by Blair Howard
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She looked over my shoulder.
I turned and looked, too. Stephanie Sattler was coming down the stairs.
“They have more questions for us,” Gloria said, then looked at Kate. “Who goes first?”
“If you don’t mind,” Kate said. “Mr. Starke will talk to your daughter while you and I have a chat. Is that okay?”
She sighed. “Whatever. Steph, why don’t you take him into the den? I can’t be bothered to get up.”
She nodded. “Please, come with me, Mr. Starke.”
This time, she wasn’t quite so lovely. Her eyes were red, and she looked as if she’d been crying, nervous. She was wearing jeans, a tank top, and slippers. She led me through the foyer and down two steps into a comfortable, though cluttered, family room. She sat down on the sofa; I sat on the edge of the seat of a huge, leather easy chair. There was a heavy, tile-top coffee table between us.
“If you don’t mind, Miss Sattler, I need to record this conversation.” I set my small digital recorder on the table and looked at her.
“I don’t mind. So, what would you like to know, Mr. Starke?”
“First, I’d like to ask you about the day your father died. Did you have occasion to visit him that day?” She quickly raised her hand to her mouth, and then put it down again. There was a slight flicker of her right eye, but she answered immediately.
“Yes, I went over that morning for coffee, and I dropped by after lunch on my way back from town. He had company so I didn’t go in. I didn’t see him again.”
“Look, Miss Sattler....”
“Please, call me Stephanie.”
“Right. Look, Stephanie, there’s no easy way for me to do this, but I need to talk to you about your father.”
“Okay. Go ahead.”
“What, exactly, was your relationship with him like?”
“Like? He was my dad. What do you think it was like? I loved him. He loved me.”
I stared at her, leaned back in the chair. I almost disappeared; it was so big and deep. She smiled. I sat up again.
“Yes, I’m sure you did, and I’m sure he did, too, but how well did you get along with him?”
“Mr. Starke. You asked that question the first time you were here. I told you then that my sisters and I loved our father and got along well with him. There’s nothing I can add to that. He was our... dad.”
Okay, this is going nowhere. Let’s try a little shock and awe.
Stephanie,” I said, quietly. “I know about the charges that were brought against him during the divorce proceedings, for child abuse. Would you like to tell me about that?”
Her face went white. She swallowed, blinked rapidly, looked away, and then back again. Her eyes were watering.
“You bastard. How dare you? How dare you besmirch my father’s good name? My dad was a good man. He never laid a finger on me, on any of us.”
“So why were the charges brought against him?”
“No charges were ever brought against him. That was my bitch of a mother. She threatened him. Had her goddamn lawyers threaten him. She screwed him out of almost everything he owned. Said she would expose him, that he sexually abused me.”
“Did he? Did he abuse you?”
“Hell, no, you asshole. I told you he loved me.”
“How about your sisters?”
I thought she was going to come across the table at me, but she didn’t. She shook her head. Her eyes were watering; a tear ran down her cheek. She sat there, trembling, her hands twisting together in her lap. She looked away, unable to hold my stare. I wasn’t sure. If it was an act, it was a good one, but there was something….
“Stephanie. You can tell–”
I didn’t get the chance to finish. She jumped to her feet and ran from the room. I sighed, picked up the recorder, turned it off, and went back to the kitchen. Kate was just wrapping up her interview with Gloria, who looked angry. We said goodbye to her. Stephanie was nowhere to be seen.
“So,” Kate said when we were back in the car. “I wonder if you got any more out of Stephanie than I got out of her mother, which was nothing.”
“I didn’t get a whole lot either. Stephanie is very sensitive about the sexual abuse thing. She became very upset when I brought it up; stormed out of the room at the end. I do believe that it might be a case of. ‘she doth protest too much.’ I can understand her being upset, but to fly off the handle like that... well, it could all have been an act. How about her mother?”
