The Last Good Place

by Robin Burcell

  As usual, afternoon traffic was a gridlock in most areas, which in this case was a good thing, since he could focus his attention on the road, not his partner. Besides, Al seemed content not conversing.

  So be it.

  When they finally reached the neighborhood where Trudy and Marcie lived, he’d calmed considerably and was able to keep his frustration about the robberies at bay.

  “Which house?” Al asked.

  “Next to the corner,” he said, parking the car at the end of the street.

  Al got out, glanced toward Trudy’s house at the top of the hill, then back at the house in question near the bottom. It appeared well kept, the paint fairly new, Casey thought as he and Al walked up the stairs to the front porch.

  Al knocked and eventually the door was opened by a man who looked to be in his midseventies. Al stepped back to let Casey do the talking.

  “Good afternoon,” Casey said, holding up his credential case, showing the man his gold star. “We were wondering if you might answer a few questions about your neighbor.”

  The old man eyed the wallet, then both sergeants, before holding the door open wider. “This about the woman who was killed the other day? The one who lived just up the street?”

  “Trudy Salvatori,” Casey said.

  Al smiled. “You mind if we come in, Mr.…?”

  “Layton. Vince Layton.” He stepped aside, letting them in, then sat in a well-worn leather armchair in front of the television. “Not sure what I can tell you. Didn’t really know her at all. Except I’d see her running sometimes in the morning with the neighbor friend.”

  “Marcie Valentine?” Casey asked, opening his notebook.

  “Guess that’s her name. They lived right next door. Used to run together a lot. Right past here every morning. Well, most days. Sometimes it was just the one. Marcie, I guess.”

  “What about the other morning?”

  “Saw ’em both. Just not together. That was unusual.”

  “Do you remember who you saw at what time?”

  He glanced out the front window. “Let’s see…Trudy. I don’t know…Five after seven?”

  Casey hid his dismay. If it was Trudy who ran past at five after, then that meant Marcie had told the truth. She had left at seven. “You said they weren’t together that morning. What time was it that you saw Marcie?”

  “You think Marcie killed her? Little thing like her?”

  “We’re just trying to re-create their steps that morning.”

  “Saw her, definitely.”

  “Any chance you know what time that was?”

  The man looked off to the side, then up. “Let’s see…Maybe a minute or two after?”

  “After seven?” Casey asked.

  “Nope. After Trudy ran past.”

  “After Trudy.”

  “Yep.” He nodded. “Definitely after. My arthritis was acting up that morning, and she brought my paper to me.”

  Casey wrote quickly. “Any chance you can pin it down further?”

  “Not really. Normally I see her from this chair,” he said, patting the arm of his recliner. “Right through my window at seven every morning when the morning news plays their theme. That dark-haired girl is like clockwork. But that morning…? Nope. I’d already poured my coffee by the time Trudy ran past. Got one of those coffee makers with a timer. The first commercial break on the news show, that’s when I get my paper. Got a routine. Listen to the headlines, commercial break, go get my paper. By then my coffee’s cool enough to drink.”

  From the corner of his eye, Casey saw Al’s eyebrows go up. Undoubtedly thinking the same thing he was. Marcie Valentine had definitely lied about when she left on her run. More important, it appeared that so had everyone else.

  The question was why.

  “You’re sure about the times when you saw each woman run past?”

  “Positive,” the old man said. “First Trudy, then Marcie. Of course, I’m basing this on my coffee timer. You can look if you want.”

  Al said, “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I’ll check,” Al said.

  Casey asked the man for his contact information then said, “So, as far as you know, Marcie normally runs at seven, sometimes with, sometimes without her neighbor, Trudy?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But the morning Trudy was killed?”

  “First Trudy ran by a little after seven, then Marcie a minute or two after. Yep. Unless my timer’s not set right. But it is.”

  Al walked out of the kitchen. “Thank you, Mr. Layton. We appreciate your time.”

  At the car, Casey asked, “What’d you see?”

  “A timer with a 7:00 a.m. setting, and a clock that matches the time on my phone.”

  “So what do you think accounts for the discrepancy in what everyone’s telling us?”

  “Not sure. But I’d say it’s high time we found out.”

  “We’ve talked to Marcie twice. Let’s hope three’s the charm…”

  SEVENTEEN

  Marcie sat on the couch, her feet curled beneath her, ignoring the ringing telephone, deciding it best to wait until the answering machine clicked on. She’d had two hang-up calls this morning so far. She started pacing the room, telling herself that after finding the back door open yesterday morning, the calls might be related. Then again, maybe Devin had the alarm and cameras installed just to humor her.

  The sound of a car engine out front caught her attention, and she moved to the window, parting the curtain slightly. A white Acura sedan pulled up and parked in front of her house, the glare from the morning sun glinting off the car’s windows. The Salvatoris’ real estate agent, a slightly overweight, brunette-haired woman, exited the vehicle, her impeccable black dress accentuating curves that Devin would have described as voluptuous. Keys in hand, the woman made a beeline toward the Salvatoris’, and Marcie wondered if she’d only just heard about Trudy’s murder.

