Time of Death

by Shirley Kennett

  Schultz gestured to get her attention.

  “She might be out, doing funeral arrangements or something,” Schultz said.

  PJ covered the phone, even though no one could hear her on the other end. “At this time of night? The body hasn’t been released yet, anyway.”

  Schultz observed the corpse in the shower, his eyes lingering on the dead woman’s breasts. PJ was about to give him an indignant nudge when he spoke.

  “June’s tits were bigger,” he said.

  “What?”

  “This woman has smaller tits than June. Don’t you remember her foreplay pics? In the album?”

  “Well, yes,” PJ thought back to the image of June Merrett pulling her robe around her when she sat down in her floral chair. The lollipop. “You might be right.”

  “Might be, hell. I know I’m right.” He tapped his forehead. “The power of the trained observer.”

  PJ frowned, wondering just how much time he spent observing women’s breasts, and how much of it was in the line of duty. She gave up on the call and folded her phone. “Better get someone over to check on June, in spite of your observational skills.”

  “Yeah, never hurts to have confirmation.” He made a quick call asking to have a patrol officer check the Merrett house.

  Schultz said, “So we probably have a look-alike here. Coincidence?”

  “It would have to be a double coincidence, don’t you think, with that drawing of the heart and knife on the back of the bathroom door?”

  Schultz pushed the door closed and studied the drawing again. “I still say it’s not conclusive. Mr. Huber out there could still be good for it. ‘You’ve wounded my heart,’ something like that.”

  Voices near the front of the house announced the ME and the ETU arriving and coming in through the scene perimeter.

  “Didn’t you say Anita was talking to May now?” PJ said.

  Schultz nodded.

  “That’s covered, then. I’d like to get back to the office and get some time on the computer. Meet me back there when you’re done here.”

  “Go ahead; leave us out here doing the work while you go play games.”

  She put her gloved hand up to touch Schultz’s cheek, and there in the bloody bathroom, he tenderly air-kissed it.

  PJ’s cellphone vibrated in the pocket of her jeans. She answered the call.

  “June Merrett and her bountiful tits are alive and well,” Schultz said. “The officers had to pound on the door of her house. She’d taken a sleeping pill. Probably took several pills. Can’t say that I blame her. The woman’s had a tough time.”

  “So we’re back to coincidence that Shower Woman looks like June. With the drawing on the door, too.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Coincidence my ass. Find the connection, Leo.”

  “Way out front of you, babe. But I have to check some things first.”

  “Don’t call me …” she said, and heard him disconnect, “… babe.”

  While she had her phone handy, PJ called June Merrett. There was something she had to ask.

  A sleepy-sounding woman answered. Too late, PJ remembered that Schultz said June had taken a sleeping pill. PJ introduced herself.

  Yawning, the woman said, “You were here before, weren’t you? The police were pounding on the door a while ago. I can’t seem to get any time to myself. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m sorry to intrude on your rest. Um, June, do you happen to have a twin sister?”

  “Twin sister? No, it’s just May and me. Although I did hear rumors.”

  “Rumors about what?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  “Tell me anyway, please,” PJ said.

  “Well, I did overhear my parents say something about an older child in the family. The way they were talking about it, it must have been some kind of scandal, maybe an abortion. I don’t even know for sure they were talking about us—it was probably gossip about somebody else. My mother, Virginia Crane, came from a very wealthy background. When she married my father, Henry Winter, it was something of a shock to her family because he was middle class, and barely clinging on to that. I’m sure the Crane family had its little secrets. All those wealthy families do.”

  “What kind of secrets?”

  “Well, Mother had a little brother named Ellis. He died when he was a year old. It was hushed up, but rumors started that he was a mixed race baby, and maybe his death wasn’t accidental. That kind of secret. What’s this all about, anyway?”

  PJ weighed how much to say. How much had the officers already revealed when June came to the door after minutes of pounding? Probably not much, just checked to see that she was breathing.

