Time of Death

by Shirley Kennett

  If I’d sassed the teacher, I’d be quaking right about now.

  That is, until she got a look at the principal. He was much younger than she anticipated, maybe thirty-six. He was classically handsome, with a strong jaw, abundant, dark, curly hair that tumbled down over his forehead, brown eyes, and the build of an athlete. PJ pictured him in a muscle shirt and cute little shorts, and the mystique of the principal’s office evaporated. While she could easily imagine calling him Kevin in a throaty whisper, addressing him as Mr. Archibald seemed ludicrous.

  The girls must be falling all over themselves trying to get sent to the office.

  “Dr. Gray, are you aware of our zero tolerance policy?”

  “Certainly. Zero tolerance for drugs, smoking, bullying, sexual harassment, and weapons. It’s a very attractive feature of the academy, and I fully support it.”

  She didn’t want to think that Thomas had been involved in any of those things.

  He nodded and opened a desk drawer. Drawing out a flat box about six inches wide and ten inches long, he placed it in front of him. “Then perhaps you can explain this package, which came in the mail addressed to Thomas, in care of the academy.”

  He opened the top of the box. Inside was a dagger with a jewel-encrusted hilt, nestled in a velvet liner.

  PJ was speechless.

  “It looks like gold and real jewels, but it’s all imitation. However, the blade is functional.”

  “Thomas wouldn’t bring anything like this to school. We don’t own any daggers,” she said. She felt as though someone were squeezing her heart. The moment she saw the dagger, she knew what was going on. “We have to find out who sent it and why.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I’m turning this over to the police.”

  “I need to fill you in on what’s happened with Thomas. The police are already involved. Seeing this,” she tapped the box, “confirms my suspicion. Thomas is being stalked.”

  The dagger’s box was a forensic dead end. There was a tantalizing partial fingerprint on the guard of the dagger, but it didn’t turn up any matches in IAFIS, the FBI’s Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System. Which made sense, if it belonged to some teenaged gamer.

  There had been no progress in determining who had set up the meeting and terrorized PJ’s son. Two court orders resulted in a phony ID for gronz_eye and the unhelpful information that a library computer had been used. No sign-in record existed at the library for the times the chat took place. Simple but effective. In a similar but trickier way, the gamer had erased his footprints from The Gem Sword of Seryth sites, where thousands of gamers interacted. PJ had visited the chat room several times from her office computer, but hadn’t run across gronz_eye. Thomas, under her watchful eye, hadn’t been able to locate him playing the game, either. The gamer had switched names, chat channels, game sites, and computers, and vanished into the cyberworld. He hadn’t given up on Thomas, though.

  Chapter 37

  IN SPITE OF DAVE’S confident attitude about getting Fredericka to show up voluntarily, it was Tuesday afternoon before she finally arrived, leaving a trail of bug-eyed cops in her wake.

  Dave was in the interrogation room with Fredericka. Schultz was content to watch from behind the one-way mirror. He missed PJ’s presence, since he wanted to get her input as a psychologist. She’d disappeared, though, off taking care of school problems.

  Schultz studied Fredericka’s body language. She’d fallen immediately into the same behavior with Dave. She was wearing a short skirt that was a little scrap of leathery material, and a stretch top that ended in flirty lace north of her belly button. It was a wonder she didn’t freeze to death, dressed like that in the middle of winter. Schultz had to keep reminding himself that she was a successful real estate developer. He’d seen her closet, and he knew she had business suits. Whether she ever wore them was another story.

  These clothes were selected with Dave in mind.

  Sitting across the table from Dave, she’d crossed her legs at the ankle. Sometimes her knees strayed further apart than the approved good girl distance. Aside from the blatant sexuality, she seemed relaxed and confident. Not the demeanor of a guilty person, unless the person had no conscience. It was only an interview that she consented to, not a real interrogation, the kind that would take place after she’d been arrested and informed of her rights. It could be that the heat wasn’t high enough to melt her because of that. It looked like Dave was done with the preliminaries, so Schultz flipped on the speaker to listen in.

