Dead Center (The Still Waters Suspense Series Book 2)

by Dawn Lee McKenna

  “Then go there,” he said, not unkindly.

  “You’re kinda cranked out,” she said. “Not that I blame you.”

  They walked in silence until they were in front of the wide steps leading up to the Dockside and the marina office, then he touched her arm.

  “Hey. You have decent locks on that boat of yours?”

  “No, it’s a boat,” she said. “The locks are crap. Why? Do I need to watch out?”

  “I don’t think so,” Evan answered. “But just keep everything buttoned up at night, okay?”

  She looked at him for a moment. “Okay.”

  Evan nodded, then walked on. He didn’t think she was in any danger, at least, not any more than anyone else in town. But three people were dead in less than two weeks.

  There was a connection between them, to be sure, but as of this morning, it was looking a lot less likely that the killer was someone the victims had known.

  SIXTEEN

  TWO HOURS LATER, Mitchell Overstreet’s body had gone off in the back of Danny’s van, Trigg had left for the crime lab, and Evan had endured three minutes of speaking to a gaggle of reporters who had collected behind the PD cruiser barricade like Nascar fans watching a tight race.

  Evan had shared as much as he could that meant as little as possible, then had Goff take him to his Honda, parked behind the Dockside. Then he followed Goff through a nice, densely-treed neighborhood that Overstreet would not be seeing again.

  Mitchell Overstreet’s house was neat as a pin, with manicured, deep green grass, a driveway free of oil stains, carefully trimmed hibiscus hedges and two white rockers on the small front porch.

  Evan pulled in behind Goff and had just closed his door when a portly guy with a rim of black hair left on his pate and a pair of clippers in his hand approached him from the yard next door.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, frowning.

  “Do you live here, sir?” Evan asked.

  “No, I live over there,” the man said, gesturing at the yard behind him. “Is everything okay?”

  “Do you know Mitchell Overstreet?” Evan asked, again answering a question with a question.

  “Well, sure. I mean, to talk to.”

  “How long have you been neighbors?”

  The man thought about that. “Well, he was already here when we moved in four years…no five years ago.”

  “Does he have a wife? Family? Anyone that lives here with him?”

  “No, he lives alone. Can I ask what’s wrong?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say just now, sir,” Evan answered. “But we have his keys and we’ll be inside for a little bit, okay?”

  “I guess.” The man opened and closed his clippers a few times. They creaked a bit, needing some WD-40. “Uh, is he in some kind of trouble? He just left a little while ago.”

  “When was that?”

  “Around five, somewhere around there.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “No, I didn’t actually see him,” the man answered. “I just heard him pull out. My bedroom window’s right there,” he added, gesturing at the side of his house that faced Overstreet’s.

  “Was that unusual, for him to leave so early?” Evan asked him.

  “No. No, not at all. Not when the weather’s decent,” the man answered. “He goes fishing pretty much every Saturday morning. Leaves when it’s still dark and comes back early afternoon.”

  Just like Bellamy, Evan thought. “When was the last time you talked to him?”

  “Oh, well. We only ever say hello or have a good day or whatever,” the man said. “He’s nice enough, smiles, you know, but he pretty much keeps to himself. He hardly ever has company.”

  “Okay, thank you,” Evan said. “We’re probably going to have another officer stop by and talk to you later today. Will you be home?”

  “Yeah, sure,” the man said. “I can be. Name’s Pete Stein.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Stein,” Evan said.

  He walked to the front door, knowing Stein was going to stand there watching, or clipping whatever he was clipping until they had left. Goff came up behind Evan, carrying a satchel of evidence bags and Sharpies. Evan took Overstreet’s keys out of the bag in his pocket. It took three tries before he found the one that went to the deadbolt, then the door swung open silently.

  Overstreet’s house was as neat inside as it was outside. It wasn’t so perfect as to be uncomfortably sterile; a pair of loafers waited just inside the door, polished to a sheen, a small recycling box next to the hall closet held a neat stack of newspapers.

