Flowers on Her Grave

by Jennifer Chase

  Katie was exhausted. She tried to focus her mind on the case in hand; Cynthia Andrews was as obsessed with her work as she was, but what drove her? Her need to be correct? Her deep desire to make a difference? Was she just as arrogant as her doctoral advisor? Was she as needy and jealous as her best friend? Overwhelmed with unanswered questions and dead ends, she took herself right back to the beginning. These questions plagued her and she knew that she was missing something—something important.

  Who would want Cynthia Andrews dead?

  What did she stand for that someone would want her to die?

  What did she do that got her killed?

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing came immediately to mind.

  Katie needed to look at it from a different perspective: maybe it wasn’t about what she was doing, but about the people that surrounded her.

  Katie sat up straight, bothering her comfortable sleeping dog. They were looking at this cold case all wrong—the murder was either committed by someone who knew her—or someone who had profiled her. The crime scene had the signature of an organized offender. It was like something she had seen before—or something that had been perpetrated before.

  She felt like she was being squeezed. There was chatter around the police station that they were going to officially arrest her uncle anytime and that would make the case that much more difficult.

  Time was running out for her uncle. Though she knew she had most investigative clues at her disposal, none of it was helping to identify the killer. There were too many questions that still needed answering.

  Taking a deep breath, Katie made a decision: to get results, and quickly, she would have to perform a Hail Mary and do the craziest thing. She still had some details to work out, though, because she would have to make sure it was within the law and within the protocol of the police department. But time was ticking down: it was time to implement a plan.

  Katie was willing to risk it all; she would set a trap for the killer—and expose everything.

  I can keep going…

  Thirty-Eight

  Wednesday 0745 hours

  Katie entered the forensic lab, but instead of heading straight to her office where McGaven was most likely already hard at work, she turned right and walked up to John’s private office. The door wasn’t completely closed, which usually meant that he was inside catching up on paperwork.

  She hesitated at the door. Last night her thoughts were clear to her, but in the light of day, she thought maybe she was being hasty, bordering on reckless. Then she remembered her uncle’s behavior this morning—quiet, grief-stricken, worried.

  She knocked and slowly opened the door. John sat at his desk with two high piles of file folders. His office was neat and organized, though full of paperwork. John looked up, and didn’t seem to be surprised to see her. “Come in, close the door,” he said flatly, scribbling his signature on the last few reports.

  Only when he had slipped the papers into the appropriate folder did he finally make eye contact with her. He didn’t say anything at first, but leaned back and waited.

  “Can we speak in confidence?” she said.

  “Of course. That goes without saying. Nothing you say will leave this office. But first, I need to tell you: that newspaper article with the dark red marks that you left for me from Warner’s room…”

  “Yes?” she said.

  “It’s paint—more specifically spray paint. Generic and anything you could get in a hardware store.”

  “Oh,” Katie said, disappointed it wasn’t blood.

  “Sorry.”

  “Time is running out for the sheriff,” she began. Her voice sounded strange in the office, but maybe it was just in her own mind. She felt her hands sweat and a peculiar tingling in her arms and legs.

  No, you’re not welcome here…

  Her mantra could not fail her now.

  John leaned forward, sensing that she was having difficulty saying what she needed to. “How’s he handling everything?” he said with genuine concern.

  “He’s stoic, the usual tough exterior. But… I’ve never seen him like this… he’s pulling away and seems to be giving in.” Katie tried to sound matter-of-fact, but she knew that her voice was quaking. “He’s waiting for the inevitable and once they officially charge him… that’s when…”

  “Katie, I know it’s difficult for you to ask for help.”

  She let out a breath. He was right. She didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her, but she had to trust someone on the inside and John was someone that she felt she could.

  “Just tell me what’s on your mind. Would it be easier if it were soldier to soldier?”

  Katie smiled. “It might be. Okay, my uncle is going to go to jail for a crime he didn’t commit. I would bet my life on it. I haven’t figured out yet who is framing him—but I’m getting close.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “From the cold case homicide I’m working. I picked it because the victim’s injuries were similar to my aunt’s. I believe the same person committed both crimes, but we’re talking a twelve year span between killings. I know there are a lot of things that need filling in but—”

  “The victim’s name?”

  “Cynthia Andrews. It was a case that happened before you took over.”

  “I see,” he said as he loaded up some files on his computer. “These databases are limited, but I can see there were some major lacerations on the torso.”

  “I’ve studied the photos of the crime scene from every perspective. And I asked Dr. Dean about them in comparison to my aunt’s wounds, which he couldn’t confirm, but also didn’t deny—if you get what I mean? I know that I’m not supposed go anywhere near Claire’s case, but I can’t let politics, hatred, jealousy, and whatever else ruin my uncle’s life. I won’t.”

