by Carolyn Hart
Chief Cobb didn’t know Susan. I watched as he wrote:
Accident? Suicide? Murder?
“But,” boomed the voice on the speakerphone—for a man who’d likely been up most of the night, the medical examiner was ebullient—“I got more interesting news for you.”
Cobb’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like the sound of your voice. May you too live in interesting times.”
The bark of laughter was satisfied. “You got yourself a muddy sandpile to play in, Chief.
“One: Except for the circumstances of her discovery, i.e., on the floor with a pillow on her face, the death would have passed as natural. She had severe congestive heart failure and coronary artery disease. No attending physician would have suggested an autopsy.
“Two: She didn’t pop down on the floor of her own accord. She was placed there after death. Lividity indicates she died while resting on her left side. Now this is interesting. There were some traces of lividity on her back but the major lividity was on her left side. That’s consistent with the body being moved less than six hours after her death. If more than six hours had passed, the lividity wouldn’t have been changed by movement. Instead, from the amount of lividity on her side, I’d guess—and this has to be a guess—that the body was moved about three hours after she died.
“Three: Time of death is tricky, but I would have estimated around nine P.M. based on temp, lividity, stomach contents. However, Price said she was last seen about twelve-fifteen.”
Chief Cobb’s face corrugated in a heavy frown. “If you had to testify at a trial, when would you put the outer limits on time of death?”
“If it will help you sleep any better at night, I can equivocate like a politician. On the one hand, on the other hand…The defense expert medical witness could read the report and say in the range of his experience with the facts as presented, the outer limit is ten o’clock. My gut feeling? She was probably dead an hour earlier. But, on the other hand…”
Chief Cobb looked morose. “I got to deal with facts, Doc. She was seen around twelve-fifteen by an officer who positively ID’d her.”
“Hallucination?”
Cobb returned to the open file on his desk.
I bent nearer his shoulder.
As he scanned Johnny Cain’s report, he highlighted in canary yellow:
…light must have been funny in the car. When I first approached no one seemed to be in the front seat. By the time I got to the door, Mrs. Flynn was there in a black fur coat. She said she was sorry she’d driven so fast and she said, “We got to talking.” I looked in the passenger seat and it was empty and then Mrs. Flynn said she saw a fox and pointed at the road. I turned that way. When I looked back there was a redheaded woman in the passenger seat in a brown fur coat. I don’t see how I could have missed seeing her the first time, but I did. She told Mrs. Flynn to get her purse. She talked a lot.
Was there an aura of desperation about Officer Cain’s claims? I admired his painful honesty. How easy it would have been for him simply to report that Susan Flynn was the driver. Instead, he tried to be accurate as to what he saw. Or didn’t see.
I wondered if Chief Cobb foresaw Officer Cain on the witness stand, describing his post-midnight encounter with Susan Flynn. Defense attorney: Officer, tell us how you approached the car?…You immediately saw Mrs. Flynn?…Oh, you didn’t see Mrs. Flynn at first?…How many feet are there, Officer, from the back of the car to the driver’s window?…Was your view unobstructed?…Can you account for your inability to see Mrs. Flynn as you first approached the car?…What did you see in the passenger seat?…I see, at first the seat was empty and then it was occupied by a redheaded woman?
“Chief, you there?”
“Yeah.” Cobb rubbed at his neck as if it were stiff. “Problem is, there are some unusual aspects to the whereabouts of Mrs. Flynn after midnight. But that blue Ford’s a fact. It was abandoned at the foot of Persimmon Hill. The warning ticket issued to Susan Flynn was found in the front seat.”
“Yeah.” There was doubt in the M.E.’s voice. “Maybe the timing works out. Although if he’d seen her at eleven, I could buy it a lot easier than after midnight.”
Cobb cleared his throat. “Can digitalis in that amount be administered in hot chocolate?”
