“No. Someone wanted everyone to think it was Leroy, just like they wanted Alice to think Leroy left her a message, and that she erased it by accident. The message was a tape spliced out of recordings. The killer called when no one would answer the phone because they had no way to fake conversation.
Our killer knew that Cecilie swims at Twin Towers every morning and keeps her water bottle in her unlocked car. And they knew Leroy could never resist a woman who looked like Kat Dennings.”
Cecilie turned to Alice. “Who’s Kat Dennings?”
Alice shushed her.
“All that intimate knowledge pointed directly at you four.” Lia gestured, indicating the ladies of Fiber and Snark. “The big problem has always been that the person who killed Sarah also lifted her into the gun barrel without collecting the kind of trace evidence that would show if she had been dragged. It pointed to someone who was powerful enough to lift 150 pounds of dead weight and carry it more than a dozen feet. But none of you have that kind of strength.
“I called upon my panel of consultants.” Lia nodded at Bailey, who beamed. “After much deliberation, we realized Sarah climbed into the gun barrel—“
“What in Heaven’s name would make her do an idiot thing like that?” Debby said.
“After two glasses of wine, all it would take is a suggestion that it would be fun to ride in the barrel during the parade. Who wouldn’t want to try it out?” Alice said. “I thought about it. I imagine Sarah did, as well.”
Lia caught surprised looks passing between Peter and Brent. She hoped they were watching the crowd, because she kept forgetting.
“Half of us still aren’t strong enough to strangle someone, even if we conned them into disposing of their own body,” Cecilie said.
“Wait a minute, you think it was me or Alice?” Debby said.
“Not so fast,” Lia said. “I went back to the garage and tried to replay the scene in my head. Once Sarah was in the gun barrel, she drank more wine or was drugged. Then it would have been easy to strangle her without resistance. But to strangle someone, you have to continue the chokehold for several minutes.
“In addition to the impression of the slip lead on Sarah’s throat, there was a series of parallel lines forming a shape covering the left half of Sarah’s throat. The lines were in the spot where you would apply pressure with one hand while pulling the end of the leash with the other. I thought they could have been shoe tread, except the shape was too wide and the side was straight instead of curved.
“Did you know that the strongest muscles in a woman’s body are in the legs? The pattern of the bruises suggest that someone stepped on her neck while killing her. But, what if they put the loop around Sarah’s neck, sat in one of the folding chairs and braced one foot against her neck, shoving Sarah’s head and neck against the the inside top of the tube? The noose would be pinned in place with one foot while they pulled the leash with both hands. The position would still be fatiguing, which may have led to the killer releasing the hold before Sarah was dead.”
“It’s an interesting theory,” Alice said, “but it doesn’t prove it was any of us, even if you find Sarah’s DNA on that leash. She could have handled that leash any time. None of us have a motive.”
The cats in the next room resumed yowling for their dinner.
“If that’s all you have, we have cats to feed,” Debby said, rising from her chair.
“There’s more,” Lia said. “The footprint on Sarah’s neck was so odd, the coroner wasn’t convinced it was a shoe. Along with the blocky shape, it had a sole that was rounded on the bottom from front to back. Just like the boot Carol wore over her sprained ankle before she switched out to the lighter splint she’s wearing now.”
“That’s outrageous!” Carol bolted upright in her chair. “My ankle still hasn’t healed. I just resumed driving yesterday. I couldn’t even get to Jerry’s garage on my own, much less apply enough pressure to choke Sarah to death!
“Besides, I dropped the boot off at Saint Vincent de Paul with several boxes of old clothes the week before Sarah died.”
“Really? You were in an awful hurry to get rid of it. What if your foot took a turn for the worse?” Lia asked.
“Could someone have bought or stolen Carol’s boot?” asked Alice.
“There was a lot of money involved in arranging Leroy’s kidnapping, but you didn’t expect anyone to find that out, did you, Carol?” She turned to the group. “Who is in a better position than an accountant to siphon off funds?”