  John studied Katie closely, making her feel a bit self-conscious. She liked John and respected his work, but there was also some chemistry bubbling away beneath the surface. “You’ve done more than prove yourself. Don’t think for a moment everyone at the department believed what Undersheriff Martinez said about the Stiles case and giving Hamilton all the credit—most people know that it was you and McGaven who found that missing man.” He smiled.

  Katie looked down, knowing she had to ask John a favor. “I know that there must be evidence that doesn’t just show my uncle’s guilt—but his innocence. I know there’s something, somewhere, that would exonerate him.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Did you confiscate his laptop from the living room? He had three computers—his work one and a personal one, and an old one he kept in the living room.”

  “Yes, though we took just one.”

  “Is there also another way to check the security footage—like an automatic backup? Would that be on his personal computer?” She knew that John was an expert with security cameras as he installed the one in her house not long ago.

  “It’s possible.”

  “The house is no longer a crime scene, so anything that gets examined or discovered wouldn’t be going against the active police investigation. As long as it’s turned over to the police at some point, is that right?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “One more thing… actually there are two more things.”

  “I knew there was more,” he said trying not to smile.

  “The knife bothers me. When I found my aunt, the knife was in the sink because my uncle said he put it there. I remember seeing it lying flat on the bottom near the drain, and it appeared that the knife was saturated with blood—nothing out of place about that. There were so many things that were horrifying and overwhelming that day—but the knife placement has really stayed with me; I think it’s because I knew subconsciously that something was wrong. It was too symmetrical, as if someone had carefully placed it there. I don’t think my uncle did—I think he was mistaken.”

  “Okay, so what is it that you need?”

  “Two things. You
tested the knife and it was my aunt’s blood, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was there anything else? Someone else’s blood? Any contaminants?”

  “I tested a fair amount of the blood and it was all your aunt’s, and the sheriff’s fingerprints were on the handle—smudged, but enough to make a 9-point ridge comparison.”

  “I believe if tested further you will find someone else’s blood—there must be something we can use to steer the investigation away from my uncle. Something…”

  “You said there were two things.”

  Katie relaxed a bit and her slight dizziness dissipated. “My Jeep.”

  “What about it?”

  “I expect that there were no fingerprints on the truck that ran me down, right?”

  “True.”

  “But, did you dust for prints on my Jeep?”

  “Yes, around the exterior.”

  “But not inside?”

  “There was no need to. At least, I was instructed to not bother. We pulled two of the bullets from the interior. The other two bullets had struck one of the apple trees.”

  “When I saw the man come up from the hillside, I saw him reach inside his jacket for the semi-automatic before he aimed inside my Jeep.” Katie paused. “I remembered this later because he bent over slightly and put his left hand inside the cab and then fired the four bullets. It was a weird move. He curled his fingers with his palm up like this,” she said and demonstrated. “That would be near the floorboards in the car. Maybe there’s some type of contaminant or something that he left behind?”

  John leaned back and studied Katie. She thought for a moment that he was going to tell her that he couldn’t do anything for her. “So what you’re saying is you want me to check your uncle’s personal laptop for any security footage that might have been backed up, because it might shed some light on the murder, retest the knife for foreign matter, and dust the inside of your Jeep?”

  She nodded in agreement, knowing she’d overdone it and asked too much of him.

  “Katie, I’ve been wondering why you haven’t asked before.”

  “I don’t want anything to do with me to interfere in your job—or worse.”

  “The testing will take a bit of time for the knife. I need to go to the impound for dusting of prints on the Jeep. But… I do have about an hour I can spare for the laptop. Do you have access to the house?”

  “Yes, yes, we can go right now. I’ll let McGaven know that I will be in the office later this morning.”

  * * *

  Katie drove up to her uncle’s house once again in dark and dreary weather, which matched the situation and her mood. She sat for a moment remembering how light and happy she had felt at the anniversary party. It was almost too much to bear to go back inside again—heavy heartache gripped her chest.

  “Katie? Everything okay?” asked John.

  “Yes,” she said tensely, exiting the car as John followed carrying his small satchel with computer tools and backup flash drives.

  At the entrance, Katie unlocked the door and walked inside. She noticed again that the alarm wasn’t set.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I thought that the alarm would be set, but I guess that I didn’t reset it the other night. I was anxious to get out in a hurry.” She raced over to the corner desk her aunt would use as a small office. There were accounting items with receipts, check books, bills, spreadsheets, and thank you cards. Everything was spread out in disarray from after the police search. Her aunt had already started writing out thank you cards to the caterers and gift givers ready to send the next day, her writing as beautiful as she had been.

  “Where’s the laptop?” he asked as if sensing Katie’s sadness.