“Sure. If somebody put it in the drink, she’d never notice. If it was suicide, she probably popped them into the cup and drank it down and went off to bye-bye land. Maybe the easy answer’s the best. She must have felt lousy. She knew she didn’t have much time left anyway. Drop the pills into cocoa, give it a stir, no more pain.”
The chief circled: Suicide?
The M.E. was brisk. “Check out her mental state. If she’d been depressed, talked a lot about death, you can close the investigation.”
Cobb loosened his tie. “Can I? What about the fact that she was found on the floor, pillow on her face? Like you said, she didn’t get there by herself.”
“Looks like you have a few loose ends. Anyway”—the M.E. was blithe—“I’ve attached the file and emailed you. As soon as I have a double shot of espresso, I’m on my way to pick up my hot date and drive to Stillwater. Go, Cowboys.”
I wafted away. I wrung my hands. Oddly enough, specters purportedly are often seen pacing and twining their hands in desperation. I hated to be a cliché but this turn of events was ghastly. I had to alert the chief that Susan’s death was murder.
Cobb punched off the speakerphone. He looked like a man trying to piece together a broken vase, but several of the pieces were pulverized. He turned to his computer, opened the medical examiner’s report, printed it out.
He clicked another file, opened it.
I read the title of that report on his screen: Preliminary report homicide lab re: cup and china pot with cocoa residue from bedroom of deceased Susan Flynn.
He punched Print, gathered up both the autopsy and lab reports, and placed them on his desk. On the legal pad, he wrote:
What was Susan Flynn’s mental state?
Interview persons who saw her in the last few days.
Who inherits?
Who moved the body after death and why?
Who prepared the cocoa that she drank shortly before death?
Are there fingerprints—
A perfunctory knock sounded on his office door. The door was opened and in came a heavyset blonde in a silver-gray wool-silk suit with a Peter Pan collar. The dropped bodice wasn’t flattering to the age spots on her upper torso. Her short skirt revealed dimpled knees that deserved merciful covering.
I hadn’t liked Mayor Neva Lumpkin on my earlier visit to Adelaide. I doubted she would charm me this time.
With an air of proprietorship, the mayor settled in a straight chair facing the chief’s desk. She began without preamble. “The City of Adelaide has suffered a grievous loss with the death of Susan Pritchard Flynn, one of our most respected citizens.” The mayor’s voice rose with platform unctuousness. “Susan’s generosity to her community, her selfless devotion to her family and her church, and her honorable character will always serve as a sterling example to those of us who remain.”
“Blah. Blah. Blah.” I clapped my hand over my mouth.
The mayor’s face quivered. “What did you say?”
Chief Cobb’s expression was peculiar. “I didn’t say anything. The heating makes funny noises sometimes.”
The mayor’s head switched back and forth. “I heard a woman’s voice.”
I kept my fingers pressed to my mouth. I must not succumb to the temptation to confound her as I had on a previous occasion when she’d attempted to interfere in a murder investigation. Wiggins had scolded me for that incident.
“Some kind of high sound.” Her gaze moved up to the heating register.
“I turned the thermostat up when I came in. Maintenance always lowers the heat over the weekend. Probably we heard some kind of”—he was making an effort not to smile—“funny wheeze.”
It was a good thing I was pressing my finger
s against my lips.
Her plump face pink, her eyes glittering, the mayor gave a short nod. “As I was saying, we have suffered a grievous loss. However, not”—great emphasis—“an unexpected loss. We all knew Susan’s time was short. She had been ill for several years. In fact, my dear friend Jacqueline Flynn doubted that Susan would see in the New Year. Jacqueline acquainted me with the odd circumstances in which Susan’s death was discovered and I felt it incumbent upon me to offer you my assistance. We both agreed the theft of Jacqueline’s car—”
I floated to the blackboard on the opposite side of the room behind the mayor. It was quite clean. The chalk lying in the tray was fresh. I picked up a piece of pristine white chalk and immediately felt as though I were back in a classroom. One of the pleasures of teaching English had been the dissection of character, Bob Cratchitt, Pip, Lady Macbeth, Holden Caulfield, Madame Bovary, Heathcliff, Huckleberry Finn, Jo March.
