Shades of Deception

by Charlie Hudson

  Kevin was on the landing leading into the trailer, probably keeping watch for their arrival. He lifted his hand in acknowledgement and came down the steps. “Doc Cooper is on the way. He was up here for a breakfast meeting and got the call. Maria Castillo is inside with the daughter, and a Mrs. Edna Plummer, the neighbor who found Mrs. Sharpe.”

  Bev kept her voice low. “How old is the daughter?” Was she young and had run to a neighbor for help?

  “Just turned eighteen. She was out last night and apparently was concerned about her mother getting up in time for work. Couldn’t get her to answer the phone and she called Mrs. Plummer to ask her to check on her.”

  Les frowned. “Check on her?”

  Kevin shrugged. “Haven’t quite gotten exactly how it all happened. The deceased is Catherine Sharpe, forty-two, in her bed, not certain of time of death. No signs of trauma, no disturbance of any type. Front door was locked, but Mrs. Plummer knew where the key was and she went in. She’s a little shaky, but not too bad. The daughter, Crystal, is holding together okay. Stunned, which makes sense.”

  Bev suddenly connected the name. “Crystal? Crystal Sharpe?” Christ Almighty, the girl who had been with Raney when he died?

  Les raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t she the one…?”

  Kevin nodded. “Yep, sure was. What do you figure those odds are?”

  Bev remembered the teen as having been coherent and capable during the situation with Raney, but this might be entirely different. Except — hadn’t there been something implied about her mother at the time? Had there been a health problem, maybe?

  “There’s not much room in this trailer,” Les said quietly as they reached the door. It was ajar. “When the doc gets here, it will be pretty crowded.”

  “Yeah,” Bev agreed. “Let’s see what the deal is with the neighbor. Maybe we can take them over there.”

  Inside was as much worn-looking as shabby, although clean enough and thankfully without smoke soaked into the simple furnishings. The window air conditioning units were fairly quiet and keeping the place comfortable enough. Maria was in the single armchair visible, the faded red fabric a decent match for the marginally newer looking tropical flower motif couch. Crystal and a silver-haired woman were angled toward Maria and both turned as the police officer stood.

  “Detectives, this is Miss Sharpe and her neighbor, Mrs. Plummer.” Her face was sympathetic.

  Mrs. Plummer, whose hair had the pale bluish sheen Bev never quite understood, was thin although not frail-looking. Her brown eyes were clear, no glasses and her deeply wrinkled face was tanned in the leathery way of someone who enjoyed outdoors. Bev had briefly noticed window boxes and neatly arranged containers filled with flowering shrubs at the trailer to the right and she bet that was Mrs. Plummer’s.

  “It’s Edna,” she said in a surprisingly gravelly voice after introductions were completed. “I live next door and might I suggest we move there? It might be best, don’t you think?” She inclined her head toward Crystal who was sitting erectly, her shoulders stiff and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “After all, won’t you need to…” She trailed off with a gesture toward the short hallway that no doubt led to the bedrooms.

  “Thank you, Edna,” Les said smoothly. “Crystal, we’re sorry for your loss. We know this is difficult.”

  The girl flashed a look at the hallway. Her voice verged on tears even though her eyes and nose weren’t red from crying. That wasn’t unusual since a degree of shock was as common a reaction as was uncontrolled sobbing. “I, yes, if you don’t mind, could we not be in here? I haven’t, I haven’t seen… I mean, I got here as quickly as I could, but the police were…The sergeant suggested I not….” She shook her head as if to clear it.

  “I explained my actions to Police Officer Castillo,” Mrs. Plummer said immediately. “I called 911 the moment I saw Cathy and then called Crystal back. I wasn’t going to break the news to her on the telephone and just told her there had been an accident and I had called for an ambulance.”

  “Actually, Edna, going next door would be helpful,” Les continued without asking Bev if she would rather do the interview. He was correct about her preference to deal with the dead body. She was certain he also sensed the underlying barely concealed excitement of the woman at being the momentary center of attention. Bev had seen the response before in witnesses and found it distasteful.