  The short entryway led into a living room furnished in comfortable-looking pieces. The cherry coffee table shone in the slanted light from between the vertical blinds. There were two books on an end table next to a recliner, and the TV remote was centered on top of those.

  Goff turned right to go into a hallway, and Evan walked through the archway at the back of the living room, into a spacious kitchen. It hadn’t been remodeled since the nineties, probably, but the appliances and cabinet faces were spotless. There was a dishwasher, but one blue coffee cup, one spoon, and a blue bowl were in the dish drainer on the counter. There were no dishes in the sink.

  Against one wall of the kitchen was a built-in desk made of the same material as the counters. Evan went to it. It held a small wooden mail organizer with bills from the electric company, Chase Visa, and Progressive auto insurance in one slot, and a pen and sheet of stamps in the other. Evan didn’t remember the last time he’d bought stamps. Auto-payment was one of his few concessions to the modern age.

  In the center of the desk was an iPad on a charger. Beneath it, a brown vinyl appointment calendar. When Evan opened it, he found it was one of the ones with two pages per month. It was well-used. Everything was neatly printed in blue ink, and as Evan flipped through the pages, he saw that there were appointments for doctors and barbers and eye exams and pest control services even months ahead.

  It seemed that Overstreet used the agenda as a to-do list, as well as an appointment calendar. There were neat entries for things like going grocery shopping, going to the car wash, and picking up dry cleaning.

  Evan opened the one drawer in the desk. Push pins, ink pens, rubber bands, pencils, envelopes, and notepads were all in the separate cubbies provided by a silverware organizer. No loose pennies, no twist-ties, no crumpled receipts, and no batteries that might or might not be any good.

  Evan closed the drawer gently and looked around the kitchen again. This guy was as neat and organized as anyone Evan had ever met.

  He wanted to take pictures of his cupboards to show anyone who ever again accused him of being OCD. So, Evan had five of the same suit, in only two different colors, only kept four place settings and four glasses in the galley, and could tell anyone where the flashlight, the remote and the mail was at any given time? It helped him think clearly, and clearly, he wasn’t the only one who needed everything to have a place.

  Goff walked in through the living room, carrying a couple of prescription pill bottles.

  “Feller’s taking Casodex,” he said quietly.

  “What’s that?”

  “My bother took it for prostate cancer,” Goff said.

  That took Evan aback. He didn’t even know Goff had a brother. “Is he okay?”

  “He passed in oh-two,” Goff answered.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Goff nodded. “Yep. There’s a desktop computer in the spare bedroom, but no laptop.”

  “I’ve got an iPad here,” Evan said. He held up the agenda. “And a good old-fashioned datebook. Man after my own heart.”

  “House is nice, but kinda…tidy,” Goff said, looking around the kitchen.

  “So’s mine,” Evan said.

  “I don’t doubt that,” Goff said. Evan looked over to see a bit of a smile on the man’s face.

  “We need to find out if this guy has family we need to get in touch with,” Evan said. “Before the press starts tossing his name around.”r />
  “There’s some pictures on the wall in the hallway. Two of ’em’s got to be his parents, but there’s a couple of him and another guy fishing, same guy, and one of a young couple, maybe twenties or so, that looks pretty recent. Wedding picture.”

  “Okay, let’s take pictures of those,” Evan said. “Might help us once we get into his contacts, Facebook, whatever.”

  “Yep,” Goff said, and was gone again.

  Evan picked up the iPad and agenda, grabbed the Visa bill as well, and started out of the kitchen. Halfway through the doorway, he stopped and put the things on the counter by the sink. Then he walked over to the cupboard next to the sink and opened it.

  There were four place settings, blue stoneware, neatly arranged on the bottom shelf. One bowl and one cup were missing. Evan was tempted to put them away for Mitchell Overstreet.

  SEVENTEEN

  WHEN EVAN GOT TO the office, he was glad it wasn’t one of Vi’s scheduled Saturdays. He didn’t need the lecture. There was a UPS package on the chair next to her desk, never occupied by anyone, ever. Evan leaned over to look at it, saw that it was from Staples, and moved on into his office, closing the door behind him.