“From what you’ve just told me,” she said, “I think it was more of the same. I thought she was going to slap me when I asked if he’d been abusing Stephanie. If something was going on, and I think it probably was, Gloria knew about it, and she did nothing to stop it.”
“Well, that’s typical. It happens all the time. The child complains to the mother. The mother goes into denial, and the child continues to be abused until she grows too old. Hell, it’s not unusual under such circumstances for the child to fall in love with the father, and then suffer all of the rejection and jealousy any other lover experiences when she gets dumped. If that’s the case, and Stephanie did kill him, there could be all kinds of defenses, including justifiable homicide, insanity, you name it.”
“Yeah, I suppose so,” she said, thoughtfully
“What makes you think the mother knew what was going on?” I asked.
“She’s a liar, that’s why. Oh, I can’t pinpoint any one thing, but you and that fancy degree of yours know what I’m talking about. It’s a look, a twitch of the mouth, body language; she kept playing with her hair and looking away as she answered the questions. She’s a liar. I think that at some time in the past Tom Sattler was indeed abusing Stephanie. Now what the result of it all might be, I have no idea. What I do know is that it gives both of them a strong motive.”
I nodded. “That and the estate. Stephanie was of the opinion that, as Sattler’s next of kin, she and her sisters will split it. If that’s true, we’re talking millions of dollars. Tom was very good at what he did, and he had ten years after the divorce to rebuild his wealth.”
“I wonder what Gloria thinks about that,” Kate said, thoughtfully. “About all that money going to the kids. Oh, and by the way, I forgot to tell you. Richard Hollins is in the clear. He was out with three of his pals. Lonnie interviewed all four of them. Hollins said he got home just after midnight. His buddies backed that up. His alibi is good and tight.”
“Yeah, well. Somehow I never really figured him for it.”
I looked at my watch. It was after five. The weekend was upon us. I was tired, thirsty, and hungry.
“You want to go eat?” I said.
She shook her head. “I’d like to, but I can’t. Raincheck? I’ll take you back to your car. I have to go to the office, and I don’t want to be there all night.”
Just like that, huh? No explanation, no.... Ah, screw it.
She dropped me off at my car, and I headed for the Sorbonne.
Geez, even Benny Hinkle is better than no company at all.
Chapter 30
I don’t usually work on weekends, but with the state of the Sattler investigation, I made an exception. More than that, though, I had a bug up my ass, so I called Kate and arranged for her to meet me at the office.
“Kate, there’s something’s been bugging me for days, about Sattler’s murder. That second shot from the murder weapon. We never found it, and we haven’t given it much thought; and then there’s the hair. What about that?”
“Oh you can forget about the hair. It’s no help at all. It was Stephanie’s, and there’s no reason why it shouldn’t have been there. She was in and out of the house almost daily and forever. The second shot, though... I must admit, it’s not even crossed my mind this last week or so. Does it really have any significance, now we know he was murdered?”
“I don’t know. It might. I’d like to find it. If not, I’d at least like to figure out what happened to it. Somebody went to a whole hell
of a lot of trouble to hide it, make it look like suicide. That must mean something, right?”
“I suppose. It’s not going to tell us who did it, though.... Is it?”
“Kate, there are two things I think we need to know. One is what happened to that second shot, the other is how the hell the money was transferred using Sattler’s laptop... unless.... Kate, you don’t suppose we’re on the wrong track, do you? That Sattler did it himself?”
“What? Transfer the money? He... yes, he could have. We’ve assumed all along that he didn’t, just because he was killed, but that could have been the reason why he was killed.”
“Okay, so let’s for a minute assume that he stole the money. That brings up a whole new set of questions, the most important of which is, why? And if that is indeed the case,” I mused, “then who can we eliminate?”
“The family?” Kate said. “No, I don’t thinks so. Hollins is out anyway. He has an ironclad alibi. Brewer? Maybe, but I never really liked either of those two for it anyway. That leaves the two surviving partners. It couldn’t have been De Luca, could it? So Steiner, Cassell, Gloria, or Stephanie....”
