The Tattered Thread

by B. A. Braxton

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “I’m afraid you’re in trouble, Nicolette,” Connery told her after Detective Slye brought her into the office. “I think we have enough evidence to arrest you for the murders of Carl Kastenmeier and John Linton.”

  She held her beautiful, brown chin up higher. “I want my lawyer.”

  “You can ask for a lawyer, but aren’t you interested in hearing what we’ve found out?”

  “Not really.”

  “I have a warrant to search your house,” Connery told her. “Why don’t you save me the trouble by telling me where the blue suit you were wearing on Friday is.”

  “It’s hanging in my closet.”

  “Did you clean it?”

  “Of course I had it cleaned. Is there a law against that?”

  “We lifted a shoe print from the ground in back of this house. I believe the print belongs to the killer.”

  “Accusations and innuendo don’t hold up well in court, do they?”

  “No, they don’t.”

  “Then we finally agree.”

  “Would you please give me the pepper spray you have clipped to your purse?” Connery held out his hand until she gave it to him. Taking the container, he dropped it inside the breast pocket of his shirt.

  “John Linton was a strong man,” he continued, “but somebody incapacitated him before he was murdered. There was a cattle prod beside his body, but it was inoperable. Hadn’t been used in years.”

  Nicolette stood back, scratching her brow.

  “Besides, the electrical burns on Linton’s chest and arms don’t match the head of the prod. There were two little marks close together on his chest and right arm. What those marks do match up to is a standard, handheld stun gun like this.” He pulled one out of a drawer and held it up for her to see. “Like the one you carry for protection.”

  “Go ahead and check my purse. You won’t find a stun gun, I promise you.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Connery said, “but you seem to be a very organized person, Nicolette. Very thorough. I wouldn’t be surprised if you keep important documents in file folders.”

  “I do. So what?”

  “You probably have medical and tax records, warranties on appliances, sales receipts for pepper spray and stun gun purchases…. Why, I’d even bet you saved the instructions.”

  “If I did, what would that prove?”

  “That you’re a liar,” Slye said. “You just said you didn’t have a stun gun.”

  “I had one, but I lost it.”

  “Where?” Slye asked in that condescending tone of his.

  “If I knew that then it wouldn’t be lost, would it?”

  Connery held up the stun gun again. “We found this one in a pile of horse manure on the property. If we search your house, will we find that the one described in your files matches this?”

  “If it does match, then I should thank you for finding it for me.”

  “Oh, it matches, all right,” Slye said. “Your fingerprints were all over the batteries inside.”

  “You can’t prove that it was used on John.”

  “There was a charred piece of flesh on one of the prongs,” Connery said. “It was John’s.”

  “So whoever killed him found it in the yard where I’d dropped it. So what? What you’re saying doesn’t prove a thing.”

  “Stun guns are illegal in Michigan,” Slye said. “We could give you grief over owning one.”

  “I’m sure you’d love to,” she said.

  “So you had your blue suit dry cleaned,” Connery said, changing the subject. “Were there any stains on it that the cleaners weren’t able to remove?”

  “If there were, I’m sure you know about them by now. You’ve talked to the cleaners about my clothes, haven’t you?”

  “And what about your pumps?”

  She sighed. “What about them?”

  He put a plastic bag with a pair of light blue shoes inside on top of an end table. “Are these yours?” he asked her.

  “They resemble a pair that I own.”

  “I got them out of your closet this morning,” Connery said. “Your domestic let me in.”

  “What else did you help yourself to?”

  “Your light blue business suit. Funny, but it was almost threadbare above the left breast. And there was a dark stain here.” Pointing to his own chest, he added, “What happened? Did somebody yank your badge holder off on Friday?”

  She didn’t answer; she was probably thinking about calling her lawyer again.

  “Too bad it got messed up because it looked like a brand new suit.”

  “I suppose you confiscated that, too.”

  “I did.” Pulling a clear, sealed bag out of a drawer, the bloody plastic which had been at the crime scene was inside it. He put it down beside the shoes. “This plastic was worn over the killer’s clothes, but Carl managed to rip it open.” Connery stared at her. “Carl’s fingerprints were all over the front of it.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “You know, I’m really not interested.”

  “You should be,” he said.

  “Everything you’ve told me is all circumstantial, which means you’ve got nothing.”

  “It all adds up, especially these shoes.”

  “So you’ve got a pair of my shoes. So what?”

  “You polished them very well. We didn’t find a thing on top but boy, the soles told us a lot.” He picked them up and pointed to a few places as he spoke. “These little grooves here and here were filled with treasure. There was topsoil lodged in those grooves which match the ground outside the room here at the estate housing the indoor swimming pool. This right shoe also matches the print we found. The grooves are like fingerprints, you know.”

  “So?”

