“Thank you for coming, Miss Brubaker,” this older trooper said. “Have a seat, please.”
“Daddy?” Lydia said. “What’s going on?”
Aaron Brubaker started to say something but Hetrick motioned with a hand for him not to interrupt. Aaron scowled, squirmed in his seat, but said nothing.
The trooper tapped some loose pages into a folder on the table before him and fastened a hard gaze on her. “If you don’t mind, miss, I’ll ask the questions and you’ll direct your answers and attention to me. My name is Sergeant Runyan.” He glanced at Aaron. “We’re only here rather than at my barracks out of deference to your father and Detective Hetrick.”
“I don’t understand. What’s--”
“I’ve been told you’ve had a relationship with Jason Russell?”
“Yes. He’s my boyfriend. Why—”
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Russell?”
“Last night.”
“Where would that have been?”
“At the farm. Oh, my God! Has something happened to Jason?”
“What time would that have been?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention to the time. What does it matter? Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“He’s dead, honey,” Aaron blurted. “I’m so sorry. Someone shot him.”
“Oh, God! Oh, God.” It struck her like the blow of a hammer. Lydia went white and her body trembled as a wave of emotion swept over her. Aaron bolted from his seat, came around the table, and flung his arms around his daughter. He glared at Runyan. “Give her a moment, will you?”
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said. “I wish I could have broke it to you easier.”
In shock now, Lydia could only stare at the men gazing at her with a mix of compassion and suspicion. Tears welled up and poured down her cheeks. Her stomach was in turmoil and Lydia thought she might lose her breakfast.
“Would you like a cup of coffee to help calm you down?” Runyan asked.
“No!” she screamed at him. “I don’t want no fucking coffee. I just want to know why you’re treating me like this.”
“We’ve been informed you had a fight last night.”
“A fight? No. We had a disagreement about something. It was no big deal. The kind of argument people who care about one another have all the time. I—oh, God, you think I killed him, don’t you? Jesus. I loved Jason. Why would I want to hurt him?”
“People kill one another for all kinds of reasons. What was the fight about?”
She swiped with the back of one hand at the tears running down her cheeks. “It wasn’t a fight. We just disagreed about something.”
“Something? What kind of something?”
“It wasn’t even important. There’s this girl who believes Nan Calder—Mr. Stoneroad’s secretary—is her sister. I asked Jason to see if he could get Nan to talk to Vickie again. Just to set her mind to rest and convince her she’s wrong about it. Jason didn’t want to get involved. He claimed…”
“That seems trivial. I think you argued about something else. What was it, Miss Brubaker?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you think. I’m telling you what--”
“That attitude isn’t helping, Miss Brubaker. I’m trying to be nice about things, out of respect for your father, but--”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Chris,” Brubaker snapped. “My little girl isn’t the kind to go shooting a person over nonsense like this. You’re ignoring more viable suspects. I’m not gonna let you railroad my daughter so you can get a quick resolution to a case.”
“Easy, Aaron,” Hetrick cautioned.
Brubaker turned on him, his face going red with agitation. “Come on, Sticks. You know as well as I do, Lydia wouldn’t do something like this. Does Chris know about the prowlers that had Stoneroad worried?”
“We’ve been over that,” Runyan said. “Mr. Stoneroad denied there were any prowlers. He claims it was only his imagination made him think they existed.”
“Yeah? Well, there was speculation someone out of his past meant him or his family harm. Did he tell you about the kid who drowned?”
“What kid?”
Aaron told them the story Jason had related about the drowning. “He claimed Stoneroad paid off the family to drop the lawsuit. Maybe somebody decided money wasn’t enough of a settlement and came up here in search of blood. That makes a helluva lot more sense to me than the idea my daughter would shoot a boy she loved.”
This also was news to Runyan. “I’ll look into it. Meanwhile, I have more questions for your daughter. Do you own a gun, Miss Brubaker?”
Lydia directed a nervous glance at her father.
“She does,” Aaron said. “Little thirty-two. I insisted she start carrying. Too many crazies around these days and she’s out day and night showin’ houses to people.”
“I’ll need to see it. Is it in your purse, miss?”
“Uh, no. It makes me nervous carrying it around with me. It’s in the glove box of my car. Back at the office.”
