Why are you so certain she’s wrong?”
“Because it’s Monica. She cornered my husband one day in his office and pressed her body up to his. He rebuffed her advances. And since then he’s declined her invitations to meet her off school district property nor will he even meet with her at the office unless someone else is in the room. So, to salve her damaged pride, Monica spreads rumors about any woman she ever notices behind closed doors with Robert. She is rather vindictive. Not a nice person, at all.”
“Why does your husband keep her on his staff?”
“You tell me. I’ve asked the same question over and over, Lieutenant. He says that she does a good job and although he is willing to dismiss someone for performance probleMs., he would never fire anyone for personal reasons.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about the environment in your husband’s workplace? Is there anyone had a problem or disagreement with Shari Fleming?”
“You mean besides Monica? No, no one. She was universally admired. And Monica, well, let’s just say that I think she’s a coward and too passive-aggressive to actually do anything. Unless it was poison. Now that would be Monica’s style. Was Shari poisoned?”
“No, Mrs. Irving.”
“Then, you can scratch Monica off your suspect list, in my opinion. But what about me? If you suspect Robert of having an affair with Shari, wouldn’t I be a suspect, too? And what about Shari’s husband? I’d think we’d both be at the top of the list.”
“Both of you, and your husband, Robert, are persons of interest at this point in the investigation.”
“How exciting!”
“Exciting?”
“I told you my life was a bit boring, Lieutenant. I’ll grab at any diversion from the daily routine.”
Lucinda left the Irving home shaking her head. She was certain that Trudy Irving had nothing to do with Shari Fleming’s death. She felt the same way about Robert and Conrad. Her leads were drying up fast. She needed to get back to the school district offices and see if Ted had uncovered anything new.
Eleven
Back at the site of the murder, Lucinda stuck her head into the room where Ted sat, interviewing a woman on the staff. He ducked out to the hall where they compared notes. The information the two had gathered about Monica Theismann was remarkably similar. At Lucinda’s request, Ted reiterated the details from his interview with Monica.
Lucinda went a few steps down the hall to where that woman paced under the watchful eye of Officer Kirby. She’d barely passed through the doorway before Monica erupted. “Why am I being held prisoner here?”
“You are not under arrest, Ms. Theismann. You are here to help us with a murder investigation.”
“Why am I being isolated? Why am I separated from everyone else?”
“You made some statements earlier than required follow-ups with others. We did not want you repeating those statements until we had the opportunity to talk to the people you identified as possible suspects. Now, will you please take a seat?”
Monica folded her arms across her chest and said, “I don’t think so.”
“You really don’t want to make this difficult, Ms. Theismann.”
“Arrest me or let me go.”
Lucinda sank into the chair on her side of the table. “It’s not that cut and dried. If you won’t sit down and talk to me, I’ll have you taken to the station and talk to you later after I finish up here.”
“You have no right.”
“Yes, I do, Ms. Theismann. You see, at this moment, you are the only person we know with a possible motive for killing Sharon Fleming whose alibi cannot be verified by another source.”
Monica’s mouth flew open and her hands dropped to her sides. She couldn’t bring herself to say a word.
“Please have a seat,” Lucinda asked again.
Monica slouched into the chair, her posture limp, her face ashen. “You must be kidding, right?”
“Not at all, Ms. Theismann. Right now, you could look pretty good for the murder of Shari Fleming.” Lucinda concealed her serious doubts that her involvement was possible.
“What motive could I possibly have?”
“Your belief that Robert Irving and Shari Fleming were having an affair, for one.”
“Well, that makes him, his wife and her husband much more likely suspects than me.”
“Not necessarily. You see, Ms. Theismann, we are aware of your unrequited lust for Superintendent Irving.”
“How dare you?” she said, jerking to her feet.
“Please sit, Ms. Theismann.”
“I will not. Not until you apologize.”
Lucinda stared at her. Monica looked away but didn’t soften her rigid posture or the stubborn thrust of her chin. Lucinda pushed back from the table and walked towards the door. “Kirby, could you run her down to the station?”
“You can’t do that!” Monica shouted.
Lucinda turned and faced her. “Yes, we can, Ms. Theismann.” She turned her back to Monica and spoke to Kirby. “Cuff her if you have to.”
“Don’t you dare do this to me,” Monica shouted at Lucinda’s back. Then she turned a smiling face toward the patrolman and simpered, “Officer, you know she’s only doing this because she’s jealous of me.”