  “We have reason to believe that you and Mr. Merrett were having an intimate relationship,” Dave said. “Would you confirm that?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Photographs.”

  “Oh, did June find those? I never knew where he kept them.”

  “So that’s a yes to having a relationship.”

  “Yes, it’s a yes,” she said. Her left hand strayed from her lap up to her bared abdomen. She drew her fingers slowly across the skin. “There wasn’t any relationship, though. We didn’t have all the trappings of an affair, like giving presents or sneaking away to bed and breakfasts. It was just, ‘Hey, the report’s done, wanna fuck?’ ”

  “Who initiated this relationship?” Dave said.

  “I think you could say we both did.”

  “Did you make an effort to bring an album of photographs to the attention of the police?”

  “The foreplay pics? Nope. I don’t even know where Arlan kept it. Kinky stuff, huh?” The hand had migrated to her neckline, where it was toying with the deep V-cut of her top. “So you’ve seen all those pictures of me?”

  “Do you know of anyone who might want to take the album to the police?”

  She shrugged, her breasts moving under the thin, stretchy material. “I said I don’t know where he kept it, so how could I know who got their hands on it?”

  “When was the last time the album was put to use, and where?”

  “At my loft, at least a couple of weeks ago. Arlan brought the chocolate. We didn’t bother with that very often.”

  “Would that be before you thought your place might have been broken into, the time you came home and had a creepy feeling?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Since the album was last used at your loft, could Arlan have left it there?”

  “I suppose. You think someone broke in to steal the album. It could have been among Arlan’s things in the closet. I wouldn’t have noticed anything missing. You’re so clever, Dave.” She reached across the table with the hand that wasn’t occupied with her cleavage, rested that hand on top of Dave’s, and let it linger there. Dave slid his hand out from under hers.

  “Could we stay focused here?” Dave said.

  “I am focused.”

  Anita arrived, and silently stood next to Schultz.

  “You’ve already indicated that you were working, alone, in your apartment at the time of Mr. Merrett’s death. Where were you on Sunday, from five until eight in the evening?”

  “That’s an easy one. I was making a presentation at a seminar at The Westin St. Louis Hotel on Spruce, downtown. When the seminar was over, a group of us women went to the health club for awhile, then to the hotel’s restaurant and ate Asian food. We were there talking until the place was about ready to close. I got back to my loft, oh, I don’t know, maybe ten thirty. I was tired, and depressed about Arlan’s death, so I went straight to bed.”

  “You were depressed but you went to a health club and a restaurant?”

  “The seminar was scheduled months ago, and the women were all business associates. I can give you their names. What was I supposed to do, sit around all alone and cry? Going out took my mind off the sadness.”

  Dave, taking notes, nodded. “How about this past Friday, between eight and midnight?”

  Fredericka’s hand gently rubbed the neckline of her top, and then slipped inside it, continuing her self-caress. She sighed. “Can’t say much about that one. I was at ho
me. And before you ask me, I didn’t phone anyone or order food delivered. It was just me, alone with my body.” She slouched a little lower, and her fingers were gently circling her nipple.

  Dave shifted his chair and wiped his brow. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your hands in your lap,” he said.

  “Jesus Christ,” Anita said. “Doesn’t she know there’s somebody behind the mirror watching?”

  “Yeah, and I think she likes it. Looks like our boy needs a bucket of cold water,” Schultz said to Anita. “Do you want to be the bucket or shall I?”

  “I’d be happy to,” she said. She went to the door and opened it without knocking. “Detective Whitmore, you’ve got a phone call,” she said.

  “Uh, thanks,” Dave said. He didn’t get up right away. Anita gave him a minute to compose himself.

  “An urgent phone call, Detective,” she said. Soon after that, Dave got up and left the room. Anita took his place in the hotseat across from the nympho, who had a disappointed look on her face. “Now then, Ms. Chase, maybe you could be more explicit about your activities last Friday night?”

