Tony decided to place the note and envelope in an evidence bag. The moment he decided to take a shortcut or disregard something someone said or did, it was bound to come back and bite him. He took his time, filling out the form, making all the proper notes.
He was about to go chat with Kenny when his desk telephone rang.
“Did you recover the fly rod?” The question had no preamble, no greeting or identification. If it weren’t for caller ID, Tony would have been at a total loss. He wondered what she had told Ruth Ann to bypass normal protocol and have the call forwarded to him. Mrs. Cashdollar’s cultured voice was barely above a whisper.
Tony wondered where she was calling from. “Yes.” He peeked through the open door and saw Ruth Ann, at her desk, a stunned expression on her face. Clearly Mrs. Cashdollar was an expert at getting her way.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Mrs. Cashdollar spoke more loudly. “I was afraid it was lost forever.”
“Is there something special about it, other than the fact it belonged to your late husband?” Tony was not a fisherman, so to him it had looked like any other piece of angling equipment.
“It is very valuable and of course, Franklin loved it dearly. I thought I might put it in his coffin with him.”
“When you say ‘valuable’ . . . ?” It didn’t matter to Tony, but he did like to have all of the information in his notes. “What is it worth?”
“As I recall, I paid about eight thousand for the rod and reel. It was an anniversary present.”
Eighty dollars would have seemed high to Tony, eight hundred amazing, eight thousand made him ask her to repeat the number. He must have gasped because she began to explain.
“Well, the rod is special bamboo and handmade, very rare.” She went on, “The reel is exquisite workmanship, much like a Swiss watch.”
Tony’s slow brain finally connected the dots. In Theo’s world, it would be the difference between a utility quilt and a work of art—still a quilt. Or, in his world, the difference between a “Saturday night special” and a precision sniper’s weapon—both firearms. There were clearly various qualities of fishing poles for the enthusiasts.
“We have it locked up until the circumstances around his death are cleared up and the body is released.”
“And when will that be?” The widow’s voice indicated her lack of patience. She didn’t wait for an answer but murmured “you dolt” and hung up.
“Sheriff? I’ve got an update on your skydiver.”
Tony thought the pathologist in Knoxville must have bellowed into the speaker phone in his office. The voice coming through his own telephone’s receiver almost deafened Tony, making him wonder why the man needed a telephone at all. Tony was grateful his receiver hadn’t been pressed against his ear but only halfway between the phone’s cradle and his head.
“Yes, sir?” Tony moved the device even farther away from his ear before the man nicknamed Dr. Death rendered him deaf. “What have you learned so far?”
“Well, to start with, falling to the ground from that distance broke lots of bones, chipped some, and man, oh man, those vertebrae are one big mess. Actually, to be technically accurate, it wasn’t the fall that broke him up but the landing.” Dr. Death wheezed into the phone, laughing at his own joke. “No one’s putting that spine together without lots of time and good tweezers.”
Tony could imagine the truth of the doctor’s statement. The front of the corpse had fared better. “Start with the time of death.”
“Weeeel, with the weather and all, I’d say sometime between nine thirty and ten thirty in the morning.”
“Was he dead before or after the drop?” Tony stared at the growing pile of files around his desk. Something had to be done about the mess.
“Oh, well . . .” Dr. Death sounded a little disappointed when he realized Tony wasn’t in the mood to chitchat. “Back to the gory bits. Mr. Cashdollar might have been alive when he landed but had quite a cocktail of substances in his system. It will be a few days before we know what all of them were. I doubt he knew he was in an airplane, much less that he came out of said airplane. If he was alive when he hit the ground, I sincerely doubt he felt the landing.”
“And, if he was alive, can you give me any idea how long he continued to live after his landing?” Tony found the whole scenario way beyond suspicious. But how obvious was throwing a man from a plane? Who, other than the pilot could have been involved? “I’ve been told various times when he fell, everything from early morning to four in the afternoon.” The time differences were playing havoc in his case. What was the truth, and why was it so hard to learn?