  He put the things he’d brought from Overstreet’s home on his desk, then sat down in his chair. He slid his stack of case files over to the side and then laid out Overstreet’s possessions, side by side. The agenda, the iPad, the Visa bill, and the two prescriptions. He’d only brought the two; Goff had found three more, but they were all from the same physician, two for pain and one for sleep. They’d left them in Overstreet’s medicine cabinet.

  Evan picked up the bag with the prescriptions, then grabbed his office phone and dialed the number. He was surprised to find the office open, but after he told the receptionist who he was, she said she’d have to take a message for the doctor. He left one, stressing that it was urgent.

  The iPad was password-protected, as he’d feared. He knew Trigg was in the lab on the other side of the building, and he called her. She picked it up and said she’d run some password programs on it and let him know when she had any luck. Fortunately, she said, iPad passcodes were numeric, and there were only four numbers.

  Once she’d gone, Evan had taken off his blazer, hung it on the back of his chair, and gotten to work on the appointment calendar. He noticed once he opened it that it was a two-year calendar, so he had thirteen months to learn about Mitchell Overstreet. What he’d learned, after two hours of going through the calendar and writing down the names of the doctors, phlebotomists, dry cleaners, and miscellaneous service people was that these were the only people in there. No lunch dates with buddies, no dinner dates, or even coffee with a lady. No vacation days noted.

  He also learned that the medical appointments had started getting frequent and varied back in June of the previous year. Prior to that, he’d had a doctor’s appointment, the same doctor he’d tried to reach, every three months.

  Around noon, his office phone rang.

  “Caldwell.”

  “Hey, boss,” Goff said. “Nothing in Overstreet’s cell phone that matches up with any of the numbers from Vicaro and Bellamy. But we’ve had better luck on the desktop. No password. Reckon that’s cause he lived alone. Anyhow, it’s all work stuff. Feller was an accountant.”

  Evan thought that made perfect sense.

  “His tax return’s already done, and it’s right here,” Goff went on. “He works for an accounting firm on Monument. Lucky for us, it’s tax season. They’re open till three. You want to run over there?”

  Evan got up and stuck a hand in his blazer pocket. He dug out his cigarettes and lighter. “Actually, I’m waiting on Trigg and for this guy’s doctor to call me back. You want to take it?”

  “Sure thing,” Goff said.

  “Find out if they have any information about relatives, whether he was close with anybody in the office, and whether he’s had any problems with anybody, maybe some irate customer who thinks he owes the government too much money.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Sorry, I know you know what we need,” Evan said. “Go do it.”

  “On it,” Goff said, and Evan heard his chair squeak in protest as he got up. “Mind if I take Crenshaw?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  Evan felt like he might catch a second wind once he’d walked down the hall to the restroom to pee and rinse his face with a few splashes of cold water.

  On his way back down the hall to hit the back door for a smoke, he was hailed by Meyers, who had come in to file his report on finding Mitchell Overstreet.

  “Hey, boss!”

  Evan stopped in the doorway to the office shared by several deputies. “Yeah.”

  “Vi was here,” Meyers said.

  “She still here?”

  “Nope, came and went in like two minutes. Must have forgot something when she left yesterday. She asked where you were, though.”

  Evan winced. “What did you tell her?”

  “I said you were in the little law enforcement officers’ room,” Meyers answered with a smile.

  “Thank you,” Evan said drily.

  Evan continued on down the hall, pushed down on the handle of the back door, and walked out into the bright sunshine. He couldn’t help wondering, as he lifted his face to the sun, if Mitchell Overstreet would be heading home about now if someone hadn’t stabbed him to death.

  He sat down at the little patio table someone had donated for smoking and picnicking and lit his cigarette. His mind vacillated between trying to clear itself and making lists of everything he needed to be sure to do once he got back to his desk. He made it two cigarettes, then went back inside.

  Vi’s desk appeared to be exactly as it had been earlier. The Staples package remained on the chair. Evan mentally shrugged and walked back into his office. He was halfway to his desk before he saw something foreign on it.

