Dora came through the doorway and flicked a tea towel at her son’s arm. “Don’t stare, Timmy. It’s not polite.”
Timmy stammered, “Sorry,” then followed Lucinda’s gaze to the apron and his face reddened. He untied it as quickly as he could and tossed it on to an empty chair. “There,” he said, brushing his palms across one another. “Now, what can I do for you? Mother said you had some questions.”
Lucinda listened patiently as he ranted and raved about his discrimination at the hands of the Board of Directors. When she asked him about Shari Fleming, he prattled on and on about her sainthood here on earth and the lofty position she must now hold in heaven. Lucinda was so bored with his droning that she wished he would go back to staring rudely at her face. Or maybe Grandma will jump in with an inappropriate question. When Lucinda asked about anyone who might want to harm Shari Fleming, she heard instead a litany of all the people who loved her and why.
Finally, they got to the question about his whereabouts on the night of the murder. Timmy hardly said a word. His mother and grandmother raved on and on about the dinner he’d made that night. Then about the snacks he prepared for their bridge party and how he always kept the trays full of food and their glasses full of drink. Then they’d all watched the news and a half-hour of some talk show that they just had to tell her about in excruciating detail.
With relief, Lucinda finally rose to her feet and handed Timmy a business card.
“Oh, you’re not going to stay for dinner?” Dora asked.
“No. I can’t. But thank you very much.”
“Officer, you have to eat,” Ruth said. “Tell her, Timmy. Tell her to stay,” she said to her grandson, then turned back to Lucinda. “Timmy really wants you to stay. He’ll make something special.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I have an appointment,” she said as she backed out of the room. Out on the porch she took a deep breath and regretted leaving a business card – it might lead to more invitations she didn’t want to receive.
Sixteen
He danced a frenzied jig around the park bench. At last. At last. For days, he’d searched discarded papers. He’d stopped by hotel lobbies and bus stops. He’d found a coffee shop next to a newsstand and hung out there until they ran him off. Then he came back when a different shift worked and did it again.
He picked up discarded newspapers, most from up and down the east coast but he also ran across a partial copy of the Houston Chronicle and another of the L.A. Times. He finally found the story he sought and it sent shivers of anticipation up and down his spine. It was in the Washington Post. He ripped the whole page from the newspaper and carefully folded it to fit in his shirt pocket. Time to head north. But how?
He sat on the bench and breathed deeply in and out, focusing on the breathing and nothing more. He needed to relax, to be calm, to think. Aw, the hell with that. I just want to fly. To be there. To be there now. I just want to jump up and run and run and run until I reach my destination and spit again in the eyes of fate. The compulsive energy agitated his adrenaline into action. It coursed through his bloodstream making his left knee jiggle up and down, one hand wring against the other, his breathing turn ragged. Passers-by gave him a wide berth.
He noticed their odd stares. No! No! No! I must be calm. Must be patient. Must think. Breathe in. Breathe out. He closed his eyes and deepened his inhale and his exhale until his heart stopped pounding and his knee and hands came to a rest. He regretted continuing his deep breathing when a woman walked by and her essence penetrated into his lungs. It made him nauseous and renewed his impatience.
All good things come to those who wait, he muttered for reassurance. He stood and went back across the street to the coffee shop. He slipped a newspaper off one of the wrought-iron tables on the sidewalk in front of the little cafe. He walked past the store front and leaned against the brick wall, pretending to read while observing every small detail in the vicinity of his gaze.
It took longer than he hoped but he maintained his vigil and was rewarded. A young woman pulled the front end of her tan Saturn into a parking space. She locked her car and stepped into the outdoor dining area, dropping a newspaper and her keys on the table and her purse on a chair. Her face brightened as another young woman approached from the other side. They embraced. The driver of the Saturn grabbed her bag and they went inside.
The loitering man walked up the sidewalk, between the shop and the table. He scooped up the newspaper with the keys in one smooth move. He continued in the same direction until he reached the corner of the block. Then he crossed the street and headed the opposite way. When he was aligned with the tan Saturn, he jaywalked over to it. He glanced up the sidewalk – the women had not yet returned.
He opened the driver’s door, slid behind the wheel, backed up and turned right at the first intersection. Before he completed the corner, he looked back and saw that the table was still vacant.
He estimated that he had at least fifteen minutes before the radio call to look for the stolen car went out to officers in the field. That was not quite enough time to get to the north side of town. But if he was lucky, the woman wouldn’t notice the keys were gone until she got back up to go to her car – a delay that would buy him more valuable minutes.
Exhilarated about the upcoming hunt for and destruction of his new target, he didn’t have the inclination to worry about the passing time. Fifteen minutes went by, then twenty, and still he drove on. At last he made it outside of the city limits and on to Interstate 95. He exited at a truck stop. They’d be looking for the car now. The risk was too great to drive it all the way to D.C.
He parked behind the building where motorists and patrol cars on the highway would not see it. He wanted to be far from here before the car was discovered. Then, he went looking for a truck driver to give him a ride.