I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. She just sat with her elbows on her knees, and stared into her cup.
“Is that it?” I said.
“I don’t like Sattler for it, Harry. He’s worth millions, and he would have known that he couldn’t get away with it, and even if he did, why would anyone want to kill him and kiss the money goodbye, forever? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“So who do you like for it, Kate? If Sattler didn’t steal the money, we’re looking for two separate perps. Who do you think killed him?”
“I’m thinking Steiner. She could have done both: killed him and made the steal. We have only her word for her sexual encounter with Sattler. She has no alibi for the time of death. She was there earlier in the day, as late as five o’clock, so we know she was in town. As you said before, the cell phone records only tell us her phone wasn’t there. She could have pulled the chip and returned later, and she has the knowhow to make the transfer and... well, I just don’t like her. What about you? Who do you like for it?”
“You don’t like her? What the hell kind of thinking is that for an experienced detective?”
She laughed. “I’m a woman, right? Anyone who looks that good.... Okay, okay. So who?”
“I don’t like Steiner for it, or Cassell; he’s in too deep with De Luca. He would have been committing suicide by Sal. I’m thinking possibly Stephanie Sattler, but it’s a real stretch. The only alibi she has is her mother, and there’s something about the interviews that tells me that they, or at least she, are hiding something. Then there’s the alleged child abuse. If Sattler had been abusing her all these years, well.... That’s a huge motive. She also had the expertise to make the transfer, and... she had access to his codes. Maybe she’s not such a long shot after all.”
“Dammit, Harry. He was her father. She loved him.”
“True, well, she said she loved him... but it happens all the time, and for less. Look at what the Menendez brothers did to their parents, and that was just for money. Sexual abuse is something else again, and most juries would look sympathetically on it. Sure, she said she loved him, but did she?”
“Whew. Who the hell knows? Only her mother, I suppose, and that’s a dead end,” she said. “And what about her mother, Gloria? Any thoughts about her? Stephanie is her alibi, and that sexual abuse motive works both ways, for both of them. Hey, they could have done it together.”
“You’re right,” I said. “That one motive fits either one or both of them, and neither of them has an alibi, except for each other. Pity the boyfriend, Hollins, wasn’t home. Right now, I suppose Gloria’s as good a choice as any of the others. I dunno; I just don’t know.”
I looked at her, she seemed as mystified as I was. We were more than two weeks into this thing and neither one of us seemed to be any the wiser.
“Kate, let’s just suppose that the wire transfer has nothing to do with the murder, that Sattler did make it himself, and I don’t think he did. I don’t see that it would make anything any easier.”
“So what do we do, Sherlock? I need a solution to this mess and quickly.”
“We need to go back to the scene, see if we can figure out that second shot. It may help; it may not, but right now we have nowhere else to go, and we’ll never know unless we try.”
“Okay. When do you want to do it?”
I looked at my watch. It was almost noon.
“No time like the present, Kate. Tell you what. Let’s go see what we can find. We can grab lunch on the way and then, later this evening maybe, I’ll buy you dinner. Sound good?”
She looked at me skeptically. “You know, Harry... nah.”
“What? What were you going to say?”
“Well, I was thinking. I missed dinner with you the night I had to work, and you are a good cook....” She looked down at the table, blushing.
I reached over and took her hand. “You got it. What do you fancy?”
“Right now I fancy something I can’t have, at least not here. Now look. Don’t read anything into this. I still haven’t forgotten Olivia Hansen, and I know you’ve been screwing Amanda Cole. There’s also the senator to consider. My God, Harry, you do put yourself about. For now, let’s just plan on having a nice evening and let it go at that. Okay?” She took her hand away, leaned back in her chair, and smiled at me.
“Cool,” I said. “My car or yours?”