“The books were examined. They’re clean,” Debby insisted.
“You keep forgetting Carol’s sprain,” Cecilie said.
“There was no sprain,” Lia said.
Carol slapped the arm of her chair. “What are you talking about? You took me to the hospital! You saw my ankle! It was twice its size.”
“A neatly manufactured illusion. Once you became my prime suspect, I tried to research ways to fake a sprain that would pass with a doctor, and had no luck. Then I called Steve at the Homeless Association and asked him to poll some of his clients. Many of them have been in jail. No one is more creative than a prisoner in getting out of work details.”
“What did you find?” Peter asked.
“Inject 20 ccs of saline near the joint, and it will swell up immediately and last long enough to be seen by a doctor. Grab one of those broken half-bricks by the parking lot, hit yourself on the forehead and scrape yourself up a bit and it looks like you’ve had a bad fall.
“Your leg has been fine all along. You faked the sprain on your right ankle so you could pretend you were stuck at home because you couldn’t drive. No one would suspect you were behind everything that happened.”
“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing,” Carol sputtered.
“Where’s the proof, Lia?” Peter asked.
Lia withdrew a paper bag from her purse and held it in front of Carol. “It’s in here.
“I remembered seeing several hypodermic needles in the weeds when I picked up your things that night. When Steve told me how you could have faked your injury, I knew you would have done it on the spot. You’d want witnesses at the restaurant who could say your leg was fine before you headed for the parking lot.
“You injected yourself and tossed the syringes you used into the weeds. You left them in place because you did not want to be seen picking them up later. I went back down today and they were still there.”
Lia opened the bag and removed several used, weathered syringes and laid them on a side table.
“What do you want to bet at least one of them has Carol’s fingerprints and traces of saline?”
Carol leapt out of her chair, grabbing the bin of kibble and dumping it in the middle of the room. She yanked the pet gate, already loose, free from the doorway and tossed it down. The unleashed horde of famished cats poured into the room.
Carol dodged around the side of the melee, toppling cat trees and sending felines flying and clawing through the air. More cats jumped from the catwalks, eliciting shrieks as they landed on heads and in laps. Several collided with would-be pursuers. Debby repelled an airborne tabby attempting to claw her way to the safety of Debby’s shoulder, tossing it on Alice, who fell against Brent, who cursed as he tried to keep his balance and stop Alice from falling. He failed, toppling with Alice to the floor. They nearly disappeared under the tide of yowling, brawling cats converging on the mound of kibble.
Beyond the uproar, Carol ducked out the patio door.
Blocked by roiling felines, Peter ran out the front door and around the house. He met up with Brent and Leroy at the back alley. Brent’s arms were clawed and he was covered with fur.
“She must have parked back here,” Brent said. “I have no idea which way she went.”
“Damn. For a little old lady, she sure is fast,” Leroy said. “Are you going after her? I want to come.”
Peter and Brent looked at each other. Just as Peter was about to blurt out the standard, “No
civilians,” Brent said, “Someone needs to take care of the ladies.”
Peter and Brent ran around the house to the Explorer and hopped in. Brent called in a BOLO on Carol’s car while Peter tore around the block in a desperate attempt to head Carol off.
“Watch those corners,” Brent said. “Your flying detritus is going to stain my suit.” He picked up the sticky wrapper from a blueberry Pop Tart and shoved it into a crumpled paper bag lying in the foot well.
“It’s already got blood and cat hair on it.”
“That’s no reason to abuse it further.”
Peter rounded another corner on two wheels, taking him onto Spring Grove Avenue and directly into a construction zone.
“Damn.” He slammed the heel of his palm against the steering wheel.
“We could cut through the cemetery,” Brent suggested, nodding to the historic burial ground on their left.
“That’s a maze. We’ll get to the intersection faster if we just hold tight.”
Peter’s radio crackled with chatter, but none of it was about Carol.