  Schultz clapped Dave on the back. “Way to go, tough guy. Maybe they’ll study the tape of that one in the academy as a sample of how not to do an interview.”

  “Fuck that,” Dave said.

  PJ approached the two men just in time to hear what Dave said. In the mood she was in, she wondered if she should just turn around and go away. In her experience, if things were so bad that the Bear—the way she thought of tall, gently rounded, normally even-tempered Dave—was upset, that was not a good sign.

  Turn around she did. She was behind in her simulation work and didn’t want to get involved in whatever Dave was so vehement about. Besides, there was someone she wanted to talk to even more than her two team members.

  Settled in her office, she contacted Merlin.

  “What’s the buzz, Keypunch?”

  She filled him in on what had happened since the last time they spoke. Law enforcement had been unable to find the gamer so far and the dagger at the school indicated that this guy wasn’t going away.

  “I thought it would be an isolated thing,” Merlin said. “Like a practical joke. But I see that’s not the case. If it’s okay with you, I’ll do some checking around.”

  “Of course it’s okay with me. Why would you even ask?”

  “Because I’m going to have to get very specific. At some point I’m going to have to reveal Thomas’s identity.”

  She thought for a moment, not really sure of the consequences of what Merlin was asking. But she trusted him. “Do it.”

  “Sure thing, Keypunch. What’s happening on the homicides?”

  She gave him a concise summary, which helped to clarify her own thoughts. All the while, though, she was wondering what he meant by sure thing.

  “So the maid didn’t pan out as a suspect,” Merlin said. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve always had a thing for design myself.”

  “A thing? I can’t picture you flipping through wallpaper samples.”

  “I didn’t say what type of design.”

  “Oh,” she said. “What do you think about the Florissant murders?”

  There was no answer for several minutes. PJ was used to the long silences in her conversation with Merlin. She doodled on some papers on her desk, and stopped when she noticed she was drawing daggers.

  “I’m inclined to think they’re still connected with this case,” Merlin said. “The parolees are a strong argument, but you have to go with your gut.”

  PJ nodded. “Heart and fingers. Or in this case, only one finger.”

  “Yes, a solo finger. A ring finger.”

  Why haven’t I thought of that before?

  “June and her diamond engagement ring,” she said.

  “Exactly.”

  “June has no alibi for that time period. But she doesn’t have any connection to the teacher, either.”

  “So the teacher could be a target of opportunity,” Merlin said. “An innocent victim whose purpose is to point the finger at June.”

  PJ rolled her eyes at the comment. “To frame her. That could be May’s doing. May certainly knew the engagement ring story.”

  “There could be plenty of others who knew. I can see May gloating about it.”

  “So May is tormenting her sister and out to get her at any cost,” PJ said. “Probably continuing a long-standing pattern of behavior but taking it up a notch. I like it. May could have killed Shower Woman as a way of saying ‘this is what I could do to you, anytime I want’ to June.”

  “And June retaliated for a lifetime of emotional abuse by killing May’s husband,” Merlin said. “Finally lashing out. A woman on the edge.”

  “It sounds good,” PJ said. “Unfortunately, there’s the matter of proof.”

  “Why spoil things when we’re on a roll?”

  “Unfortunately my coworkers get sticky about things like proof.”

  “Then get to work on it. What are you doing wasting your time talking to me? Don’t leave without your list, though. One: Marry Schultz. If you can’t do that, then at least live with the guy and get some regular smooching, albeit garlic scented.”

  “Onion.”

  “Can garlic be far behind? Two: Present behavior starts in the past. Set the Wayback Machine. Three: Chain Thomas to his bed at night, but not in a bondage sort of way. Fredericka is kinky enough for all of us. Four: Your hard drive will never be the same after the police give it back to you. It won’t trust you anymore, after what it’s been through. Five: The word for the day is still esoterica. Esoterica, noun: secrets known only to an initiated minority.”