Runyan asked for her keys then nodded to the other trooper who stood by the door. “Go check it out while we finish here.”
After a few more questions Runyan said, “She’ll have to go with me up to the barracks. We need to do a GSR test and take her fingerprints…” A GSR or gunshot residue test is the first step in determining whether a person has recently fired a weapon.
“Damn it, Chris,” Brubaker snarled, “Harry can do all that here. You don’t need to--”
“No,” Runyan barked, rising and gathering his papers. “You and your department are to have no further involvement until I’ve finished my work and decided whether or not to process her.”
Aaron started to object, but Hetrick laid a hand on his arm. “Lydia will be all right, Aaron. I’m going along. You can’t be involved, but I can. Any objections, Chris?”
Runyan pursed his lips. Then he shook his head. “None. Let’s get to it.”
* * * *
It was more than an hour later when Sticks brought Lydia back to the office.
“What’s happening?” Aaron blurted as soon as he noted the concerned looks on both their faces.
“She passed the GSR test,” Hetrick said. “So did Stoneroad and Miss Calder. Chris and I are going back out there now to interview Mrs. Stoneroad. She was sedated earlier.”
“What else? What aren’t you tellin’ me?”
Sticks heaved a breath. “Lydia’s weapon is missing.”
Aaron swiveled a look at his daughter.
“I don’t know what’s happened to it, daddy,” she said. “I swear. It was in the glove box. That’s where I put it. Someone must have stolen it.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.” He turned back to Hetrick. “Sticks? What else?”
“Take Lydia home. I’ll get with you later. Chris hasn’t decided to charge her yet. But, just in case, get prepared with a good lawyer.”
Chapter 15
“Why are you harassing her?”
Brent Taylor’s question earned him a grateful glance from Vickie Walker and a puzzled look from Flora Vastine.
There’s nothing static about police work. Despite the murder of Jason Russell and the shock of Lydia Brubaker being considered as a suspect, Flora and the other officers of the department had to resume their normal duties. State Police insisted Swatara Creek not be involved in the Russell case. Flora’s priorities remained the continuing investigation into the death of Timothy Nagle and the pharmacy robbery. Even that didn’t free her from a share of routine incidents throughout the day, including a domestic disturbance call, vandalism at a rented house and a two-vehicle crash involving an intoxicated driver. She’d just finished her report on the latest incident when Harry asked her to bring Vickie in for another round of questioning. Vickie had completed her shift at the diner and didn’t object to the request.
“No one’s harassing her,” Flora said. She’d just entered the station wi
th Vickie when they encountered Brent. “She agreed to come in.”
“She wasn’t in the store when the robbery went down,” Brent said. “You saw her and Sally come in, same as I did.”
“That’s not what this is about,” Flora told him.
“Oh?” It was Brent’s turn to be surprised.
“I came to Swatara Creek hoping to find my sister,” Vickie said. “Corporal Minnich is trying to help me.”
“Sorry,” Brent said to Flora. “I didn’t know.” Gazing at Vickie, he added, “Is there any way I can help?”
Flora took Vickie’s arm. “She can let you know later. Harry’s waiting on us.”
They went back the hall to an incident room where Harry sat at a desk going over a variety of documents. He glanced up as they entered.
“Thanks for coming in, Miss Walker. Have a seat, please.”
“Did you find proof?” Vickie asked, pulling a chair up to the desk.
“Proof?”
“That she is my sister.”
“I’m sorry. That isn’t why I asked you to come in.”
Vickie swiveled a look at Flora, then back at Harry. “It isn’t?”
“No. I wanted to talk to you more about the questions Flora asked you earlier. About how you came to town.”
Vickie pursed her lips. “I don’t know what else I can tell. I already told her everything.”
“I believe Flora told you a man died out at the motel the same night.”
“She did. But I don’t see what it has to do with me.”
“Nothing—unless you were the woman in the room with him earlier.”
Vickie colored and threw an angry glance at Flora who stood by the door. “I already told her I didn’t know anything about that. I don’t know why you keep on at me about this. I hitch-hiked, my ride left me out on the highway and I walked into town. I don’t know anything about any dead guy.”
“So you didn’t know Timothy Nagle?”
“No.”
As they spoke, Harry scribbled in a notebook, action which he and Flora observed seemed to annoy the young woman.