  “There’s been another murder, June. The victim looks a little like you. I was just checking that you were okay.”

  “Looks like me? What does that mean? Was someone trying to kill me? Is that what the officers were doing here, seeing if I was still alive? Oh, no, first Arlan and now me. She’s trying to wipe us out!”

  “Calm down, calm down. Who do you mean by ‘she’?”

  “May, of course. May! She’s jealous of us, I told you. You’d better ask her where she was.”

  “That will be checked out thoroughly, I can assure you of that.”

  There was a deep sigh on the other end of the phone. PJ pictured June standing there tugging her robe, bewildered that a murder victim looked enough like her that the police felt obligated to check on her well-being. There were times during PJ’s divorce when all she’d wanted to do was stay in her nightgown, slink around the house, and crawl under the covers—and times when she actually did just that. It made her sympathetic to what June was going through.

  And the police keep bothering her, on top of everything else.

  PJ was embarrassed that she’d made the call. Her question could have waited until morning. “Why don’t you get some more rest, June? I’m sorry about the intrusion.”

  “I’ll try, but it’ll be hard to get back to sleep now. I’ll go check that all the doors are locked. Don’t forget about May.”

  Chapter 15

  DEAR DIARY,

  These are things that happened to me, cross my heart and hope to die.

  When I’m six, I bring home my report card from first grade. I’m smart, and I know it because me teacher tells me. At home, my parents don’t think I’m very smart because my sister tells them that I do stupid things. She’s making it up, but they don’t listen to me. “She knows what she’s talking about,” Mom says. “You shouldn’t question her, you’re too little. You should be happy you have a sister who pays so much attention to you.”

  She pays attention, all right. That’s because she’s always watching for times she can do something to me, like smack me around. I don’t give her any reason to. I stay away as much as I can. I’d like to go to a friend’s house and spend some time with somebody who likes me. The problem is, nobody does. She tells them bad things about me, so I don’t have any friends. Sometimes Mom and Dad have parties for me so I can meet friends. My sister helps out at the parties, of course, and the guests go home crying. I think they’ve about given up on the party idea.

  “Lazy bones, never does anything,” she says, and grabs my report card. It’s not like I was waving it in her face. I had it hidden in my book bag, but she got it anyway. Every time she gets my bag away from me, she tears it a little, so it will look like I don’t really care how I treat things that belong to me. I’ve gotten that lecture so many times I could mouth the words right along with Dad, but I don’t dare.

  “Oh, look how careless she is,” she says, as she rips the carrying strap loose from my book bag. “Such a thoughtless child. Crazy bones, lazy bones,” she chants as she holds my report card up over my head so I can’t reach it. Then she steps on my toes, hard.

  “Oops.”

  She opens the report card and stares at it. I got high passes in everything, and an “exceptional” in reading.

  “Give me back
my report card!” I grab for it but she dances away.

  “The teacher must have gotten you mixed up with someone else,” she says. “These can’t be your grades.”

  “Oh, yes they are! Give me that!”

  “I’ll just have to straighten things out. Where’s that eraser?”

  “I’ll tell Mom.”

  “You do and you’re dead meat, you little twerp.” She said it like each word was a deadly threat, which it was. I didn’t want to find out what it was like to be dead meat. I shut up about the report card but I made a face at her.

  She found an eraser and undid all of Mrs. Sandauer’s nice cursive writing. Then she wrote in different grades, like “Math: Can’t count to three,” and “Art: Not talented.” In the comments at the bottom, she put “Very disruptive in class.” Those things were so wrong. I tried to grab the card from her. I was going to rip it up. Better to have Mom and Dad think I lost it than to have them see it like that.

  She grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. I tried to hurt her by kicking backward with my feet. The heel of my tennis shoe connected with her shin.

  “Ow, damn it. Cut that out.” She twisted my arm higher, so that I had tears on my face.