  “I know what it means, you annoying man,” PJ said testily, “but what does it mean when you say it?”

  “Take care, Keypunch.”

  PJ wasn’t leaving until she made some sense of her barn scenario. She had some ideas, and set to work with enthusiasm. Her conversation with Merlin had turned May into the top suspect. It required giving up PJ’s notion of a killing duo, but that had gotten her nowhere. Schultz had never bought into the duo idea, for what that was worth.

  She didn’t have what she needed in her preprogrammed set of vehicles, so it took a while to add the item she’d glimpsed on the grounds of the May’s home. It was a motorized garden cart with large, smooth wheels that left no tracks on the landscaping.

  The null world, then a night scene.

  PJ, as a Genfem, pulled a full-sized pickup truck into Old Hank’s driveway. She followed the Eggs 4 Sale sign and came to a stop on the gravel turnaround some distance from the barn. There was a duffle bag full of supplies resting next to her on the seat, but she ignored it for now. Opening the truck’s tailgate, she slid out two substantial boards and positioned them as ramps. Getting up into the bed of the truck was a clumsy maneuver for her. It wasn’t the kind of motion she was familiar with in her scenarios.

  In the truck bed was the utility vehicle she’d seen at May’s home, the garden cart, barely fitting between the rear wheel housings. Only now it held Arlan, naked and unconscious in the wood-slatted area where the gardener had been futilely tossing leaves. The cart’s engine was electric, so there was very little noise. She started backing the cart down the ramps. And promptly fell off. She had to restart the scenario a couple of times before she was able to get the cart down the ramps onto the gravel without overturning it.

  Could May manage that? She could have practiced. Or she might just be more coordinated than me, which wouldn’t take much.

  The utility cart had turf tires. It left no tracks and fit easily through the oversized barn door. She drove right up to the workbench with it, got out, and set up her portable light.

  Now for the second part of her plan. How did the killer, unless he was a strong man or two people, get the two-hundred-pound weight out of the cart and up on a tall workbench?

  PJ retrieved the duffle bag from the interior of the truck. Inside it were rope and a manual winch, no surpris
e to her because she’d set it up that way in the scenario. Looking up, she saw that one of the structural beams of the barn was above the workbench. She tossed the rope up and over, again having to try a few times before succeeding. Then she fastened the two ends of the rope to a winch, and stretching over the cart’s slats, worked the straps of the winch around Arlan’s body.

  It was amazing how much trouble the killer had gone through to stage this murder so precisely, and in a place associated with both May and June. Powerful needs must go along with it.

  Family traditions.

  Working the manual winch, PJ easily raised Arlan from the cart and swung him out over the workbench. She had a little trouble positioning him just right and lowering him, and in the process scraped his back more than once across the workbench. Oak splinters had been found embedded in Arlan’s back, and it was easy to see how they’d gotten there.

  PJ skimmed over the killing that came next, switching to an observer role and moving the simulation at ten times normal speed. In front of her eyes, a Genfem raced through the mutilations and dug into Arlan’s chest. She had no urge to linger on that again. When Arlan was dead and his severed parts nailed, PJ switched back into being the killer. She reversed her actions, using the winch to put Arlan back in the cart, pulling the rope down from the beam, and driving back out to the truck. This time, because she was pulling forward up the ramps, she had a lot easier time of it. In a few minutes, the truck pulled away from the barn.

  “End,” she said. PJ felt exultant. It was something workable. She still needed a plausible connection between the kill site and the dump site, but the scenario had plenty of potential. PJ was surprised to find that it was eight o’clock at night. The time had sped by while she was working at the computer.

  She called Thomas, who was watching a video at Mick’s house.

  “Hey, you’re grounded. You’re not supposed to be watching TV.”

  “It’s in the room I’m sharing with Mick. I’m supposed to make him turn off his own TV? Close my eyes?”

  Grounding wasn’t as practical when Thomas was staying in another person’s house as it was when he was under her thumb at home.