Chapter 46
PJ SLEPT LATE ON Saturday morning. She’d been getting by on less sleep than her usual seven to eight hours, and her body staged a sleep-in. She awoke at eleven o’clock, alone in bed and hungry.
On her way to the kitchen, she checked on Thomas and found him asleep, too. A teenager’s need for sleep was legendary, and there were at least a couple of physiological reasons for it. Hormones are released mostly during sleep, and there are also surges in brain growth and organization. Her son, a little thread of drool connecting his mouth to his pillow, was maturing in abstract reasoning capability and impulse control right in front of her eyes. She left him to it.
She spotted a DVD propped up on the table. It was the movie Babe, and on it was a note from Schultz.
What do you know, you were right. Babe is an oink-oink pig in a movie. Sorry for getting mad.
Just then, Schultz knocked at the back door and she let him in. He was carrying a stack of mail from her mailbox.
“Don’t you ever pick up your mail out front?” he said. Not waiting for an answer, he went on. “Hey, did you hear about Fredericka? Green Vista is thriving under her sole ownership. She was on the TV news with a new thing she’s got going, a planned neighborhood. All eco-friendly, solar power, row houses with small footprints to fight sprawl. That ‘sit lightly on the land’ crap. No doubt it’ll make a fortune. She doesn’t seem to miss Arlan’s business advice. She looked good on camera, too.”
“I’m sure she did.”
“No, I mean good. Dressed up in one of those power suits she has. I guess she had to wear them sometime.”
She gave him a quizzical look as he dumped the mail on her kitchen table. He’s studied her wardrobe? I guess it goes with his professional assessment of breast sizes.
A hand-addressed letter stood out from the envelopes with computer-printed labels. She picked it up and slit the top. “Haven’t you gotten a new car assigned yet?”
“No. I think they’re punishing me because my old one got wrecked. Like it was my fault. I’ve been looking at that little red number you rented. You like it?”
“I’m considering buying one just like it.”
He snorted. “It looks like a woman’s car. Fits you just fine. I’ll probably get some piece of crap assigned to me.”
“Dare I say it would fit you just fine?”
Schultz broke out in a wide grin and clapped her on the back.
She pulled out the contents of the envelope. It was from John Winter, and it was a photo of two girls standing together at a beach in bright bathing suits. She flipped it over. In fine script on the back, it said: April and May on vacation in Mexico. April is about sixteen, May about five. You can keep this.
PJ studied the girls. May was a gorgeous child, tanned and lithe. Straight, shiny hair fell like a waterfall to her shoulders, light brown hair lightened further by the sun, sand clinging to her cheek. April towered over her little sister. She filled out her swimsuit, a modest one-piece, in all the right places. April was fair-skinned and wore a wide-brimmed hat that shaded the top half of her face. The short hair that curled out from underneath the hat was red. Tucked under one arm was a large beach ball. Although the logical thing to assume was that the girls were playfully batting the beach ball around right before the picture was taken, PJ somehow had the impression it had been more of a game of keep-away. In spite of the smile glued on her face. May’s body language broadcast frustration.
She passed the photo over to Schultz, who also read the back and looked closely at the girls.
“You can see the family resemblance between May and June,” he said. “But April looks like Sparkle Farkle.”
“I wouldn’t have taken you for a Laugh In fan.”
“Rowan and Martin were my idols.”
“I get the point, though,” PJ said. “April looks as though she could have had a different father from the other sisters. Or her appearance could be recessive genes finally getting their day in the sun.”
Feeling drawn to work after the indulgence of sleeping late, PJ left without breakfast, planning to get a quick meal at Millie’s Diner. The place was busy when they got there.
“By the way, thanks for the DVD,” she said. And the thought behind it.
“Oh, hell, I shouldn’t have gotten so bent out of shape about it.”
Millie drifted over to take PJ’s order. She was beaming. “It was nice of you to send a card,” she said. “I put it up in a real prominent place.” Millie pointed at a Christmas card directly over the door to the women’s room. PJ recognized her card, looking distinctly fresh next to the yellowed ones of previous years.
“My pleasure,” PJ said. “I know it’s late, Millie, but could I have breakfast instead of lunch?”
“Anything you want, Dearie.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, then, I’ll have some pancakes and a couple of scrambled eggs.”
“Coming right up.”
“Would you two cut out this little love fest?” Schultz said. “I’m about to barf on the counter.”
Millie gave him a withering look and stalked off.
“Before I forget, some guy’s been calling at HQ for you,” Schultz said. “Won’t talk to anyone else, says he saw your name in the paper. I figure it’s a reporter or true crime writer. Anyway, here’s his number.”
Schultz handed her a slip of paper with a greasy spot occupying two-thirds of the surface. The phone number was scrunched into one corner.
“I’m taking a run out to May’s house after this,” he said. “I want to take another look at that shed where the cart was found. I have this feeling we missed something out there. Wanna come?”
“Shouldn’t we be trying to track down April?”