  “Topsoil had lodged so tight in this right groove that it preserved a smidgen of B positive blood under it. The lab boys had no trouble at all figuring out whose blood it was. The blood belongs to Carl Kastenmeier.”

  Nicolette gestured with her hands as if to express how inconsequential his findings were. “I must’ve worn those shoes when I came on Saturday morning to talk to you.”

  “You were wearing a green skirt and jacket. You wouldn’t wear blue shoes with a green suit. Besides, no one was allowed in Carl’s office until all the evidence had been gathered.

  “You have the right to remain silent, Nicolette,” Connery continued. “Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by a court of law.”

  “Is that supposed to scare me?”

  “Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?”

  “I understand them perfectly.”

  “Good,” Connery said. “How did you hurt your finger?”

  Raising her bandaged finger, she gave it a good look. “You tell me,” she said.

  “All right, I will. I think you scraped it up on that cinder block used to kill John. We found the blood type O positive on the block along with John’s O negative. We assume the positive blood belongs to his assailant.”

  “I see.”

  “What’s your blood type, Nicolette?”

  A smile came to her easily, and she shrugged her slender shoulders. “O positive,” she said.

  “We also took the liberty of obtaining another court order. It’s for you to submit to a blood test.”

  “It figures.” She sat down in a chair as if she felt tired. “Do you know what it’s like to sweat blood for someone for ten years and not get the credit you deserve?”

  “It must have made you feel insignificant and unappreciated.”

  “Yes, it did!” she said, nodding vehemently.

  “Tell us what happened on Friday night.”

  “I went to Carl and started pleading with him to change his mind about putting Marlon in the driver’s seat. He just sat there smirking as he slobbered on a glass of brandy. Why, he didn’t even seem surprised to se
e me in the house that late. Nothing ever surprised that man, but he always had plenty of surprises for the rest of us.

  “I put on a piece of plastic that had been covering a suit hanging in one of the closets,” she continued, “and I picked up his cane. I whacked that smirk right off his face. It felt good to see him lying at my feet, helpless.” She looked at Connery. “It was like a Kodak moment, you know?”

  “What happened then?”

  “While he was down, I took that stupid thread from his desk and tried to make him eat it. When he took off limping down the hall, and I went after him and cornered him in the bathroom. That son of a bitch pulled a razor blade on me. Me! I should’ve cut his head off with it.

  “I hit him again with the cane until he dropped the straight razor,” she continued. “I tried to break the cane over his head.”

  “I can understand why you’d want to kill Carl, but why kill John?”

  When she smiled, her beautiful brown face almost looked demonic. “Oh, I went looking for him,” she said.

  “You wanted to kill him?”

  “More than anything. I’m only glad I got the chance.” She looked at Slye as if she wished he’d been the third casualty on her list, and then paused to shoot a glance at Silas’s uncompromising face. Oddly, she considered Elaine with more respect than anyone else in the room.

  “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” she asked Elaine.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You worked for Carl, so you know. You understand how he was.”

  “Mr. Kastenmeier was a hard man to work for,” Elaine admitted, “but he didn’t deserve to die.”

  “Oh yes, he did. Did he ever make you wear a piece of thread?”

  “Yes,” Elaine said. It was hard to admit that.

  “Then you know what I’m talking about,” Nicolette said, and then looked at Connery again. “He gobbled up that name card pretty fast. I was really worried about it. You had me going for awhile, but you really couldn’t read it, could you?”

  “Nope,” Connery said, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall.

  “Tell me something else: that cattle prod in the barn…?”

  “Yes?”

  “It still works, doesn’t it?”

  “It sure does,” Connery said.

  “I thought so. Were you really able to tell which had been used, the prod or the stun gun?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Tell me something, Nicolette,” Connery said. “How does Sam Giles figure into all of this?”

  “I got a good view of his ass as he ran away. The moment he saw John drop, he headed for high country.”

  “Did Sam see your face?”

  “He sure did.”

  Looking pensive, Nicolette rubbed her forehead as if something else was bothering her. “How is Tasia doing?” she asked out of the blue, staring at Elaine. It was easy to figure out what she wanted to know.

  “She’s doing great now,” Elaine said. “She wants to get sober and everything. There’s even talk of her getting married to Zach afterward and starting a family. I guess you could say she’s finally happy.”

  “That’s great news. I’m so happy for her. She’s been through more than any of us.

  “Tasia was only nine years old when I met her for the first time,” Nicolette added with a smile. “Her eyes were so full of hope back then.” Her smile faded. “It killed me to stand by and watch that hope die slowly, day by day.”

  “She’s getting it back,” Elaine said.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it. So many times I should’ve helped her, but I didn’t. My job was just too important. Tell her how sorry I am that I never tried to help her. It still tears me up inside to think about it.”

  “I will.”