They crawled to the light and turned onto Winton Road. Peter stomped on the gas, racing up the empty lane to a long hill.
“Where are we going?” Brent asked. “Don’t you think she’s headed for the airport?”
“She had enough of a jump on us that she would have made the highway already, if that’s where she was going. If it isn’t, I might be able to cut her off at Cross County and Hamilton.”
“Ah. I like knowing there’s logic in play. Here I thought you were tearing up your transmission for no good reason.”
Thirty minutes later, Peter and Brent returned to SCOOP to find nervous cats prowling behind the repaired pet gate. Bailey was a cheerful anomaly, scooping out litter pans while the shell-shocked ladies of Fiber and Snark picked kibble out of the carpet. Leroy and Linda huddled over her phone. Internet research? Facebook BOLOs? Lia sat alone on a sofa, head in her hands.
Peter sat down beside her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him so that her head rested on his chest.
“I made a mess of things, didn’t I?” She mumbled.
“You revealed confidential information from our investigation, possibly endangering any case we choose to make later; you confronted a killer outside of a controlled environment and without a plan to contain her; our killer is in the wind, and who knows how many man-hours it’s going to take to catch her. Please, please, tell me those syringes are not from the Clifton Merchant’s lot. I don’t want to add tampering with evidence to the list.”
Lia shook her head without looking at him. “Someone cleaned up all the trash. Steve knows where you can find discarded syringes. He got them for me.”
“Why didn’t you come to me with this?”
“I felt hurt and discounted last night. I wanted to make a point, and the point I wound up making is that I have no business messing with your cases.”
Peter used an index finger to skim the hair out of her eyes. Their green shimmered up at him and reminded him of the first time he’d seen her. Then she’d been a traumatized witness. She was wounded today, too, but he wasn’t sure he knew everything he’d done to cause the wound.
“You were brilliant,” he offered.
“Peter, I screwed up. She got away.”
“You figured it out. We could have done without the theatrics, but you identified the murder weapon, and discovered how Carol faked her sprain. You built a case.”
“A case with no proof. I thought if she were pressured in front of everyone, she would crack.”
“She did, just not in the way you expected. I wish you had turned everything over to us. We would have taken a second look at those accounts, gotten a warrant for the boot and the leash, and sweated her out in interview.”
“Why didn’t you stop me? You had to know what I was doing.”
Peter rubbed his temple. “I—uh—figured you’d fall on your face and make my point for me.”
“You got that right.”
“Not exactly. I haven’t been giving you enough credit, and I’m sorry.”
“Peter, it’s my fault she got away.”
“On the bright side, I was invited to the party this time, and for once no one was trying to kill you. Don’t worry about Carol. I don’t think she’ll get too far.”
Brent approached, followed by Alice, Cecilie and Debby.
“That was impressive. What do you do for an encore, Lia?” Debby asked.
Lia’s face remained impassive, but Peter knew she took the hit.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, now,” Brent said.
“All this time it’s been Carol. She’s known Sarah since they were children. I can’t believe she’d do such a thing,” Alice said.
“Then why did she run?” Cecilie said.
“Oh, I get that she did it. I just can’t believe she did it. I wish I knew why.”
“Ladies,” Peter said, “I know you’re in shock, but we have more important things to do. Right now, we have to figure out where she’s going.”
“How are we supposed to know what she’s thinking?” Cecilie asked. “We’ve obviously been clueless for years.”
“Who else would know how her mind works better than you?” Lia said. “She mentioned making suggestions for the books. Maybe you could start there.”
“More like, how Carol’s mind doesn’t work,” Debby said. “We had to keep a tight leash on her, she always wanted to jump the shark.”
“Jump the shark?” Brent frowned.
“A fatal case of going overboard.”
“What would her contingency plan be?” Brent asked.
“She doesn’t have time for plastic surgery,” Debby said. “I assume you’ve notified all the airports within two hundred miles?”