  Katie rolled out the three-drawer filing cabinet and pulled open the bottom drawer. There was a special hiding place where it was kept—he always wanted his personal stuff to be out of view. It was extremely difficult to find unless you knew where to look for it. To her relief, the compact portable computer was still there. She put the small computer on the desk, opened it, and waited for it to completely start up. “I think Uncle Wayne just used it for the security cameras, nothing else. I can’t believe that you didn’t find it, John.” She smiled.

  “Do you know where he would keep backup discs?” John put on his crime scene gloves and began checking each book on the shelf above the desk until he came to one that actually wasn’t a book.

  “I didn’t know that was there,” she said. “I guess it’s a new hiding place.”

  John slid the pretend book down and opened it where there were backups from the security cameras. Looking closely, he read the dates. “None of these are for the dates we’re looking for. They are really old.”

  Katie was discouraged. If the cameras had been recording that night, they could almost immediately place doubt on her uncle’s involvement and give credible evidence that someone else could have murdered her aunt.

  “Footage still could be in the computer. I don’t know the storage capacity right off, but usually people fill them up and then record over it. People keep rerecording until the clarity is terrible. I have a feeling that’s what the sheriff did.” He spent some time finding the files and looking at the data files and usage. “Okay, this was time stamped earlier that evening, probably during the party.” He pressed the play/enter key.

  There were four cameras around the house and they showed up on the monitor screen dividing it in quarters: backyard, one on each side of the house, and the front. The screen was small so Katie and John leaned in closer.

  “The time stamp appears to be accurate,” said John.

  They watched as guests began to arrive. John fast forwarded the feed and would stop every so often. They saw several people go outside in the back and some meandered to the side of the house, but no one neared the other side where the laundry room door was located.

  “I don’t know what I expected to see, but it doesn’t look like anything suspicious,” she said.

  “Wait a minute… let’s see later…” He forwarded the time until everyone had left the party. It was past 1 a.m., then 2 a.m., nothing and then the cameras went blank.

  “I knew it was too good to be true.” Katie sighed and was just about to turn it off when there was a flash on the camera from the side of the house. She gasped and pointed to the screen. “Look.”

  A dark figure had appeared, clearly a man by the build, with a dark ski mask covering his face and carrying a duffle bag. He dropped it on the ground near the area where Katie found the blue fabric. The man looked around suspiciously before he retrieved an electronic screwdriver from his bag. And then the picture went dark.

  “Is that it?” she said. “Can you get it back?”

  John took some backup flash drives from his satchel, inserted them into the laptop before he began to rewind the footage. Once again, the same twenty-seven seconds appeared and then it was gone. “I’ll copy this footage and also copy what’s on the computer. Give me five or ten minutes. It will be added to the evidence list when I get back to the lab.”

  Katie turned away and walked around the living room trying to concentrate on anything that would take her mind off what she’d just seen. It was a good and bad clue. Good that it showed there was someone sneaking around the house that same night, but that didn’t prove anything. The blue fabric must’ve ripped from his duffle bag. Any attorney could say that the burglar decided not to break in, could say there’s no evidence the burglar killed Aunt Claire.

  “Got it. Ready to go?” he said.

  “Yes, more than ready.” She walked to the front door and hurried to lock and secure the house.

  John looked solemn and it was difficult to read his face or what he might have been thinking.

  “John, in your professional opinion, do you think this helps my uncle or not?”

  “It’s not the smoking gun, but it’s a start: it could cast guilt in another direction,” he said. “Hey.” He touched Kati
e’s arm, making her look at him. “There’s more to test… I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  Katie forced a smile and said, “Thanks. I really do mean it.”

  “I know.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Wednesday 1115 hours

  Katie left John to his work and continued to her office. She opened the door to find McGaven doing what he did best—running down clues and finding out background information.

  “I come bearing gifts,” she said and set down a tall black coffee.

  “Just in time,” he said and took a sip. He looked at Katie curiously. “Things okay?”

  Drinking her coffee, she said, “As best as can be. So what’s up with the backgrounds?”

  “You know our lovely doctor?”

  “Dr. Harper?”

  “Yep. Seems that she had been involved in a couple of lawsuits for slander and stolen intellectual property.”

  Katie raised her eyebrows. “Intellectual property refers to patents and trade secrets?”

  “And copyright.”

  “I see where you’re going… like articles and books?”

  “Seems our gorgeous blonde likes to take credit for other people’s work.”

  “Gorgeous,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Don’t let Denise hear you say that.” Katie’s gaze traced the names on the investigative board. “You think that Andrews was onto something worth stealing?”

  “Who’s going to argue about it now—or sue?” he said.

  “Okay, show me what this King’s Gold looks like. I need to see it, since we’re talking about it.”

  McGaven keyed up several sites and stock images of the plant. The bush was a yellow green color and looked ordinary—most would walk right past the plant and never notice it.

  “That’s it? It’s not really gold in color, more yellow.”