  Maria kept her face expressionless until Les and the women were gone, then she gave a half-smile. “She’s a talker. We’d been here maybe fifteen minutes before the daughter arrived. She was on a bicycle. You want to go into the bedroom and I’ll fill you in?”

  “Let’s talk first,” Bev said, not wanting to be distracted by someone else around the body. Maria didn’t read from the notebook she was holding at her side. “Crystal, the daughter, was not home — with a friend — is all I got to. Catherine Sharpe, the deceased, was scheduled for early shift at the grocery store — that’s her fulltime job — and Crystal called to make sure she was awake. She didn’t get an answer, waited a few minutes, and called a second time. She then telephoned Mrs. Plummer, who is an early riser, and asked her to please come over and check on her.” Maria was matter-of-fact. “The deceased works a few nights a week at a second job as a bartender at Marty’s. She often had drinks after coming home. Particularly sound sleeping and forgetting to set the alarm was not uncommon. There is a partially-filled glass on the bedside table and a bottle of Captain Morgan on the kitchen counter.”

  The unfocused memory fully surfaced. It had been Roger Lariby. I do hear things and word is Crystal’s home life isn’t what you’d call ideal. Not abusive type, just a single mom who might be pretty fond of booze and works two jobs.

  “Okay,” Bev said, encasing her hands in gloves. “I want a look before Doctor Cooper arrives. You can go ahead and get statements from the other neighbors who were home.” Only one door off the hallway was open, the overhead light on, the shade on the single window closed. The squat, brass colored bedside lamp was off, and the glass Maria mentioned was next to the basic black plastic digital alarm clock. Bev noticed the alarm “On” button was not set. Was that an oversight or had it gone off and Mrs. Plummer turned it off without thinking? There were only a few swallows of dark liquid left in the glass and the napkin wrapped around it was loose, as if it had absorbed the condensation and then dried. The odor of unwashed bed linens and laundry basket filled with dirty clothes was mild although the top of the dresser was nearly covered with cosmetics, a small pile of earrings, a hairbrush, and box of tissues.

  Bev couldn’t help but be glad Mrs. Sharpe was at least clothed in what was probably an XX-Large Marlins T-shirt that covered her torso. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slack. She was flat on her back, left arm across her chest, the top pale blue sheet only up to her waist. The thin faded green bedspread had been thrown to one side and when Bev leaned over the body, she realized a heating pad was underneath the woman, the white cord snaked across the bed and plugged in on the other side. Hmm, that might complicate calculating time of death. On the other hand, they knew when Mrs. Plummer found her and, as Kevin had said, there was no sign of trauma or disturbance. There was no sign of shock or pain either. It was as if she’d simply died in her sleep. At forty-two?

  Bev moved into the small bathroom with barely enough room for a shower, white pedestal vanity and toilet. No wonder the cosmetics and hair brush were on the dresser. The medicine cabinet above the sink was what she was interested in. Standard feminine and hygiene products. Over-the-counter medications on the top shelf. Extra-strength pain relief, extra-strength antacid, basic multi-vitamin, Vitamin C supplement, calcium supplement. She looked in the round blue plastic wastepaper basket. Discarded tissues, an empty box of an over-the-counter pain patches and a torn wrapper.

  “Detective? Doc Cooper is coming in,” Kevin called from the front room.

  “At least I had a chance
to finish breakfast,” he said when he stood at the bed surveying the scene before he touched anything. “You ready for me?”

  “At this point, there doesn’t seem to be anything for us to be involved with,” Bev said. “Her name is Catherine Sharpe and there’s no indication of a crime. She’s only forty-two, if what we were told is correct.”

  The doc shrugged. “A shame, but not all that unusual.” His eyes went immediately to the glass. “We know what that is?”

  “Probably Morgan and Coke and whatever ice melted. Nothing but over the counter meds in the bathroom. We haven’t checked the other rooms yet.”

  Doc Cooper’s eyes moved to the piece of heating pad showing. “That’s interesting. You want to stay for this?”