The first two he approached looked at his tattered clothes and wouldn’t even listen to him. They just hopped into their rigs and slammed the door. The third guy was far more receptive.
“Hey, man, I’m in a fix,” he told the driver. “My mama is dying up at this hospital in D.C. My car broke down. I don’t have no money for a bus. Could you give me a lift up the highway?”
The driver looked him over and slowly nodded his head. “I reckon so. But I’ve got a gun and I won’t hesitate to use it if you try anything.”
The hitchhiker held up both of his hands defensively. “Hey, man, I just want to see my mama before she dies.”
“Alright then, we’ll get along fine. I can’t go into the city, though. But I can drop you at the exit closest to it.”
“That’s great, man. Thanks a lot.” He turned and looked back at the two drivers who’d dissed him. He wanted to rush over and snuff them both on the spot. But the waiting target was the most important priority. He sighed and stepped up into the rig.
As they headed up the highway, he contemplated killing this driver. He ran the list of pros and cons through his head. He decided not to decide just now. He’d just wait till the truck stopped to let him off and go with the flow. Follow his feelings at the moment he felt them. He was pleased with that plan. He liked surprises – even from himself.
Seventeen
The next morning, Lucinda didn’t notice a silver Honda shadowing her every turn as she drove from the station to the school district building. But when she pulled to a stop, she spotted that car slipping into a parking slot a block away. It looked familiar but she could neither recall where she’d seen it before nor decide if it really mattered.
She stepped out into the street and glanced back. The car’s front end was blocked by the one parked in front of it, making it impossible for her to read the license plate. She could walk back and openly jot it down. But there was a person in that the car. Why hassle someone, maybe ruin their day, just cause I’m feeling squirrelly? It’s probably nothing. She shook off her paranoia and walked up the sidewalk into the building.
Outside of the break room door, she imagined the victim e
ntering first and the assailant standing here in the doorway. What did her attacker see? What was he thinking? Did he come here to see her? Or did he see her because he came here?
She stepped inside the room and tried the opposite scenario. She looked for a hiding place – any spot where the perpetrator could have stood and not been noticed when the victim approached the threshold. That was easy. There were two major areas blocked from view by the angle of the entryway. Okay, where could he hide so that the victim would not see him until she was well inside the room?
Ah, there’s a dilemma here. As long as the lights were on – and I’d have to assume she’d flip the switch at the door – there is no place to hide except inside the cabinets under the sink. Lucinda strode over and pulled open the big doors. A clutter of cleaning supplies on the left. A trashcan on the right. All of that would have to be removed for anyone to fit in the space.
But then, afterwards, he would have to put it all back in place. Does that make any sense? Not really. Too complicated. She peered at the bottles and canister and saw ridges of dust on top of several of them. She scratched that possibility off of her list. So, he either attacked her as she entered or he sneaked up behind her after she was in the room.
She stood on either side of the doorway and searched the walls and floor around it. If he struck her here with the bat, or whatever, there would be blood spatter all around here. She saw none. She pretended she had a cylindrical object in her hand and swung on one side of the doorway, discovering there wasn’t enough room without banging it into the wall behind her and there were no marks there. Then she swung on the other side and realized that unless the victim entered the room backwards, a strike from that side would not match the evidence on her body.
So, he sneaked up behind her. What does that tell me? She must have heard him and turned her head slightly. That’s it. It was a slight turn. The kind of turn you make when someone you know is there approaches you. Not the kind of turn you make if an unexpected visitor startles you. Lucinda sighed. Back where we started. It’s either an employee or a person she allowed into the building. But who?
She crouched down and studied the evidence and markings on the floor, pleading with them to speak to her, to give her answers, to point to a clear suspect. But not even a murmur arose. She sighed again.
A clearing throat interrupted her reverie. She turned and a patrol officer spoke. “Ma’am, Superintendent Irving is out on the steps by the side door. He asked if he could see you.”
She nodded her head as she rose. “Yeah, let him in. I’ll meet him in the hall.”
Irving walked into the building talking loudly. “Lieutenant, when am I going to get my building back?”
“Soon, Mr. Irving. Probably a little later today.”
“When, Lieutenant?”
Lucinda folded her arms and stared at him.
“Okay, okay. I give,” he said. “What can I do for you? How can we speed this up?”
“I need a list of names with contact information for all the staff that were not here yesterday morning.”
Irving pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and opened it up. “Here is the list I made of the people who were in the meeting room yesterday. And on the other side, a list of the names of everyone I could think of who wasn’t there. I know at least one of them is out in the parking lot right now. If I can go into my office, I can check the database on my computer and see if I forgot anyone and pull the phone numbers and addresses you need.”
Lucinda agreed and followed Irving into his office. As his computer powered up, he asked, “So where do things stand? I’m guessing you don’t have a suspect yet or you wouldn’t be asking for more names.”
“Actually, I have a lot of possible suspects right now, Mr. Irving. Including you.”
“But, but . . .” he blustered. “I have an alibi.”
Lucinda pointed to his monitor and said, “Looks like your computer is ready.”