  He walked around the desk and sat down in his chair. The appointment calendar had been moved to the left side, below and lined up with the case files. In its place was a square turquoise Tupperware container with a clear lid. On top were a plastic knife and fork wrapped in a paper napkin.

  Evan stared at it a moment, then set the cutlery aside and pulled up the lid. It came away with a thwupping sound and released a bit of warm air filled with the aroma of curry.

  Inside was a healthy scoop of white rice on the left, and a deep yellow stew of shrimp, onion, and what might be sweet potatoes on the right. Evan stared at it a moment.

  Of the two of them, Evan had been the cook in his marriage, when he was home to cook or eat. Hannah had a few pasta dishes in her repertoire, but she didn’t really enjoy cooking. She frequently met Evan for lunch at a restaurant, but he was pretty sure she’d never made him lunch. That hadn’t meant anything to him, but as he sat there looking at this meal that had been left for him, he was touched.

  He unrolled the plastic cutlery and took a bite of the curry. It was spicy without being hot, richly flavored, and the only home cooking he’d had in months that he hadn’t prepared himself.

  He put the fork down in the container and picked up the desk phone. He had to think a minute, then remembered where she’d put the number. It was on the back of a Mary Kay card in his desk drawer. He opened the drawer and fished it out, then dialed the number. It was answered on the third ring.

  “This is Vi,” she droned.

  “You do that at home, too?” Evan asked.

  “I’m always Vi,” she answered. He could hear a football game in the background. She’d told him once that she recorded all the SEC games she missed working Saturdays and saved them for when football season was over. He hadn’t actually believed her. Her cat must have had a phone problem, because he was nearby again, howling.

  “Thank you for the curry, Vi,” Evan said. “It’s delicious.”

  “Well, don’t let it sit. That’s vintage Tupperware and it cannot be microwaved,” she remonstrated him.

  “Okay.”

  “Ha
ve a good day, Mr. Caldwell,” she said.

  “Thank you. You, too.”

  Just before she hung up the phone he heard her hiss, “Oh, shut the hell up, Mr. Fawlty!”

  Goff came back into Evan’s office a little over an hour later. He looked tired, and it was one of the few times that Evan remembered the guy was pushing sixty.

  “Okay, so I talked to the manager over there at the accounting firm,” Goff said as he slid into the chair in front of the desk. “Overstreet’s worked there seven years, ever since he moved down from Cincinnati. One of their most popular accountants, she says. Only missed four days of work since he’s been there, which is really saying something.”

  “Okay.”

  “He has a brother named Rob back in Ohio, who was his emergency contact.”

  “We need to call him,” Evan said with a sigh.

  “I did.”

  “Geez. Thank you,” Evan said.

  “I figured you were full up on next of kins for the month,” Goff said. “Brother’s all beat to hell about Mitchell. He moved down here after he survived prostate cancer, wanted to enjoy fishing and whatnot in the Sunshine State. Last year they found more. He was fighting, but it wasn’t looking good. Now some piece of work took whatever he had left away from him, which really rusts my bucket.”

  “Man.”

  “Yeah. Anyhow, the brother’s getting a flight out of Ohio in the morning,” Goff went on. “He’s got to make arrangements for someone to take care of the two kids he has at home. That wedding picture on the wall, that was the older son. The brother’s. I texted him the pictures from the wall. The fishing pictures are the two brothers. Rob comes down twice a year to fish with Mitchell.”

  “Did you ask him if Overstreet had talked to him about any problems with anyone?”

  “I did. He didn’t. Overstreet called him every Sunday evening but never had a whole lot to say. They talked about work and the brother’s kids and the cancer and what fish Overstreet had been catching. He liked his fishing.”

  “Okay.” Evan rubbed a hand over his face.

  “He gave me a few people to call and talk to. One’s a lady he dated for a few months back four or five years ago. They were more or less companions, the brother tells me, and she moved down to Cape Coral and that was that. Another one is a guy he goes inshore fishing with every now and then. Brother only had his number cause the guy gave Mitchell a ride to the oncologist when he was feeling pretty bad.”