“Who’s to say the answer isn’t in that shed? Anyway, Dave and Anita and some guys from Missing Persons are on it. The Michigan police are real interested, too. They have a dead doctor on their hands and now a link to several more homicides in Missouri.”
“I’m going to pass on going to May’s house,” PJ said. “I’ve got some work at the office.”
They drove to Headquarters and Schultz headed off to bum a ride.
PJ dialed the phone number Schultz had given to her as soon as she arrived at her desk. A man answered and she identified herself.
“I’m glad you called, Dr. Gray. I saw your name in the paper on the Metro Mangler case, and I thought it might be easier to talk to a doctor than a detective.”
She decided not to correct the impression that she was sure he had, that she was a medical doctor.
“I’ve got some information on the murder of Cheryl Royalview,” he said.
A break. The hair on PJ’s arms rose and she took a deep breath.
“Go on.”
“I’m sure when Cheryl was autopsied, there was semen found. It wasn’t in the papers, but it had to be there.”
“What makes you think that? And what’s your name?”
“I’m Jason Dearborn. Cheryl and I were having an affair. We made love that Tuesday night, the day before the paper said she was killed. Oh, God, it’s so horrible.”
PJ’s excitement drained away. This sounded mundane, although she had to be thorough. “Do you have an alibi for the time of death, Wednesday, around noon?”
“I’m a vet, and I was at my clinic all day. Wednesday is surgery day. I was in surgery with my assistant from ten in the morning until three.”
The fact that Dearborn was a vet revived PJ’s interest. Vets worked with ketamine.
“Dr. Dearborn, I’d like to talk further with you. Would you come in to Headquarters? I can have a cruiser pick you up.”
There was a long hesitation. “I’d rather not. I’m married, and I was hoping this could be kept quiet. I only called because I figured I’d be tracked down by DNA and it would be better to volunteer the information up front.”
“How about meeting me at a place of your choice, then?”
“I guess that would be okay. I�
�ll have to go after hours, since I’m at the clinic today. This doesn’t have to come out, does it?”
“I’ll do everything I can to protect your privacy.” I’m sounding more and more like Schultz every day. Say anything to lure ’em in.
“How about meeting at Millie’s Diner then,” he said. “Around five o’clock? Do you know the place?”
Oh, great. “I know it. See you then.”
PJ arrived early, intending to get situated and warn Millie not to recognize her. Dearborn beat her to it. When she came in, pulling off her gloves and stuffing them in her coat pockets, he made unmistakable eye contact with her right away. He was seated at a table near the window, where’d he be certain to intercept her as soon as she came in.
She went over to the table. “Dr. Dearborn?”
“Yes. Please call me Jason. You look prettier in person than you do in your newspaper photos. You have a strong face.”
“Thanks,” she said. I guess. For some reason, she didn’t feel comfortable being on a first name with the man so soon. Or ever.
Jason Dearborn was about her age, with a roundness of face and body that reflected too many late night snacks. He had a prominent chin and nose, dark eyebrows, a small English mustache with an exaggerated curl at the ends, and was dressed entirely in black. He bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Snidley Whiplash. When he stood to greet her, she was surprised to see that he was not only her age, but her height too.
This guy must have some really endearing qualities or Cheryl Royalview was royally desperate. Maybe he’s rich.
Setting aside her first impression, she was determined not to assume villainy on Jason’s part. She was jumping to conclusions too much lately, a bad trait for a psychologist. At least hear the guy out.
Millie came over with a smile on her face that faltered a little when she saw Jason, but quickly recovered.
“How are you, dear—?” Millie began.
PJ interrupted her. “That’s right, this is Dr. Dearborn. You two know each other?” She shook her head slightly, hoping Millie would pick up on it.
“I’m not a regular,” Jason said. “Are you the real Millie?”
“In the flesh. What can I get you two today?” Millie flipped over coffee cups and flipped open her order pad.
“Dr. Gray?” Jason said, indicating that she should order first.
“I’ll have the cashew chicken salad and iced tea.”
“Excellent choices. You, sir?”
PJ’s mouth almost fell open. Millie was actually writing in her order pad, playing her undercover role to the hilt.
“Grilled cheese platter and coffee, please.”
Millie nodded smartly and headed off for the kitchen.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” PJ said. “How did you meet Cheryl?”
Dearborn answered her questions but didn’t elaborate. There was nothing remarkable about the story. Lonely woman neglected by a workaholic husband meets obliging man. When the food arrived, he stopped talking until he thought Millie was out of earshot. Little did he know that Millie could be out in the alley behind the diner and still not be out of earshot.
They chatted about other topics while eating. Dearborn was a comic book fan, and they reminisced about old heroes. Everything seemed ordinary until he reached over and took her hand. Startled, she left it within his grasp, a captured bird in a cage of moist fingers.
“My wife has never understood my needs,” he said. “Cheryl and I had a good understanding. It’s terrible about her, but life goes on for the rest of us, I guess. After a decent period of mourning, I’ll have to find someone else to,” he looked around, but the nearby tables were empty. “To take control. Have you ever worn leather, Dr. Gray? I think it would suit you.”