Kirby reached for her elbow and she shrugged him off. He pulled the cuffs out of his belt and dangled them in the air. “Your choice, ma’am.”
“But officer, don’t you understand? She’s just getting back at me because she has such a hideous face. And, well, me on the other hand . . .” she said, tilting her head and giving him her most seductive smile.
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Kirby didn’t bat an eye. He just jingled the cuffs again and repeated, “Your choice.”
Monica snorted and stuck out her elbow, allowing him to escort her, uncuffed, to his patrol car.
Twelve
Lucinda and Ted finished up the staff interviews without uncovering any new, relevant information. The only other people left in the building were the techs on the second floor and the superintendent and the custodian still in the meeting room with a patrolman.
“I don’t like the way this is shaping up, Ted. We don’t know much more than we did when we got here this morning.”
“We do have one suspect.”
“Pfft. Monica Theismann?” Lucinda asked.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, please. Did you see how perfect her manicure was? No way she just beat someone to death last night. No, we’re left with the slim, almost negligible possibility that the tech guy we busted early this morning did her in ’cause she uncovered his drug habit.”
“Well, the tech guy is possible, I guess,” Ted admitted. “Although they didn’t find a stash of drugs in his office anywhere, they did find a half-straw and a white-dusted mirror.”
“Cocaine?”
“The vice guys took it to the lab. Could be traces of meth. Could be something he confiscated from a student.”
“Yeah, but to kill her with that much brutality would have to mean he had a great deal of hostility towards her and nobody indicated that at all. In fact, I don’t think they really knew each other beyond a ‘hello’ in the hall.”
“So, where do we go now?” Ted asked.
“We’ll have to talk to all of Shari Fleming’s staff and see if they know anyone – a teacher, a parent, a student – anyone she might have met with last night or who were angry with her about anything. Then, we’ll follow those leads. Hopefully, one of them will lead somewhere.”
“What about Irving and Nguyen?”
“Send them home. We know where to find them. I’m heading back to the station. Hopefully, by now, Theismann’s learned her lesson and I can send her home, too.”
Outside, something fluttered on Lucinda’s windshield. This time it was a torn piece of newsprint. In the margin she read another note: “I AM SERIOUS. STOP IT NOW.”
Block printing? Any connection to the legal pad in the kitchen? No. Too obvious. She looked down the street both ways for anything that appeared at all suspicious. Her eye passed right over the silver Honda. The driver ducked down before the vehicle came into Lucinda’s view. She sighed and stepped into the car.
She pulled out her cell and keyed in Ted’s number. When he answered, she asked, “Have you found any note stuck to your windshield recently?”
“They call them parking tickets, Lucinda,” Ted said with a laugh. “No, I haven’t. Need me to fix one for you?”
“No, Ted,” she snapped. “I am talking about notes – vague notes.”
“Is someone threatening you?”
“Yes. No. I don’t think so.”
“Is it connected with this investigation?”
“No. It’s probably nothing. Forget about it.”
“Forget about what?”
“Sorry I bothered you, Ted. Bye,” she said, flipping her cell phone shut and starting her car. She drove back to the station with her silver shadow running close behind.
Thirteen
In the elevator of the Justice Complex, Lucinda pressed the Down button. She had decided to stop by the morgue before she’d let Theismann off the hook. She pushed open the swinging stainless-steel doors and called out for Doctor Sam.
“Back here, Lieutenant. How am I supposed to do my job if you keep interrupting me?”
“I haven’t bugged you for hours, you old curmudgeon. Have you finished the autopsy of Shari Fleming?”
“How slow do you think I am? I finished with her hours ago.”
“So what’s the verdict?” she asked.
“Verdicts are for court,” he snarled back at her.
“Doc, cut me some slack. Cause of death, manner of death, whatcha got?”
“Someday I won’t be around here anymore and then you’re gonna wish you treated me nicer.”
“C’mon, Doc. You know you’re my favorite ghoul. What did ya learn? What do I need to know?”
“I have half a mind to ignore you for that “ghoul” remark, but in the name of justice, I’ll let that slide. She died from blunt-force trauma to the head. The weapon was probably a baseball bat – not definitely now; it could have been any club-shaped object. But there were no splinters in her hair and so, whatever it was, it had a smooth, finished, rounded surface like a bat. And her hands, you remember her hands?”
Lucinda thought for a moment and said, “Yes. Across her chest. The fingers bent strangely.”
“Well, it looks like your guy broke her fingers after she was dead and then put her hands together like that.”