“—was an entirely separate matter.” The mayor was brisk, a woman sure of her facts.
Behind his desk, Chief Cobb looked immovable as a mountain, a big, solid man. He listened, his blunt face expressionless.
I rolled the chalk in my fingers, such a familiar sensation. My hand rose. I printed, the slight scratch of the chalk lost in the mayor’s volume:
Pompous
“Moreover, as we all know, at the moment of death, there will often be a magnificent, though doomed, struggle. None of us”—the mayor’s tone was lugubrious, but brave—“go willingly into that dark night. Our dear Susan no doubt had some intimation, perhaps piercing pain. This would explain the posture in which she was found. Think of Susan in pain, gasping for breath—”
The chalk moved:
Phony
“—seeking ease. She must have stumbled from her bed, clutching the pillow, only to fall and embark upon that last great journey which we all shall take.”
Not Eugene O’Neill
“I trust everything is clear now.” She spoke with finality.
“Facts are helpful, Neva. I’m sure you will be interested to know that Susan Flynn didn’t die on the floor. Someone put her there and placed the pillow over her face. A shift in the lividity of the body proved she was moved after death. That’s a fact.” He tapped the papers on his desk. “Susan Flynn died from an overdose of digitalis. That’s a fact. My job is to figure out whether the overdose was accidental or deliberate. And, if deliberate, whether she committed suicide or was murdered. Moreover, I intend to find out who moved the body after death.”
The mayor wasn’t fazed. “Sometimes facts must be interpreted to be understood.” She fluttered a pudgy hand in dismissal. “Could there be a reasonable explanation for the placement of the body? Of course. Who can ever know how death strikes an intimate of a family?” Her tone was kind, as if encouraging a listener who might not be attuned to human vagaries. “Reactions are often impulsive, hard to explain, hard to understand. There are many possibilities. Distraught by the finality of death, quite likely someone pulled Susan from the bed and tried to revive her. When it became heartbreakingly obvious that resuscitation wasn’t possible, the pillow was blindly placed over Susan, to hide the unalterable image of death.”
Cunning
“We’ll do our best to find out what happened.” His voice businesslike.
“It’s good we had this chance to visit, Sam. It is important for me, as mayor, to be certain all of Adelaide’s public servants are focused on our primary task”—great emphasis here—“of serving our community. Often it is necessary for public servants to be certain that we do no harm. And”—a tinkling laugh—“we must remember that truth is usually simple—”
Patronizing
“—and not twist our thoughts seeking complicated solutions. Dear Susan.” Sympathy oozed from her voice. “No doubt she felt so ill she misjudged how many pills she took. Or”—she lifted her heavy shoulders, let them fall—“though there’s never any need for public revelation of suicide, illness sometimes is too great a burden to be borne.”
Despite her unattractive bulk and bullying nature, Neva Lumpkin was nobody’s fool. Suicide was a lovely resolution.
No scruples
Chief Cobb glanced toward the blackboard as I lowered the chalk. I let the piece fall to the floor.
Frowning, Cobb pushed up from his chair and walked slowly toward the blackboard. He moved quietly for such a big man.
Mayor Lumpkin followed his progress. She sniffed as he bent to pick up the chalk. “I believe this is the only office in City Hall with an old-fashioned chalkboard. Everyone else is up to date with dry-erase boards and colored markers. We have to keep pace with the times, Chief Cobb.”
He was gruff. “Chalk was good enough for me when I was a high school math teacher. It’s good enough now.”
“Really! In any event,” she spoke loudly, “Jacqueline will be relieved when I tell her everything will be resolved quickly and quietly.”
Cobb swung toward her, his expression abstracted. “I’ll bring Mrs. Flynn up to date on the investigation when I meet with the family at the house this afternoon.”
The mayor’s gaze was cool. “Surely that meeting is no longer necessary since it’s obvious Susan’s death was undoubtedly self-inflicted.”