PJ’s eyes widened and she reclaimed her hand. “I think we’re done here,” she said. “Check, please!”
PJ had lost the urge to protect Jason Dearborn’s privacy. She called the team together, told her story, and asked Dave to do some background checking on him. “Do I detect a pattern here?” Dave said. “I’m getting stuck with all the sex weirdos.”
Schultz volunteered to go with a tech to get a DNA swab from Dearborn.
“Where does he live? Or better yet, work?”
“He’s a veterinarian, and I have his phone number,” PJ said. “I don’t know the address of his clinic.”
“No problem,” Schultz said. She handed him back the same greasy paper he’d given her, with Dearborn’s number on it. “You know, you shouldn’t go off meeting strangers. Somebody’s out to get you, remember? You were supposed to be working in your office.”
“I don’t need your permission to follow up on a lead,” PJ said. “I don’t need a lecture, either. Anyway, Millie was around and probably had her hand on the phone the whole time we were in her place.”
“That old broad’s about as perceptive as a brick. I wouldn’t count on her having your back. And what about when you left? The S&M guy could have given you a new nickname: Doctor Roadkill.”
PJ felt her hackles rising. Dave and Anita were watching with interest to see who was going to launch the next volley. She couldn’t allow her relationship with Schultz to interfere with her work—or his, for that matter. With effort, PJ put the whole thing behind her. Schultz sulked for a while, and then reverted to detective mode. The group had a long discussion about April and tossed around ideas for locating her.
“Schultz, anything come of your visit to May’s place today?” PJ asked.
“I was hoping to find some indication that Arlan was in that shed for the last four days of his life. That hunch didn’t pan out,” he said.
“April had him hidden away during the missing four days,” PJ said, thinking aloud. Go back to the beginning and find out where Arlan was for four days, Merlin said. It might all come down to the disparity in his disappearance and his time of death.
“You just now figuring that out?” said Schultz. “Unfortunately, that puts us no closer to finding her.”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe we should go back to the comfort zone idea. April probably owns a truck that was used at the barn, perhaps a black Blazer, too.” She locked eyes with Schultz. PJ saw his nostrils flare at the mention of the Blazer. He was right. She shouldn’t do anything careless. She wanted to be around for a long time to see Thomas far into adulthood.
If she died, Schultz would be there for Thomas. She knew that now, and it was a simple truth that was comforting. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, having no idea what was going through her head.
“So we drive around in all the kill sites and look for trucks?” Anita said. “Seems way too vague.”
Dave said, “We can narrow it down by using vehicle registration records. What do we know about the truck?”
“Only that it had an eight foot bed,” Schultz said. “To hold the garden cart.”
“Well, that’s something,” Dave said.
“Are you kidding? There must be hundreds of those in the zones,” Anita said. “And they could be inside garages where we can’t check them out easily.”
“Hundreds of full-size trucks with female owners about fifty years old?” PJ said. “Locate every resident who fits that description and check it out. Interview the neighbors.”
The rest of her team looked skeptical. No one was taking up the battle cry. One of PJ’s assets in her position was her ability to think beyond the constraints of police procedure. It was also one of her liabilities.
“The truck could be registered under a male name, or she could have sold it, or driven it into the river or something after it was used at the barn,” Anita said.
“Driven it into the river,” PJ said. “Arlan’s dump site was on the shore of the Mississippi. We never knew why that particular place.”
“Anita, you’re a genius,” Schultz said. “You get a gold star. Now go look for that truck.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted and was out the door.
PJ was anxious to get h
ome to see her son, but she wanted to work on something that had been bothering her. She had never worked out the link between her barn and riverfront VR scenarios. Schultz seemed determined to be underfoot, so she put him to work.
She did a little preparation, and Schultz donned the VR gear. She started the barn scenario after Arlan’s body was in the pickup truck. Inside the scene, he was seeing everything first person, but on her monitor, she saw a three-inch-high Schultz open the truck’s door and get in. PJ had never told him, but she’d scanned his picture into her computer and customized a Genman, so the little character really did look like Schultz, complete with the bald spot on top of his head.
He drove for a couple of minutes on generic streets. Speaking into a microphone, she told Schultz that he should take the second driveway on his left.
“Hey, I didn’t know you could talk to me in here,” he said aloud. “Wanna whisper sweet nothings?”
She didn’t answer him. She was typing rapidly to keep a little ahead of the simulation, feeling her way along.
The time frame wasn’t right, because PJ had no idea how long it would take April to get home. April’s house was a box with a garage and a light next to the front door. Genhome.
She opened the garage door.
“Did I do that?”
PJ sighed. “I did. Stop asking questions. Go with the flow.”
Schultz went through the process of backing the cart into the garage, then using the rope and winch to get Arlan’s body out. He tucked the corpse neatly into the body bag from one of PJ’s earlier scenarios. It came across as a gentle procedure, and PJ was reminded of the urge she had to cover Arlan’s body with her coat as water lapped at his feet. Few people managed to inject any personality into VR, but Schultz was one of them.
Time of Death Page 25