  Bev shook her head. “We’ve got a teenaged daughter with the next-door neighbor. The daughter wasn’t home last night. It was actually the neighbor who found Mrs. Sharpe and called it in. Les went with them and I want to see if he’s wrapped that up yet.”

  He inclined his head toward the bathroom. “Is there a box of pain patches?”

  Bev was startled at the precise question. “An empty one in the wastepaper basket.”

  The medical examiner nodded and reached across to switch off the heating pad. “I don’t think I’ll be here long. Go ahead and I’ll get with you in a few minutes.”

  Bev’s phone pinged an incoming text. It was Les. I’m almost done. You joining me? She stepped back through the hallway into the open area. Not unless you need me. She knew Doc Cooper well enough to give him his space when working rather than ask questions. You couldn’t accidentally overdose on a pain patch, could you?

  The bottle of Captain Morgan on the kitchen peninsula was half full, as was a two-liter bottle of Coke. A red plastic chip clip was affixed to a large bag of sour cream and onion potato chips that was almost empty. A plain white paper plate held two avocados and a slow cooker, toaster, coffeepot, and blender took up most of the remaining limited counter space. No bottles of pills were visible and a quick check of the cabinets and drawers didn’t reveal any either.

  “I see the doc is here,” Les said, carrying a clear plastic container he placed on the edge of the counter. “The Plummer woman is a hell of a talker, but the woman does make a mean coffee cake. She didn’t want you to feel left out.”

  Bev gave an exasperated look she knew would amuse Les as much as anything. Jesus, this wasn’t a social occasion. “You get anything of interest?”

  He leaned into the counter. “What I got sounded reasonable. Crystal was working with a friend on a project last night and it was late when they finished. She rides her bike so decided to spend the night. She texted her mother, but didn’t get an answer. She said that wasn’t unusual because her mother came home early from the bar sometimes if it wasn’t really busy and she was especially tired or her back was giving her trouble. On those nights, she would usually take something and go straight to bed after eating. She wouldn’t have heard a text coming in if she was asleep.” Les hesitated slightly.

  “What?”

  “When I asked what the project was — out of habit, really — Crystal was a little evasive and said it was kind of a school thing. Mrs. Plummer jumped in with how smart Crystal is and how she’s on this special work-study-remote learning program. My guess is the ‘project’ may have had nothing to do with school and the friend might be more than a school pal, but Crystal didn’t want Mrs. Plummer to know.”

  Bev rocked her head. “That could be. Do we think it matters?”

  “I doubt it,” Les said. “Anyway, they both reiterated what we were told. Catherine was on morning shift at the store and Crystal was concerned she might oversleep. That’s been known to happen when her mother forgets to set the alarm. She called, didn’t get an answer and because it would take her a little while to get home on her bike, she called Mrs. Plummer who is always up promptly at 6:00.”

  “Mrs. Plummer came in the house, though? Does she have a key?”

  Les rolled his eyes. “Spare is under the doormat. Mrs. Plummer said she knocked really hard, waited almost a minute, knocked hard again, and decided to come in. She said she had a feeling something was wrong.”

  “She say why?”

  Les pointed to the bottle of Captain Morgan. “There was some hesitation when I asked the same question. It was Crystal who finally said her mother sometimes had a lot to drink after she came home from work. She would apparently pass out occasionally in the bathroom or other parts of the house. Mrs. Plummer didn’t comment and she didn’t need to with the look she gave me.”

  “Well…,” Bev stopped when she heard Doc Cooper’s footsteps. He was peeling off his gloves.

  “Time of death is a little tricky with the heating pad. No sign of trauma anywhere and I might be able to do the autopsy late this afternoon, tomorrow morning for sure. My initial assessment in lay terms is accidental death from applying heat simultaneously with the pain patch. The booze wouldn’t have helped.”

