Before Another Dies

by Alton L. Gansky

  “Artificially made means someone had to have been on Mars to make it,” Floyd interjected.

  “That’s right, Floyd. Others have argued that it’s nothing more than a hill. Over twenty-five years later, people are debating the issue. Believers say that NASA and the government are covering up the truth; nonbelievers say the believers are caught up in wishful thinking.”

  “What’s your point?” West pressed.

  “People see what they want to see. They hear what they want to hear. You see three horrible deaths and compare them to my schedule and see the face of a murderer. I look at it and see coincidence.”

  “I didn’t think guys like you believed in coincidence.”

  “Guys like me? You mean people who discuss off-the-wall topics. It’s true, my mind is more open than most, but I don’t believe everything that comes my way. I’m not stupid, Detective West. You look at me and think I’m gullible because of the topics I choose to discuss on my program. I look at you and the mayor and see people far more gullible than I.”

  That stung but I pretended not to notice.

  Hood looked at West. “You’ll find no murderer in this house.”

  chapter 31

  We left the house. West and I remained long enough to see Floyd crank up his car, pull a U-turn, and drive off. Overhead the blue of the sky had deepened as the sun began its slide toward the ocean. There were a few hours of sunlight left but not many. Days are short in the winter. West was working through the afternoon traffic. We spent the first five minutes in silence. I couldn’t tell if he was tossing water on an emotional fire or if he was simply digesting what he had learned.

  I was trying to make heads or tails out of it all. Hood was nothing of what I anticipated, although I didn’t know what I expected. Whatever it was, he wasn’t it. I was also a little uncomfortable. West has always struck me as genteel and polite. With Hood, he was as cuddly as sandpaper. His tone had been dark and threatening, his approach cutting. Why the change? What was he seeing that I wasn’t?

  He broke the silence. “Did you see the body on Hood’s wife?”

  That I wasn’t expecting. My face grew hot. “I’ll admit that I noticed, but I didn’t dwell on it like some people I know.”

  He shot me a confused glance, then returned his gaze to the road ahead. “What are you . . . Oh, I get it.” He smiled. “Careful now, or we’ll need another seat belt for your jealousy.”

  “I’m not jealous.”

  “Of course not, but just in case you were, let me put that to rest. I’m not talking about sexual attraction—although she was easy on the eyes.”

  “If I pop you one, would you arrest me for assaulting a police officer?”

  He laughed. “Probably. My point isn’t that she had a beautiful body, but that she had a fit body. In fact, I wouldn’t doubt she throws the weights around on a regular basis.”

  The image of the little red bikini came to mind. When Katie first came to the door all I could see was how much I could see. I was set back by the little amount of cloth, and I felt embarrassed for her. “She likes to work out. So what?”

  “I’m betting that she isn’t just his wife, if she’s his wife at all.”

  “What else would she be?”

  He looked at me, and I expected to hear something about her being his live-in lover. “Bodyguard.” He made a turn, then asked, “What was your first thought when you saw Hood?”

  That was easy. “This guy couldn’t break another man’s neck, even an elderly security guard.”

  “Exactly, but I bet Katie could.”

  “Really? She didn’t look that strong.”

  “That’s because you didn’t look as closely as I did.”

  “No doubt about that.”

  “I’m wondering what Katie Lysgaard does while hubby is entertaining the late-night masses.” He had verified names before leaving.

  “I assume she handles the loose ends of the program, brings him coffee—I have no idea. You think she might go out and prowl the streets looking for people to kill.”

  “It’s not as impossible as you make it sound. It looks like she has the physical ability to do the deeds, especially if she’s had some martial arts training. I suppose she could even have been in the military. That’s pretty common now. We have women on the force who could get pretty physical in an altercation. I’ve seen it. There’s a couple I wouldn’t want to go rounds with.”

  “But how would she go about killing the men?”

  “Your problem is that you don’t have a man’s brain.”

  “Odd, I’ve always thought of that as an advantage.”

  “Funny. Katie is a babe, and your jealousy just goes to prove it.”

  “I’m not jeal—”

  “With her looks she could approach most men, and it wouldn’t be fear that they’d be feeling. If a man steps close to another man there is instant suspicion. When a beautiful women moves closer a different emotion surfaces.”

  “And you think she’s strong enough to not only wring a man’s neck but lift his body and place it back in a car, an airplane, and on a stool in a guard shack.”

  “We think the guard was killed right where we found him, but your point is well taken. I know one thing. I’m going to do a little more investigating on Ms. Lysgaard.”

  “Try not to enjoy it too much.”

  “At this point, it’s nothing but background checks and fingerprints.”

  Something occurred to me. “You were pretty pushy back at Hood’s home. In fact, I could be forgiven for using the word rude. Did he bother you that much or was that an act?”

  “Both. He was a little too smug for my tastes, but I pressed him to see what his response would be. More to the point, I pressed him to see what his wife would do.”

  “She didn’t do anything.”

  “Another reason to be suspicious. If your husband was still alive and someone like me was making implications like I made with Hood, what would you do?”

  “Show you the door.”