  Curious, she walked to the front door, opened it slightly, listening as the woman knocked.

  “Bev…” Tony said to the woman.

  “My God. I just got back to town. What happened?”

  “I—I don’t know,” he replied. And then the sound of his front door closing.

  Marcie stood there a moment, but after hearing nothing more, returned to the couch, eyeing the real estate agent’s car through the window. It seemed odd that she would show up after a murder. Close friends or family, sure. In fact, Tony’s house had been a revolving door since Trudy’s death. But a real estate agent?

  Trudy had said something about not liking the woman during one of their runs. But Tony had insisted on this particular agent, Bev Farland, even after Trudy had voiced her disapproval. Marcie had assumed it was more of a personality thing with Trudy, especially after the whole can-we-cut-down-the-trees thing.

  This, though…Showing up now? Just odd, she thought.

  Unless, of course, Bev Farland was worried that she was about to lose a sale due to the death of her client’s wife.

  To satisfy her own curiosity, Marcie padded into the kitchen, peering through the blinds straight into the Salvatoris’ kitchen. Her patience paid off when after a minute or so, she saw the two walk in. Something akin to guilt swept through her at the spying, and she almost turned away. Then again, considering all that that had happened, this was the least of her transgressions. A moment later she saw Bev reaching out, touching Tony’s shoulder, almost caressing it. He stepped back, his expression turning hard.

  If only she could read lips—

  A sharp knock at her front door startled her. Heart beating, she stepped back from the window, feeling as though someone had caught her in the act.

  Act of what? Looking through the window at the neighbor?

  Go to the door, answer it. That’s all
you need to do.

  When she put her eye to the peephole, she recognized the two police sergeants from the other morning. Forcing herself to take a breath, appear calm, she unlocked the door and opened it.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, wondering if that sounded as idiotic to them as it did to her.

  The younger of the two answered. “We’re hoping you can answer a few more questions.”

  She didn’t move. “Of course.”

  “May we come in?” he asked.

  The older sergeant smiled as he removed his hat, and for some reason she thought of a wolf in sheep’s clothing when she looked at him. Al Krug, she recalled, and decided he was the dangerous one. Just as he had that first morning, he let the younger one do all the talking, something about trying to clarify a few things, while Krug remained in the background, his smile in place, so unassuming…

  She moved aside, letting the two in, then closed the door behind them. They stood in the center of her living room, and she thought about inviting them into the kitchen then decided against it. They’d be able to see right into Trudy’s house, or rather see that Marcie could see right in, and at the moment she wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with the questions that might bring. “Have a seat, please.”

  Sergeant Krug walked over to the fireplace, his focus on the photos on the mantel, while the other one—what was his name? Casey Kellog—took a seat at one end of the couch, leaving a spot for her at the other.

  She smiled benignly as she sat. “What sort of questions?”

  Sergeant Kellog opened his notebook, lifted a page filled with notes. “Do you and Trudy tend to run the same route each day?”

  “Usually,” she said, trying to recall what she had told them that first day. “Why?”

  “Just trying to figure out which route Trudy might have taken…”

  “Route?”

  “When she went running that morning. Would you happen to know?”

  “Only what we usually take when we’re together. I wasn’t with her that morning, so I couldn’t say.”

  The older inspector smiled again, his eyes kind, at least at first glance. She looked away and tried to focus on the younger one, who was pulling a sheet of paper from his notebook. A computer printout of a map. “Is it possible to show us?” he asked, holding the paper toward her. “Which way she went?”

  She placed it on her lap. “This way,” she said, tracing her finger down her street, around the corner, down Lincoln on toward the Presidio trail.

  And suddenly the older man was next to her, his gaze meeting hers, his smile so sincere on the surface as he handed her a pen. “Could you mark it for us? The route you think Trudy ran?”

  She nodded, took the pen from him, her hand shaking slightly as she drew the route with the blue ink.

  He retreated back to the hearth, smile intact.

  Crocodile smile, she decided. Right before he opened his mouth and pulled you down to the bottom of the river.

  “…Mrs. Valentine?”

  It was a moment before she realized that Sergeant Kellog was waiting for some sort of response from her. Realizing she had no idea what he wanted, she said, “I’m sorry. I—I’ve been like this all day. Ever since that morning. What was it you wanted to know?”

  “If that’s the same route you took?”

  “The same route?”

  “On the map. Did you and Trudy run the same route, or did you take a different one?”

  “The same. Wait. I’m sorry. This is the route I took. Since Trudy and I weren’t together, I can’t answer for her, but it’s the one we always took when we were together.”

  “And the one you took that morning?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What time did you leave again?”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear then wondered if that would look like a stalling tactic. Just thinking about it made her nervous, and she realized she needed to calm down. She was just a witness. “Seven?” She shrugged. “I didn’t really pay attention.”