  We heard Mom come into the kitchen and both of us froze. I didn’t want to get punished for saying bad things about my sister, and I guess she didn’t want to hurt me for real with Mom in the next room. She let go, and skipped away before I could get the card from her.

  “Mom, look, a report card!” She dashed into the other room. I was right on her heels, but Mom already had the card in her hands. She was shaking her head.

  “I’m so disappointed in you,” she said. “I would have thought you’d have more pride than to bring home a report card like this.”

  I hung my head in shame. What else could I do? Then I got an inspiration.

  “You could talk to Mrs. Sandauer, Mom.”

  That got her angry. “There’s no point, is there?” she said. “She isn’t going to change her mind. Her signature’s right here.” She shook the card in my face.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll try harder.”

  “Why can’t you be more like your sister?”

  Chapter 16

  THE TEAM DIDN’T GATHER until the next morning in PJ’s office. Dave’s wife sent in some biscuits and homemade jam. PJ’s desk was sprinkled with crumbs, since everyone had gathered around it to eat. She didn’t mind at all. Two excellent biscuits with raspberry jam rested in her contented stomach.

  Her eyes landed on the picture of Megabite on her desk and it seemed impossible how long ago it was that she’d offered the cat a bowl of roast beef. PJ’s hands, relaxed in her lap, could almost feel the comforting, warm feline weight and the vibration of her purrs. That’s what she’d like to be doing now, settling into her favorite chair, Megabite hopping up to claim her lap, and cracking open a good book. Make that a good love story, one to take her as far from mutilated bodies as possible.

  “Doc, what do you think of that?”

  PJ blinked to find all three of them looking at her. Think of what?

  “I think we shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” she said. It was one of Schultz’s favorite phrases, and it could fit a lot of situations.

  “See?” Schultz said triumphantly, banging his fist on PJ’s desk. “She agrees with me. That’s two against two.”

  He didn’t seem to realize that two against two was a tie.

  “Could we move on to Anita’s report on May Simmons?” she asked. When in doubt, change the subject.

  Anita straightened up in her chair, looking like a high school student about to give an oral book report.

  “I first went over to the Simmons house about seven o’clock Sunday night. No one was home but the maid, who said that the couple had gone to Powell Hall for a symphony performance. Apparently, neither of them was heartbroken about Arlan’s death, at least not heartbroken enough to give up two hundred dollars’ worth of tickets. So I took a break and got a few hours’ sleep. I went back Monday morning. The knife had already been found. I talked with May for almost two hours,” Anita said. “You need a roadmap in that place. Must be fifteen thousand square feet. When June said that her sister had no reason to be jealous financially, she was certainly telling the truth.”

  “So the sister married well, better than June did.”

  “Yeah, you could say that. Frank’s the owner of a company that makes computer components.”

  “How about May?” Dave said.

  “Takes care of the kids, shops, and occasionally volunteers on some fund-raising committee. She likes it that way, has no other ambitions. Frank wants her to do whatever makes her happy. He seems totally in love with her. I’m not sure whether May feels that way about him, or just about his money. She’s a beautiful woman and could probably have her choice of wealthy men. All she’d have to do is wiggle her ass and light up her zillion watt smile.”

  “Hmm, sounds like you’re jealous,” Schultz said.

  Anita shook her head. “I wouldn’t mind having her T&A assets, but the lifestyle, nope.”

  “Is it so hard to believe that a beautiful, rich woman might actually love her husband and be faithful to him?” PJ said.

  “Yes,” said Dave and Schultz simultaneously.

  “Men are so cynical,” she said.

  “Comes with the Y chromosome,” Schultz said.

  “One more thing about Frank,” Anita said. “His left arm isn’t normal. It’s withered a little, reminds me of those tiny little arms on a T. rex, only not nearly as bad. The story is that he was on one of those adventure vacations in the Australian desert and got bitten on his left forearm by an inland taipan, supposedly the world’s deadliest snake. He was evacuated out on a helicopter and given the antivenin in an IV while still in the air, but he barely made it. He’s got some kidney damage, too, but that doesn’t show on the outside.”