  “She didn’t do that. She let every innuendo pass. She was cool—too cool. Sometimes it isn’t what people do that reveals their nature, it’s what they don’t do.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “What now?”

  “I take you back to your office, and you do whatever you do. I go watch my third autopsy. Then around seven tonight, I pick you up, and we go out for steaks.”

  I eyed him. “How do you know I don’t have plans?”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. I’m meeting with Nat and my issues team.”

  “Oh.” He nodded as if my statement didn’t matter, but there was enough change in his expression to let me know that it did.

  “There’ll be food but not steaks. Pizza.”

  “The world runs on pizza,” West said.

  “It wouldn’t be a date, but I could make sure there was enough food for one more.”

  “Is that an invitation?” He smiled. There were those white teeth again. I felt soft in the middle. It must have been the talk of pizza.

  “You haven’t lived until you sit in a room with political junkies talking over the details of unemployment rates, taxation laws, military spending—”

  “Please, no more. I can scarcely contain my enthusiasm.” He chuckled.

  “Laugh if you will, some of us think it’s better than television.”

  “I think I’ll pass. How about something afterwards? Maybe drinks.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Fair enough. Do you pie-and-coffee?”

  “I’ve been known to send a piece of chocolate cream to its final resting place.”

  “Pie it is. Will eight be too early?”

  “I’m not sure we should be dating,” I said. The words sounded strange coming from my mouth. “There might be repercussions.”

  “I was wondering when that would come up. That’s why I’ve put off asking you out. I knew you’d feel that way and turn me down.” If he was hurt, he didn’t show it
. “What repercussions?”

  “I’m the mayor, and you’re a detective on the police force. It might seem inappropriate.”

  He shook his head. “To whom?” I hadn’t expected that and in truth, I hadn’t been honest enough with myself to ask. He pressed. “The other members of the council? Voters? The media?”

  “I suppose. I’m more worried about the ethics.”

  “Having pie with a cop is unethical?”

  “Of course not, at least not in this county.”

  “Mayor . . . Maddy, listen. I’m just a regular guy who happens to be a police detective. I’m not the police chief who responds to you directly. I don’t argue budget, ask for money, or make policy. I investigate crimes.”

  “Still, it may be misconstrued by others. This is a difficult time for me.”

  “Why? Because you’re running for congress?” He shook his head and turned on the street that led to city hall. “Do you think I’ll cost you votes? Let me tell you what I’ve learned, Mayor. Decisions made out of fear usually cost more than those made in courage.”

  “I don’t consider you a liability.” I was feeling defensive. “I resent you suggesting that I would be that petty. My life is more complex than you imagine. There are issues I have to deal with.”

  He didn’t reply but his grip on the steering wheel was noticeably tighter. “Issues? Do you know anyone who doesn’t have issues? We all do. Yours are no different.” He pulled around the block and into the back lot and stopped by the rear entrance.

  “I think my issues are different and quite honestly, I don’t think you can understand.” My jaw was tightening and the muscles in my neck stiffened.

  “Why? Because you lost a husband? Lopez may have been estranged from his family, but his kids still lost a father; Fritzy lost a husband, and . . . others have lost special people.” He frowned, reached across me, and shoved my door open. “I have to check in at the office. Forgive me for not walking you to your office.”

  There aren’t many times when I’m wordless. I wasn’t sure what had just happened, but I knew something had gone sour and gone quickly. I released the catch on my seat belt and exited. I searched for the right words, the last phrase to utter at that tense moment. I came up empty. I pushed the car door closed.

  West drove across the lot toward the police station.

  He didn’t look back.

  chapter 32

  The last volunteer had left Santa Barbara’s Jimmy’s Mafia Pizzeria. It was renowned in the area for having the best Sicilian pizza on the west coast. This despite the fact that Jimmy was not part of the Mafia and wasn’t even Italian. Thankfully, there was no law prohibiting a short Irishman from making the world’s favorite food. The pizzeria was tucked away on the east side of the freeway and just inside Santa Barbara’s southernmost border. It had a large dining area with the required battered wood tables and red-and-white checkered tablecloths which were more plastic than cloth. At the back of the restaurant was a meeting area for private parties. Nat had rented it for our meeting.

  Ten others had joined us, all volunteers, but each with a set of credentials that made them especially useful on the issues team. We had a banker, a tax accountant, a middle school teacher, the head of a large construction company, an attorney, a computer scientist, and a handful of others with special experience. Their job was to educate me, alert me to possible areas of dissent, and help form policy. It was heady stuff. We had met many times and I ended every meeting feeling as dumb as a post. The amount of information I needed to have at my fingertips when I spoke to women’s groups, chamber of commerce gatherings, senior advocacies, homeschool-ing organizations, and a hundred other mix of voters was enormous. I used to become frustrated with politicians who gave vague answers or answered questions not asked. Like many I assumed they were being evasive, not wanting to say what they really believed. I now know that they often did this so as not to reveal that they didn’t yet have a position.