  “Your husband thought it was at seven.”

  “Then it probably was.” Marcie smiled. “He usually pays attention to those sorts of things.”

  He wrote something down in his notebook. “Are you a fast runner?”

  “Normal, I guess. Some days faster than others.”

  “That day?”

  “I wasn’t in any hurry.”

  “About how long would you say it takes to get to the point where you found Mrs. Salvatori?”

  “Um, forty minutes or so? Why are you asking this?”

  “Just trying to re-create your neighbor’s last steps.” He looked at his notes, checking off something she couldn’t see. “Notice anyone in the neighborhood that morning who didn’t belong?”

  She chewed at her nail. “Not really…”

  “Not really? What does that mean?”

  And what could she say without admitting that she was lying?

  “I mean, just…I think someone might have come into my house the other night.” There. She said it. Her heart beat a little faster as she waited for a reaction. When there was none, she added, “Don’t you find that odd?”

  The younger man looked up from his notebook. “Perhaps you should explain, Mrs. Valentine.”

  “I’m not sure what to think. I—My husband had an alarm installed.” The two men glanced at each other but said nothing, and so she continued. “The night of the murder, he heard a noise, and the next morning, the back door was open. There’ve been other things, too.”

  “Like what?”

  “Little things. Like someone’s going through my purse. And then the calls started today. I can hear someone on the other end. Most of the time they don’t say anything.”

  “Most of the time?”

  “Sometimes it’s just something to make me think they’re watching me. Like I’m being stalked.”

  He proceeded to ask a number of other questions. Any other time in the past when she saw anyone that didn’t belong in the neighborhood? Did Trudy complain about being followed? Did she have any concerns about her coworkers? Husband? Other friends? Anything at all that she could add?

  There was not. Marcie couldn’t even think straight at that point.

  Finally, Sergeant Kellog closed his notebook. “That’s about it.”

  Thank God, she thought, exhausted from the entire interview, feeling nothing but relief when she opened the door and waited for them to leave.

  The two investigators stepped out, and she was just closing the door when the older one turned, saying, “There is one thing I’ve been wondering about.” He smiled that crocodile smile. “You say you left at seven?”

  “I guess.”

  “And Trudy’s husband said she left about five minutes later?”

  “I didn’t see her leave her house.”

  “You haven’t talked to him yet?”

  “Tony? No. I…” A deep sense of guilt swept over her. She should have gone over when she heard him come home. The thought of facing him, though, was more than she could bear. “No.”

  “Assuming they’re both accurate, that would mean you left before Trudy did.”

  She waited.

  “You see,” the older man said. “That’s what’s stumping me, Mrs. Valentine. If you left before your friend, how is it you got there after her?”

  It was everything she could do to stand there and appear calm, and she didn’t dare let go of the doorknob, in case they saw her hand shaking.

  They knew. Knew she was lying.

  And that meant that everything that came out of her mouth would be suspect. She’d seen enough TV cases to know how they could twist what she’d said, use it against her. Not about to let that happen, she smiled at both men then gave the slightest of shrugs. “I have no idea, sergeant. Maybe some
one made a mistake?”

  He nodded slightly. “Maybe. But if anything comes to mind, anything at all, give us a call.”

  “I will.” She closed and locked the door, her heart thudding as she hurried to the kitchen and found her cell phone on the counter. She accessed the texts, then erased everything on the screen from the day Trudy was killed.

  EIGHTEEN

  “What do you make of that?” Al asked, nodding toward the real estate agent’s car still parked out front as they crossed the street toward their own vehicle. “Visiting the bereaved to make sure the sale’s still going through?”

  Casey eyed the magnetic signs on the car advertising Bev Farland Real Estate. “Is this where you tell me that we need to interview her because the defense for the Strangler suspect will use it against us if we don’t? Well, assuming our dead guy is not the Strangler.”

  “Your case, College Boy. What do you think?”

  Casey didn’t need to think about it at all, since it was a common tactic in defense strategies. Besides, his suspect was dead. Which made him wonder what sort of information the real estate agent could offer beyond what they already knew.

  The front door opened and a brunette woman stepped out, tissue in one hand, dabbing at tears.

  Casey crossed the street as the woman approached her car. “Ms. Farland? San Francisco PD. You have a moment?” he asked, holding his coat open so she could see the star on his belt.

  Her face turned bright red as she looked from him to Al and back.

  Definitely not the reaction Casey expected. “Sorry if we startled you,” he said. “I’m Sergeant Kellog, and this is my partner, Sergeant Krug. We have just a few questions.”

  She glanced back at Trudy’s house, then nodded at Casey. “I wasn’t even in town on the day of the murder. I—I don’t know what I can tell you. Can we do this another day?”

  “It’ll just take a few minutes,” Casey replied. “Why don’t you follow us to the—”

  “Here is fine,” she said, stepping up onto the sidewalk, then crossing her arms. “I have appointments all day.”

  She’d closed herself off to him in a matter of seconds.