“A guy? Not a woman?”
“Possibly a woman but not likely. Whoever did this used a lot of brute force. Looks like you’ve brought me the handiwork of yet another sicko, Lieutenant. Thanks a lot,” he said as turned away to return to the autopsy table.
“Why, Doc, do you always blame me for the bad guys?”
He turned around and looked at her over the frame of his half-glasses. “Can’t blame the victim now, can I?”
Lucinda rolled her eyes and headed back to the elevator and up to the fourth floor. She observed Monica through the glass. Her shoulders slumped, her gaze cast down on the table and her hands folded on uncrossed legs that stood primly side by side. Lucinda walked into the room and Monica didn’t even raise her head. “Ms. Theismann, can we talk now?”
Monica nodded her head.
“About you and Superintendent Irving . . .?”
“Yes. You are right. I threw myself at him and he rejected me,” she said with bowed head. She turned her face upward and continued. “I swear to you, though, I had nothing to do with Shari Fleming’s death. You have to believe me.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Lucinda could see the tracks of those previously shed trace a line through the make-up on her face. She felt a moment of sympathy for the frightened woman before her and then remembered what a spiteful gossip monger she was. “You are still a person of interest and even if you are cleared of murder, you may be charged with obstructing justice for that rumor you started about Irving and Fleming.”
“Oh, please, please. I’m sorry,” Monica pleaded.
“It’s not up to me. It’s up to the District Attorney. But I have no further need to hold you here for now. You can leave,” Lucinda said and walked away from the table to the door.
“You’re not going to give me a ride back to work to get my car?”
“Not me. Not hardly.” Lucinda said, knowing any patrolman would gladly do just that but wanting Monica to have to figure that out for herself. Lucinda just walked out the door and didn’t look back.
Fourteen
Lucinda went to her desk, searched through her in-box and pulled out the contact list for all of Shari Fleming’s staff and headed out to visit their homes. She whispered a “thank you” into the air to whomever it was that had dug out the list she’d requested earlier that day. She drove off to start visiting their homes.
By 9:15 that night, she had completed six visits to social workers and received four names – three parents and one teacher – to check out as possible suspects. None of them sounded very likely but at least she had some leads. She decided she could squeeze in one more staff member before it would be too late to be disturbing people at home.
She rang the bell beside the door to the apartment of social worker Melanie Thomas. She heard the cover sliding off the peephole and a muffled voice asking, “Who is it?”
“Lieutenant Pierce. Homicide,” she said, holding her badge and identification in clear view.
The deadbolt clunked open, the chain slid out and the door opened. Melanie’s hair was jet black, straight and down t
o her waist. It contrasted sharply with a face as pale as a new Easter lily bloom. Her dark blue eyes were mesmerizing in the midst of that all that drama. “Are you here about Shari?”
“Yes, I am,” Lucinda said.
“Come in. What can I get you? Coffee? Tea? A soft drink? A glass of wine? Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
“Just a little time and some information,” Lucinda said, following her into the living room.
Melanie plopped down on the sofa, stretched her legs out across the cushions and pointed to an adjacent upholstered chair. Lucinda took a seat and could tell the other woman was studying Lucinda’s face. The question marks in Melanie’s eyes were as obvious as dog drool. I am so tired of answering questions about my face.
Before Melanie could verbalize what was on her mind, Lucinda asked her about her job responsibilities and daily routine at Olde Towne Primary School, then asked her about her whereabouts the night before.
“I was right here. My sister and her boyfriend were here, too. They came down for a long weekend – almost a week, actually – and didn’t leave until this morning. Her boyfriend went to bed around ten last night but we were up till two in the morning talking about everything.” Melanie grabbed a notepad and pen off the coffee table. “Here’s my sister’s phone number and I think I’ve got his number on my cell.” She pulled it out of her pocket and scrolled down. “There it is.” She jotted it down on the pad, tore off the sheet and handed it to Lucinda.
“I usually have to ask first,” Lucinda said with a chuckle.
“Hey, why waste time? I guess my eagerness could be misinterpreted as a cover-up for a grand conspiracy. But shoot, if that were true, I’d be a goner all ready; my sister is such a blabbermouth. What else can I tell you?”
It was refreshing and maybe even a little disarming to find such a cooperative witness, but Lucinda worked on being grateful instead of skeptical. “Are there any parents at your school with a reason to be angry at Ms. Fleming?”
Punish the Deed (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Page 5