  “So he has limited strength in his left arm?” PJ asked. Anita nodded. “Well, that puts a crimp in his ability to lug Arlan around, doesn’t it? I may have come up with something interesting about getting the body to the dump site in my simulation, though.”

  “Moving on to the murder weapon,” Anita said. “The knife was found in a drawer of a potting bench in an attached greenhouse. May asked her husband if he had an old knife she could use to cut roots when she was repotting. A couple of weeks ago, he left one in the drawer for her. Besides May, Frank, and the household staff, a number of people have been in and out of that home, including June, Arlan’s partner Fredericka Chase, and about a hundred people who attended a Christmas open house a few days ago.”

  Schultz moaned. “We have a list?”

  “Yeah. Looks like you’re going to have to interview the mayor and the chief of police, Boss.”

  “Fuck that. Dave’ll do it,” Schultz said. “They already got a bad opinion of me from … never mind.”

  “Let Anita do it,” PJ said. “She’s got tact.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Doc, but I’d be happy to let Dave handle it,” Anita said. Dave shook his head vigorously.

  “Can’t we narrow down that list?” PJ asked. “Any of those people at the open house could have taken the knife while they were in the house and then used it to kill Arlan, but how did the bloody knife get back into the greenhouse? Wouldn’t it have to be done by someone who goes to the house frequently?”

  “Or someone who can break into the greenhouse,” Schultz said. “Or who can hire someone to break into the greenhouse.”

  “Surely a house like that has a security system,” PJ said.

  “And your point is?”

  PJ frowned. Homes with security systems still got burglarized. It wasn’t an absolute protection, just a deterrent.

  “Frank admits the knife belongs to him,” Anita said, “and says it was in his basement workshop until his wife’s request. His alibi isn’t solid. He was home working on a presentation on his computer at the time of Arlan’s murder. The
maid retired to her quarters, as he says, about four o’clock. There’s another maid who doesn’t live in, and she left at three o’clock. The nanny was in the children’s suite, and the last time Frank saw her was at dinner around half past five. There’s a chef, but he left the house as soon as dinner was on the table. Always does.”

  “Take away the hired help and it’s the same as Fredericka’s evening. Working at home with no verification,” PJ said. “How about his wife?”

  “Out of the state,” Anita said, looking at her notes. “She flew to Minneapolis on Friday because a friend who had cancer took a turn for the worse. May was in the hospital room when the friend died, and didn’t leave that city until late Sunday afternoon. The friend’s parents confirmed it. She spent Friday and Saturday night at their home, and is planning to fly back on Wednesday for the funeral.”

  “Shouldn’t she have just stayed in Minneapolis until the funeral?” PJ asked. “Why did she come home?”

  “Symphony tickets.”

  “Christ, she’s either cold as hell,” Schultz said, “or a tightwad.”

  “Or a music lover,” PJ said. “Many people find music soothing, even when beset by grief.”

  Schultz looked at her, thinking that there were very few people who could get away with saying “beset by grief and not sound pretentious or just plain ludicrous.

  Who’d have ever guessed I’d fall for a shrink? Or that she’d have the slightest interest in me?

  He admired the way her sweater skimmed her breasts and the v-neck displayed her long, elegant neck. He focused on the hollow of her throat, thinking of the way it sometimes vibrated when she spoke, the remembered thrumming of her heartbeat on his lips as he kissed her there when she was excited.

  It wasn’t just sex, although that was glorious with her. It was everything about her: intelligence, sense of humor, caring, the pride in her eyes when she talked about her son, the way she understood on a deep level his need to see justice done, and that she shared that need. Although he’d loved his ex-wife Julia, it was nothing like the primal connection he felt with PJ. His relationship with Julia now felt like three decades of practicing for the real event, for the love of his life.