“Yours, of course. It’s nicer than my unmarked, and it’s also nice for someone else to do the driving for a change.”
Chapter 31
We stopped at Arby’s on the way and ordered roast beef sandwiches and iced tea to go. We arrived outside Tom Sattler’s home on Royal Mountain Drive at one o’clock in the afternoon. The crime scene tapes were still up, and someone had put sign-in sheets on both doors. We both signed, put on gloves and boot covers, and Kate unlocked the side door.
“Whoa,” I said, as a gust of hot, malodorous air hit us in the face. “What the hell is that about? Someone must have turned the air off.”
“Yeah.” Kate flipped the light switch just inside the door. “Someone must have turned everything off at the breaker box. That’s not good.”
The place stunk. Black fingerprint powder covered every surface.
Damn. I should’ve known better than to wear light-colored pants and shirt.
We made our way through the kitchen to the foyer and living room. The smell was worse in there. The bloodstained section of carpet had been removed, but the wooden particle board floor below was black and crawling with life. The blood had soaked the wood composite, putrefied, and the flies had taken full advantage of it. It might not have been so bad if the air had been left on. As it was... it was disgusting.
“Hell,” Kate said. “This is no fun.”
She was right. We looked around the room. The silence was almost palpable. It hung over everywhere like a pall of invisible fog.
“We know he didn’t use one of the cushions,” she said. “If he had, he would have had to have taken it with him, but they’re all there. You can see them in the photos on the piano.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s not screw around. Let’s get on with it. Come with me.”
I walked over to the bare patch of floor and stood at the right side of it, to the right side of where Tom’s head had been, the side from which he’d been shot.
“Come and stand behind me,” I said. “Okay. Good. He was lying here, facing the foyer. The killer had to have been where I am. So Tom is on his knees, and the killer fires one shot into the side of his head, like so.” I pointed my right index finger to indicate the direction.
“What if the killer was left-handed?”
“He wasn’t,” I said. “If he had been, the shot would probably have been even further back than it was, or he would have shot him in the other side of his head. So, from here, what do we
see?”
I looked at every inch of the room I could see from where I was standing. I shook my head. It has to be here somewhere. Come on, come, come on.... What the hell am I not seeing?
She leaned in close and looked over my right shoulder. I could smell her perfume. Nice, but distracting. I took a step away from her.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing. What do you see?”
“CSI checked all the walls, the woodwork, the ceiling, floor, nothing. He sure as hell didn’t shoot it out of the window. That would have meant dragging the body over there and back again. Sorry, Harry. That was a stupid thing to say.”
“Yeah.” I laughed. “It was. Hey....” I said, thoughtfully. “Come over here.”
I stepped over the bloodstained patch of floorboard and over to the bookshelf beside the fireplace.
“A book,” I said. “How about one of the books?”
She was nodding, her eyes wide open, excited.
“You take that one,” she said, pointing to the shelves to the right. “I’ll do the one to the left. Start as close to the where the body was as you can. He wouldn’t have reached far. Ignore the thin books; it would have to have been a thick one, like this one.” She dragged out a huge copy of War and Peace, scanned the cover, and put it back.
“Hey, wait,” I said. “We need to look inside. You never know.”
She grabbed it again and riffled through the pages. Nothing.
It didn’t take as long as I thought it would. In fact, I had pulled only a dozen or so books from the shelves when I found it. It was inside a copy of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. How appropriate. It was an expensive book, cloth bound. The killer had opened it, as I had thought he might, and not just the cover; he’d gone inside to page thirty-two. The small hole, surrounded by a scorch mark, was right in the center of the page. The slug was still in there, smashed almost beyond recognition. It had penetrated less than 100 pages.
“Here you go,” I said, showing it to Kate, and then handing it to her. “You need to get this over to forensics, have it processed. I don’t think the slug will do us any good, but you never know. We’ve got what we came for, now let’s get the hell out of here. The stink of this place is making me sick.”