  The large room had now grown empty. Employees gathered up dirtied plates and empty pizza trays. Half-empty water bottles stood like lone sentries, marking the place where their owners had used them, then left them for the Dumpster. Crumbs and soiled napkins remained evidence that a short while ago, the room had bustled with smart, opinionated people. Now, just Nat and I remained, a basket of cold breadsticks between us.

  “So what is it?” She and her wheelchair were positioned at the head of the long table. I sat to her left.

  “What is what?”

  “I had only 60 percent of Maddy tonight. Where was the other 40 percent—the fun part?”

  “I’m here. I heard everything that was said.”

  Nat nodded her head, her blond hair swaying with each motion. “Your mind was here, but not your heart. Maddy ain’t Maddy without both.” The last sentence she uttered with her best I-done-lived-all-my-life-in-these-here-hills accent.

  “Too little and too much, I guess. Too little sleep, too many murders, too much to think about. I’m starting to run out of gas.”

  “Uh-huh.” She looked smug.

  “Uh-huh what?”

  “Spill it, girl, Dr. Nat is listening.”

  “There’s nothing to spill,” I protested.

  “Oh, please. Dump before you explode and I have to go home and wash all the Maddy off my clothes.”

  I sighed. It felt good but brought only a little relief. I was spent, the mere remains of an empty toothpaste tube—hollow and misshapen. She reached out and took my hand. She said nothing else. Moments became full-fledged seconds that expanded into a minute. I told her about what I had learned about the murders and the suspicion I had that they were related to Robby Hood. I described my meeting with the council, my earlier confrontation with Tess, Floyd’s big adventure, Titus’s pending surgery, and whatever else came to mind.

  “You have a right to your privacy, Maddy, and I’m the last one to interfere, but I think something else is bothering you.”

  “Murder and running for congress isn’t enough?”

  “It’s more than enough and it would crush ninety-nine out of a hundred people you meet, but none of the folks are Madison Glenn.”

  “I’m not that special.”

  “You are, and that’s the crime of all of this. You’re special, and you don’t know it. Your mind is as sharp as any I’ve ever seen, and remember, I’ve interviewed the best and the brightest. Your heart is pure gold, your ethics beyond reproach, your motivation is selfless and sacrificial. Maddy, you should have a halo.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Object all you want. The only difference between your opinion on this and mine is that I’m right and you’re wrong.”

  “If only you could muster a little confidence, Nat.”

  “So which one was it? Dr. Thomas or Detective West?”

  “You’re fishing.”

  “That’s because I see fins and scales. Which was it? And don’t forget, I was a journalist.” She gave my hand a squeeze, then shifted in her chair like she was preparing to watch a movie.

  “Detective West said he thought we should start dating and—”

  “He made a move! I didn’t think he would.”

  “You want to hear this or not?”

  “Sorry. I’m ready. Dish me the details.”

  I watched her for a moment. She was making light of the topic, but I knew she was doing so for my benefit. “He offered to take me for pie after this meeting. I balked. We talked, and it went downhill from there. I just don’t think that a mayor should be dating someone on the police force.”

  “I see.”

  “Jerry was over last night. He brought Chinese food and brownies. We sat on my deck and watched the tide come in. We had a good time. He made hot chocolate to go with the brownies.”

  “He brought Chinese food to your home and brownies. I assume you proposed marriage.”

  “I’m trying to be serious here, Nat.”

  “That’s the problem. You’re too serious.”


  “It’s the way I’m wired.” I reached for a breadstick and broke it in half, setting both pieces on the napkin in front of me. I had no desire to eat it. Breaking it was enough.

  “So you spend some time with Jerry and feel good and then spend a little time with West and feel uncomfortable.”

  “It goes beyond that. As I said, I’m uncomfortable seeing a man who’s on city payroll. Besides, he said some unkind things.”

  “West said unkind things? Judson West? Are we talking about the same person? What did he say that was unkind?”

  I recounted the drive in the car and conversation. It was distasteful. When I was done Nat was shaking her head and giving me that you’re-the-most-loveable-moron look. “What was unkind?”

  “I told you. He as much as said that I’m preoccupied with my work and my dead husband. I don’t need to hear that from anyone.”

  Nat stared at me but said nothing. Her eyes were somehow sad and steely at the same time. I don’t know what she was thinking, but it was making me uncomfortable. Finally she asked, “How’s our friendship?”

  That surprised me. I had known Nat for less than a year, but we had become the best of friends. I trusted her in everything. If I hadn’t, she wouldn’t be running my campaign. “To my knowledge it’s fine.”

  “That’s how I see it. I also see you as God’s gift to me. I haven’t embraced your newfound faith, but I believe that whatever God there is, he put you in my life. That’s a lot for me to say, seeing as I lost the use of two legs, one arm, and a stellar career.”

  Hearing the phrase “whatever God there is” unsettled me. A year ago, it wouldn’t have.

  Nat leaned forward. “At the risk of losing the only real friend I have, let me say, West is right. We all have issues. You’re unique in many ways. Your beauty, your brains, your drive, your wit, your commitment, your selfless acts—but in other ways you’re like the rest of us mere mortals.”