“No way.” Dr. Death actually laughed, a grim reaper braying like a donkey. “The facts don’t lie. Considering he was dead for a while when you collected him, and the doctor took the initial liver temperature, even if he maybe lived a bit before expiring, your guy had to hit the ground no later than the middle of the morning, as I said. Maybe as early as nine thirty, maybe ten, at the latest ten thirty, for him to be dead at the right time. No way was it after noon.” Dr. Death sounded like he was giving a classroom speech. “Science, Sheriff, can only be juggled a little bit.”
“And the drugs you found in his system, would any of them make him think he was a bird?” Tony had jumped from a plane, one time. He had been wearing a parachute but hadn’t exactly felt like a bird, more like a package falling from a runaway truck.
“Maybe.” Dr. Death was not going to offer any guesses. “Like I said, I’ll know more when the entire chemical analysis is done. We are going to run the full panel and will know any number of facts, but it’s not fast and it’s not cheap.”
Tony thought he ought to go back over the mountains and have a little chitchat with the North Carolina group; he wasn’t sure he could call them suspects. Yet. The body of Franklin Cashdollar might have been dropped off in his fair county, but every sign and bit of information screamed that Park County was merely used for the body dump.
It made him angry.
He told Ruth Ann and Theo where he was going, grabbed Wade, and left the state.
“Have you spoken with Joyce’s fiancé?” Sergeant Dupont, their North Carolina liaison, stacked a file under his desk.
Tony was thinking it didn’t look much tidier than his own office but one word caught his full attention. “A fiancé?” News that the second Mrs. Cashdollar had a fiancé came as a shock to Tony. When he’d interviewed Joyce, she had been rabid about the sanctity of the marriage vows she’d taken with Franklin, declaring there was no such thing as a valid divorce. Although she had perked up at hearing of his demise. Fast work. “That’s a most interesting bit of information.”
Wade sat forward on his chair. “Any idea who she’s engaged to?”
“Mark Usher. He’s a stockbroker downtown.” Dupont looked surprised at their interest. “Why?”
“And you know him?” Tony jotted down a note.
“Yes. The man is not a bad basketball player. We have a city recreation league. I’m on the department team, but we’ve played against his team for years. Not a lot of turnover, you know. New guys come in, but the old guard is still on the bench.”
“And she was introduced as his fiancée?”
“Yep, just a few weeks ago. The wife and I ran into them at a restaurant. Joyce seemed pretty lovey-dovey with the guy. And she was wearing a large diamond ring.” Dupont made a circle with his thumb and index finger to indicate a very large rock. “Big.”
In his mind, Tony could practically see the little sign over Joyce’s head that read “Investigate Here.” He was sure he would have noticed such a ring if she’d been wearing it at her office. Evidently she wasn’t prepared to make a general announcement. He couldn’t help but wonder if the fiancé knew his bride-to-be’s attitude about divorce. How badly did he want to marry this woman? Or how badly did she want to marry him? Was divorce worse than murder?
It didn’t take long for Tony and Wade to track down the stockbroker. Tony handed the receptioni
st one of his cards and asked if Mr. Usher would be able to chat with him for a few moments about a professional matter.
Obligingly, and with an expression of total curiosity, the middle-aged woman headed away from her desk. A few minutes later, she returned and led them down the hall.
Mark Usher sat at a reasonably clean desk, his fingers flying across the computer keyboard. The receptionist had announced them and vanished again.
“Just one moment please.” Usher finished his keyboard work and then stood to shake hands. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
Tony and Wade settled into the comfortable upholstered chairs facing the desk. “We’re just trying to get all the t’s crossed in an investigation.”
Usher nodded, looking a bit confused but alert. “And how can I help a Tennessee investigation? You do understand, I’ll need a warrant to discuss any of my clients’ portfolios.”
“It’s not about your business. It’s more personal. You see, we’re trying to clear up a few loose ends in a case.” Tony paused. “Do you know a Joyce Cashdollar?”