  Les frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Doc Cooper scratched his chin. “This is my first time to actually encounter an incidence and I want to be careful. It was a topic of discussion last year at a conference I attended. Heat can accelerate the drug entering the bloodstream and cause heart failure. I snapped a photo of the box and left it in the trash can in case you want it. There’s a warning about this in the directions, but if she’d used the patches before with no side effects, she probably never bothered to read that part. We know how often people think it isn’t important.”

  Bev was startled. “I can maybe see someone older being vulnerable. Shouldn’t someone her age be less susceptible?”

  Doc Cooper shrugged. “A number of factors go into something like this. I saw indicators she wasn’t what you would call the picture of good health. I’m not making a definitive call yet and will let you know as soon as I’m done.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Bev said and waited until she and Les were alone. “That’s a hell of a thing.”

  “Weird shit does happen,” Les said. “You think we need to search the rest of the trailer? I imagine the kid, Crystal, wants to get on with everything. Mrs. Plummer seems ready to marshal the troops, so to speak, and be supportive.”

  Bev couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard that expression. “Kevin didn’t want to do the photos while Crystal was here. Let’s have him get that done and I’ll do a quick look in the other rooms just as procedure. I’m not expecting to find a stash of drugs or anything, but you never know and it’s not like it will take long in a place this size. You want to tell Mrs. Plummer and Crystal we’ll be done soon?”

  He turned and paused halfway to the door. “Oh, turns out it was only Crystal and her mother living here. Her dad left them when she was little and she has no idea where he is or if he’s still alive. No siblings, no grandparents, no known aunts, uncles, or cousins.”

  “Jesus, that sounds kind of bleak,” Bev said. She didn’t have a huge family, but to have no one?

  Les glanced around the trailer. “The girl is eighteen. Maybe this friend she was with last night is someone special.”

  Bev hoped so. Even if she didn’t have lingering issues from Matt Raney’s death, losing her mother like this would have to be disturbing, especially so soon after. Maybe Mrs. Plummer or one of the other neighbors was close enough to them to give the kind of support the poor girl was going to need.

  Marty’s was not a bar Bev frequented. She’d been there on a few calls during her patrol days, as had almost everyone on the force. You always had to be cautious when tempers and booze mixed and one of her dad’s last serious cases had come one night when things had gotten out of control. From what he had told her, the general view of the two men involved, in what became a manslaughter plea bargain, was it could have happened in any number of places since the well-known feud between them had been steadily intensifying.<
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  She’d called earlier to verify Pam Kineski was the woman who’d been on shift with Catherine Sharpe. She had cursed softly when Bev explained why she wanted to speak with her. The mild profanity wrapped in regret had been directed at life’s unfairness, not a reluctance to talk to Bev.

  The original Marty had passed away several years prior. A cousin named Ralph had bought out the divorced, childless man who’d opened the bar long before the population surge and the insane spike in housing prices. It was tucked at the end of a street in a mixed neighborhood of small houses, an auto repair shop, a welding shop, and a marine motor repair shop. It was neither visible to nor interested in the tourist trade. A new green-toned metal roof kept the barely still blue rectangular building from falling into the ramshackle category. If the electric signs in the two front windows were indicators, a wide variety of beer would not be available. Unlike many bars in town, there was no outside seating and when Bev pulled into the parking lot, a red Bronco and a white Tacoma pick-up truck were the only vehicles. Both had seen their share of use.

  In vaguely recalling the layout, she braced herself for the dim interior and clinging smell of cigarette and cigar smoke as she tugged open the heavy dark wooden door. She didn’t want to think about how much grime was embedded in the plank floor. A U-shaped bar was in the back, TV’s mounted on either end, the left side one on in front of the three men on barstools, the other one blank. There was enough of an opening from the bar to pass orders and food to and from a kitchen where a highly skilled chef would not be required. Food here was basic and filling. Fried and grilled were the choices and if you wanted something green other than iceberg lettuce on a sandwich or celery sticks with your chicken wings, you were in the wrong place. The juke box was to the left, two pool tables to the right, square dark green Formica-topped tables placed to provide an unimpeded path to the bar.