Irving gave her a hard look and shifted his eyes over to the monitor where he pulled up his employee database.
After eliminating all the staff on his list of those present, he printed out the rest and handed it to Lucinda. She looked at the five names with social security numbers, addresses and phone numbers on the sheet of paper. She mentally scratched off Sean Lowery. She knew exactly where he was – in the county lock-up on drug charges. That left four.
“You said that one of these people was out in the parking lot?” Lucinda asked.
“At least one.”
“Who?”
Irving pointed to a name. “He’s here.”
Lucinda walked to the bank of windows across the room from Irving’s desk. “Look down there. See if you spot anyone else.”
Irving looked down into the parking lot, pointing out two others on the list until only one remained: Steve Broderick.
“Who is he? What does he do for the district?” Lucinda asked.
“He’s our Enrichment and Extracurricular Director. He has oversight of all school activities outside of the classroom. From field trips to a park across the street to overnight trips out of state, he sets up processes for each school and makes sure district policies are followed. He is also responsible for the smooth operation of on-campus before-and after-school activities – athletic competitions, club meetings, music lessons, the free breakfast program and the day care at some of the elementary schools.”
“And he wasn’t here yesterday and not here today?”
“Well, not here yet, anyway.”
“Have you heard from him?”
Irving sighed. “We haven’t been taking phone calls here since you took over the building yesterday, Lieutenant.”
“But he didn’t call you at home to find out what’s going on here or let you know what’s keeping him away from work?”
“No. I haven’t heard from him,” Irving admitted.
“What about those others out in the parking lot? Did you hear from any of them?”
“Actually, you’re right. They all called just after dinner last night. Two of them saw something on the news and the other one was concerned because she hadn’t been able to reach a real person at the office all day.”
“How well do you know Broderick?”
“I don’t socialize with him one-on-one. He’s divorced. I’m married. Doesn’t usually work well at intimate dinner parties and stuff like that. But I do see him out at major events and around town. We met at a conference four or five years ago. I hired him to his position with the district actually.”
“But you don’t know him well?” Lucinda said with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, I do, professionally. I know about his education, his experience in the field and his performance – more than competent by the way. I can put a project on his desk and stop worrying about it before I leave his office. But personally? No, not so much.”
Lucinda thought about his response then asked, “Could you round up those three people in the parking lot and bring them in here so I can talk with them?”
“Sure. What about the offices?”
Lucinda pointed an index finger at his chest. “You. And only you can come in and work in your office. But stay in your office and don’t go wandering around the building. Clear?”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” he said with a sigh. “When . . .?”
“Soon. Unless something unexpected comes up in these interviews, I can probably release the building to you when I finish.”
Irving nodded and headed out the door. Lucinda looked out the window, watching him gather up the three employees she needed to question. What about Broderick? Is his absence as suspicious as it feels to me?
She met Irving and the staff members just inside the entrance. She directed the man and two women up to the meeting room on the floor above. As they started up the stairs, Lucinda turned to the superintendent. “Could you try to reach Broderick? And if you do, ask him to come in?”
“Sure. Should I tell him you want to talk to him
about Shari’s murder?”
Lucinda thought for a moment. “You know him better than I do, Mr. Irving. Feel him out. If you think that will make him rush over here to help with the investigation, tell him. If you get a hinky feeling, a niggling worry that he might run, keep it to yourself.”
Upstairs, Lucinda learned nothing new, just more of the same – shock at the crime, positive feelings toward the victim, and an eye-rolling response at the mention of Monica Theismann. None of them knew anything about Broderick’s whereabouts and not one seemed to find that suspicious.
Lucinda met back up with Irving, who’d had no luck hunting down his missing director. She unraveled the remaining yellow crime-scene tape and released the building. When she left, she headed straight to Steve Broderick’s home.
His house was a small brick ranch with a carport in a neighborhood full of more of the same. A car sat in the driveway. She called in the plates – registered to Steven Broderick, no surprise there.
She rang the doorbell twice without getting a response before she knocked, politely and then again with both fists. She grabbed the knob and twisted but the door was locked. She felt uneasy about not getting an answer while the subject’s car still sat in the driveway so she circled the house, peering inside.
She saw nothing untoward through the front windows or in the ones on the side. In the back, she walked on to a small flagstone patio and looked through the opened vertical slats that hung across a sliding glass door. She saw a dog’s bowl full of water and a dish next to it licked clean. But where was the dog? Why wasn’t it barking?
Nothing in any of the rooms gave any indication of foul play. Broderick would never be nominated as housekeeper of the year. But then, there have been times when my place has looked even worse.
Still she felt uneasy. What if he’s in there and he’s hurt? Or gagged so he can’t speak? Or someone’s holding a gun to his head? Or maybe he’s dead already. He could be dead. And the dog. The dog would have to be dead, too, wouldn’t it? Otherwise, he’d bark. Maybe I should force my way in. Break a window. Remember the time you wouldn’t let Ted do just that? Remember?
Punish the Deed (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Page 7