“Sure.” A wide grin split his otherwise unremarkable face. “We’re engaged.”
Feigning surprise, Tony leaned over the desk, offering his hand. “Well, congratulations! When’s the wedding?”
Still smiling, Usher shook the proffered hand. “Well, that has not been announced yet because Joyce hasn’t picked the day. Yet.” The grin was replaced with a more somber expression. “She says she needs to work out a couple of small details before we set the date.”
Tony couldn’t help but wonder if having a living spouse, albeit a divorced one, was a small detail to Joyce and Usher. “Such as?”
Usher rested his hands on the desktop. “Frankly, I’m not sure I understand it all. One time, she said she needed to clear up her relationship with her ex-husband. It sounded like she wanted to have him agree to an annulment.” The expression on his face echoed his evident confusion.
“She’s married?” Tony could play the dumb hick sheriff. “Pretty brazen having a husband and a fiancé, don’t you think?”
“No. No. No. She’s divorced.” Usher rolled his desk chair backwards and surged to his feet. “I won’t stand for one more person coming in here and accusing me of having a relationship with a married woman. It’s just not true.”
“One more?” Tony leaned back in his chair. He sensed he had pushed the right button and was very careful not to smile. “Who else has been here?”
“Her father.” Usher exhaled sharply. “The man is pushing eighty, but he’s as tough as nails and has an opinion about everything. He doesn’t believe divorce exists and doesn’t care whose feelings he tramples.” Usher turned away and exhaled sharply. For a moment he was silent as he clearly forced himself to regain his self-control. “Joyce has tried to defy him, but so far she always surrenders. The man has got one of those hellfire and brimstone voices.” Usher turned back and met Tony’s gaze. His whole body slumped in a gesture of defeat. “I can’t fault her. I’m not strong enough to defy him either.”
“Have you got his name and address?” Tony thought he’d be remiss if he didn’t follow a lead like this one; it all but had a neon sign flashing overhead.
“Yes.” Usher opened his desk drawer and pulled out a handmade business card, handing it to Tony, “I do need it back.”
“Not a problem.” Tony transferred the information into his notebook—name, address, and telephone number. “Mr. Wilson doesn’t live with his daughter?” Tony was only surprised because he sounded like the kind of man who wouldn’t allow a female relative to live alone.
“No. I do know they discussed it, and I think deep down she’s afraid to defy him, but her apartment is small and since there isn’t enough room, he lets her be. Plus, the old tyrant lives with her older sister, Mary Elizabeth”
“Sounds like one big happy group.”
Not catching Tony’s sarcasm, Usher shook his head. “No. Not really.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Well, who thinks it will be fun to talk to Joyce Cashdollar’s father?” Tony stood on the sidewalk near Wade’s vehicle.
Neither Wade nor Dupont raised a hand. Tony wasn’t looking forward to it either.
Dupont said, “He sounds like a tyrant.”
Wade nodded. “A man who likes to control women is not necessarily prepared to take on a man, especially a well-trained soldier like Franklin.”
“So true.” Tony thought the father sounded like a bully. “But what if he thought Franklin’s death would be doing his daughter a favor? Make her a widow so he could approve of her marrying again.”
“That’s pretty twisted. Divorce is worse than murder?” Wade shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, whether it makes sense or not, let’s go meet the man.” Tony had stopped expecting things to make sense when, as a child, and only after being dared by his two older brothers, he’d climbed onto the roof and tried coming down the chimney like Santa Claus. He’d gotten stuck in the chimney and earned the wrath of his parents for the damage he’d done. “I’m not as easy to fool as I used to be.”
The address of Joyce Cashdollar’s sister turned out to be a simple home in a small subdivision. As far as Tony could tell the homeowners had been given a choice of three styles. A small single-level, a boxy two-story, or half of a duplex. Mr. Wilson and his older daughter shared a single-level house.
The three men gathered on the stoop and Wade rang the doorbell. Sounds of loud voices and thumping made Tony wonder if it was something on the television or if the inhabitants were moving furniture.