“She talked about bug-out bags, having everything you need to get out of the country stashed where she could get to it.” Alice said.
“Bus station locker?” Bailey suggested.
“Those lockers are on timers now,” Cecilie said. You can’t leave anything in them over 24 hours.”
“A coat check?” offered Steve.
“Too risky,” Debby said. “In Day of the Saguaro, Koi used a hotel luggage check to hide cash, fake papers, bank account numbers and the key to a car registered in her new identity that was parked in a public garage nearby. In the book, the bellman accidentally gives the bag to someone who owned an identical bag.”
“She’ll know you’ve already notified the airports,” Cecilie said.
“If she’s renting a spot in a garage, why wouldn’t she keep everything in her car?” Lia asked. “She could hide it easily enough.”
“Too easy,” Alice said. “I’m not sure where she’s going, but I bet she’ll have a white wig. She said the best way to disguise yourself is to look older, because no woman in her right mind would do that.”
“Where would she keep a car?” Peter asked.
“Storage unit!” Cecilie said, jumping up as if she meant to run out the door to catch Carol that very moment.
“The closest is on Spring Grove Avenue, just above Mitchell. It’s your best bet.” Debby said.
“Spring Lawn, behind the cemetery is closer.” Alice said.
“It will have a combination lock,” Cecilie added.
“Brent, with me,” Peter said. “Look up all the storage places within 5 miles and update the BOLO while I drive.”
“Any luck?” Lia asked when Peter dragged himself in three hours later.
He half-sat, half-fell onto Lia’s sofa. Viola jumped up beside him, sneering at Lia when she handed Peter a beer. He took a long swallow and exhaled noisily.
“We checked security tapes at the most likely storage units. Her car doesn’t show up.”
Lia folded her arms and looked away. “I’m so sorry. I really hoped you would find her.”
“Let’s not talk about it. Right now, I want to get back to the evening I thought I was going to have before
my girlfriend went off the rails.”
“Peter, I—“
“Shhhh. Let it go. It happened. My brain is too fried to think about it right now. Come over here and help me feel human for a while.”
18
Friday, July 15
It had worked. Elation threatened to bubble up like champagne frothing out of the bottle. Carol fought with a smile, which resulted in a sort of twitch. She fought it down as she closed her eyes and sank into her seat on the train.
She felt a light touch on her arm.
“More coffee, Mrs. Ashling?”
“Thank you, no.” Carol handed her cup to the attendant. She leaned back and shut her eyes. “I think I’ll take a nap now. It’s been a very busy morning.”
The moment Lia brought the leashes out, Carol began plotting her escape from SCOOP, hoping it wasn’t necessary. After all, many people had access to that closet. She’d still expected to walk out of the meeting. Lia had seen her sprained ankle and taken her to hospital. Who knew she’d suspect it was faked?
Thank heavens she’d spent an hour a day on her treadmill while she was supposedly disabled. It was that initial sprint that enabled her to get to her car before Leroy and Dourson could fight their way through the cats. By the time they were in pursuit, she was halfway to the rented garage where her contingency plan waited.
The worst moment had been stopping for gas on her way out of Cincinnati. Careless of Sarah, to drive around with the needle in the red. Nerves prickled Carol’s skin all over, as if she were standing naked in the middle of a football stadium filled to capacity. Surely everyone was watching her?
But why would they? She’d camouflaged Sarah’s car by removing the cat lady car magnets and covering the bumper stickers with such sentiments as “God, Guns and Guts Made America Great.” The plates were those of a bedridden client. The switch would probably not be discovered until the woman died.
She left Cincinnati wearing a white wig in an old fashioned style that softened her face. To further the impression of great age, she’d created a slight dowager’s hump by sewing a pad in her summer-weight blazer. Eyebrow pencil deepened the wrinkles on her face, which was then dusted with enough loose power to make anyone who came within three feet of her sneeze.
Muddy Mouth: A Dog Park Mystery Page 19