Cobb’s face tightened. “I’ll tell you what, Neva, you look after City Hall, I’ll look after suspicious deaths.”
“I am looking after City Hall.” She heaved herself to her feet, face dangerously red, and strode to the door. She stopped in the doorway, head held high. A trumpet roll could not have better announced a dramatic farewell. “I expect a sensible attitude on the part of all city employees. If you refuse to accept ambiguity—and most emphatically there can be nothing certain in the circumstances of Susan’s death—the council will have to consider what action to take concerning the renewal of your contract in January. It may turn out that you should consider a return to teaching.” She flounced into the hall, banging the door shut behind her.
Chief Cobb’s exclamation was short, explicit, and forceful.
I had to agree. She certainly was.
He shrugged. “Comes with the territory.” He started for his desk, then turned back to the blackboard.
I suspected no one knew better than he that the blackboard had been quite clean.
Once again I’d intruded upon the discrete world. Despite the Precepts, it was a very good thing I had done so. The longer Chief Cobb stared at the blackboard, the more time I had. He needed help to stave off the mayor’s interventions, discover the truth, and not lose his job in the process.
I looked at the legal pad on his desk. Earlier he’d written: What was Susan Flynn’s mental state? Imitating his neat square printing, I added: Check with Father Abbott. The rector would know Susan Flynn well and certainly attest to her mental health.
After Interview persons who saw her in the last few days, I added: Was there any disruption of the household recently? This would catch Keith’s arrival.
His third question was all-important: Who inherits? I added: When did she last see her lawyer and what did they discuss?
I studied question four: Who moved the body after death and why? I decided to go for broke: Was someone aware Susan Flynn had been murdered and set up a crime scene to be sure there was an investigation?
The pencil was yanked from my hand.
“Ooh.” I swung around and my elbow jammed into Chief Cobb’s side.
“Ouch.” He massaged his side. “How can a pencil stand up by itself?” He looked uncertainly at his chair. “I didn’t bend over. What did I bump into?”
I tried to still my quick breaths. I should have kept a closer eye on the chief. I moved well out of his way.
He stared at the pencil, small in his massive hand, then toward the blackboard. He shook his head in denial. “That woman’s driving me nuts.”
I was offended until I realized he was referring to Mayor Lumpkin. Perhaps he would attribute any confusion on his part to his irritation with her.
He gingerly placed the pencil on the desk, again shook his head. “Now I’m seeing things.” He spoke aloud, forcefully. He flipped the legal pad shut without seeing my insertions. “I can’t think straight when Neva’s around.” He glanced at the clock and tucked the legal pad in a folder.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A young woman bundled in a pink jacket counted to ten. Cheeks red from the cold, Keith ran as fast as he could across the front yard of Pritchard House. He skidded around a big sycamore and pressed against the trunk.
“…eight, nine, ten. Okay, Colin, you can look around now. See if you can find Keith.”
A skinny dark-haired boy about seven years old dropped his hands from his eyes and took a half dozen steps toward a fir.
“In the freezer, Colin.” She wrapped her arms tight across her front, gave a dramatic shiver.
Colin veered to his right.
“Colder. Ice on your nose.”
Colin swiped his nose with a red mitten and laughed. He turned and retraced his steps.
“Warmer.”
Colin trotted ahead.
“Getting hot.” She clapped.
I wished I could stay outside and watch the boys play. Colin shouted as he came around the sycamore. “Got you,” he shouted as he grabbed Keith, who squealed with laughter.
I dropped into the living room for a different game of gotcha!
Chief Cobb stood to one side of the fireplace. A cheerful fire crackled. The living room was warm, but there was no air of holiday cheer.
Jake’s eyes were huge and strained. “I talked to Father Abbott at St. Mildred’s. Do you know when Susan—when we can have her service?”
“The autopsy has been completed.” The chief looked commanding, his heavy face purposeful.
Was there a greater feeling of tension among his listeners than the quiet statement should evoke? Did one of them fear what had been found?
“The body will be released this afternoon.”