A moment later, a woman who had to be Joyce’s sister, opened the door. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of three uniformed men standing on the stoop. Tony smiled. “Are you Mary Elizabeth, Joyce Cashdollar’s sister?”
“Yes.” Mary Elizabeth shared her sister Joyce’s hairstyle but wore no makeup and was simply dressed in baggy jeans and an ancient black sweatshirt. It was covered with big spots that looked like bleach had splashed on it.
Tony introduced himself and his companions. “May we come in and chat with you and your father?”
The woman’s eyes flickered to her left, toward someone out of their view. A moment later she opened the door wider. “Please come in.” Her voice was soft but melodic, and her smile was pleasant.
The open kitchen and living space were warm and inviting. Tony felt surprise when the old man rose from his recliner and reached out and politely shook hands with each of the men.
“Officers?” He waved to the sofa and nearby chairs. “Won’t you sit?”
He settled back in to his recliner. “Mary Elizabeth! Get these gentlemen some refreshments.”
Tony shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”
Mary Elizabeth laughed. “I’ll get your tea, Dad. Maybe the others will have a cookie.”
Whatever Tony had been expecting after his conversation with Usher, it wasn’t this. He hadn’t had time to think much about it, but had not envisioned a warm welcome and fresh cookies. Mary Elizabeth looked tired but not obviously downtrodden.
Appearances were very often deceiving. He didn’t relax his guard.
Chewing a warm cookie, Tony wondered if they had been warned to expect visitors. It would have taken Usher less than thirty seconds to call Joyce and about that long for her to call her father or sister. In the twenty minutes the men needed for the drive over, Joyce and Mr. Wilson could have rearranged the furniture and popped some frozen cookie dough into the oven to carefully stage this happy family display.
“I suppose you’ve heard about the accident involving Franklin Cashdollar.” Tony didn’t see any reason to beat about the bush. “I understand your daughter and Franklin were married for a few years.”
“They still are. Married once is married forever.” Mr. Wilson straightened in his chair. His chin jutted out like a belligerent two-year-old’s, and then he relaxed and leaned back again. “Well, I guess if he’s passed on
, they aren’t married now.”
Tony wasn’t going to debate the issue. There was a part of him that wondered if the old man had found a way to make his daughter a widow, but he couldn’t imagine how. “Can you tell me the last time you saw Franklin?”
The old man squinted like he was trying to improve his focus on Tony’s face. “It’s been a bit.”
Without any reason he could name, Tony knew the old man was lying through his dentures. “I had hoped you might have seen him in the past few days.”
“That so?” Mr. Wilson leaned back in his chair, a man of leisure. “Now, why is that?”
“I’d like to get as much information about his state of mind and any problems he might have mentioned.”
“You think he kilt himself?”
Tony wasn’t about to answer the question. He was there to obtain information, not to give it away. “Why, do you?”
“Didn’t seem like he’d be likely to. Maybe he was feeling some well-deserved guilt about cheating on my daughter.” Mr. Wilson grabbed two more cookies from the plate. “Now he’s burning in hell most likely.” He seemed cheered by the idea.
“Anything else you know of that might have been bothering him?” Tony doubted the man had any information, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “You know, like problems with his health or maybe he had some other concerns. Maybe even if there was something he wouldn’t talk about.”
“He wouldn’t talk about his time in the Army.” Mr. Wilson stuffed a whole cookie into his mouth. “I tried to get him to open up, but he was tighter than a tick about it.”
“That’s not unusual.” Tony knew veterans who couldn’t stop talking about war and others who never talked about it. “Anything else?”
“Nope.” Another cookie vanished, emptying the plate. “Mary Elizabeth. Show these men to the door.”
“Say there, Sheriff Abernathy, I believe we’ve located Franklin Cashdollar’s missing cell phone, but not the car.” The call came from the local sheriff’s office to Sergeant Dupont’s phone, and Dupont had put the call on speaker so they could all hear.
Murder by Gravity Page 12