“And you weren’t in his motel room?”
“I said not.”
“Look, he died of natural causes. You’re not in trouble if you were there when it happened.”
“I told you, I wasn’t there.”
Harry nodded and rose to stand over her, extending a hand. “All right. Thank you for coming in.”
Vickie peered up at him. “I can go?”
“Sure. I said you weren’t in trouble.”
She was at the doorway when he spoke again.
“Would you mind letting me take your fingerprints?”
Vickie spun around. “What for?”
“It would help me exclude you. You can imagine, a motel room like that is loaded with prints. Of course, if you object…”
Vickie hesitated only a moment. “If it’d get you off my back, yeah. Why not?”
“Good. Oh, and I wanted to mention, I requested your sister’s prints from Cheltenham PD. If I can get Nan Calder to give me hers it could clear up the question of her identity for you.”
This brightened Vickie’s mood. “It would prove who she is, wouldn’t it,” she said with a smile.
“Or who she isn’t,” Harry replied.
* * * *
“It never happened,” Stoneroad said.
Hetrick and Runyan exchanged a glance. Runyan had just repeated the story Jason told Lydia and her parents about his guilt over a boy drowning while he was at school. “He said you settled out of court with the parents,” Hetrick added.
Stoneroad scowled and shook his head. “I have no idea why he told them such a story. It never happened.”
They’d gathered in the living room of the farm house--the writer, his wife, secretary and the two detectives. It was a simply furnished room. The Stoneroads and Nan Calder sat together on a flint-colored sofa while the detectives were on opposite sides of them on matching lounge chairs, a rustic coffee table between them. A braided rug partially covered a wide-planked hardwood floor and several of Lillian Stoneroad’s abstract paintings were on the walls.
Stoneroad was garbed as he’d been earlier that day. Nan Calder had changed to a raspberry-colored flannel shirt and jeans. Hetrick was struck again by the woman’s attractiveness and take-charge attitude. She’d placed herself between the older couple and held Mrs. Stoneroad’s hand throughout their conversation. Lillian Stoneroad, attired in a blue robe and flannel PJs, stared at the floor, her eyes red from crying, absent from all around her.
“We thought it might have something to do with those prowlers…” Runyan started. Stoneroad cut him off. “I already told you—there were no prowlers. I don’t know why Jason concocted this tale. Maybe he thought it would win him some sympathy with Lydia.”
“The girl seemed already pretty taken with him,” Hetrick said. “Why would he need to embroider the facts of his life?”
“Jason had a fear of not fitting in,” Nan Calder said. “When we were still in Philly he used to make up stories when we were around strange people. I don’t know why he felt the need. It was just something he did.”
“Did you and he—date?” Runyan asked.
Nan chuckled. “No. What on earth made you think that?”
“Well, the way you phrased it—as though you had gone out as a couple.”
“No. I did go to a party with him once. But I was talking about functions we both attended with Clay and Lillian. I suppose you might say we were friends. But, no—we were never a couple.”
Hetrick noticed this last remark seemed to have finally got Lillian’s attention and she seemed about to say something, then changed her mind, her gaze going from Nan to her husband.
“Did you have something to add, Mrs. Stoneroad?” he asked.
Sunlight from a window behind her rippled across the floor boards. Lillian peered at Hetrick a moment longer before answering. “Uh, no. I was just thinking…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know why anyone would have wanted to hurt my boy.” She licked her lips. “Everyone liked him. I was so happy he and Lydia had found one another. She is exactly the kind of friend he needed.”
“You saw no problems between them?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“It was just a question.”
While they had her attention Runyan asked Mrs. Stoneroad if she’d seen her son before going to bed. She replied in the negative to that and also denied having heard the gunshot.
Hetrick turned to Stoneroad now. “I know it isn’t an important factor, but was Jason truthful about his being kicked out of college?”
Stoneroad exhaled loudly, hands grasping his thighs. “Yes. Unfortunately, that part was true. It had nothing to do with a drowning, though.” He glanced at his wife, perhaps considering whether to go into detail in consequence of her fragile state.
“Is it something you can tell us?” Runyan persisted.
Another exhale and he made up his mind. “
“Jason was a bit rudderless. Impulsive as young men sometimes are. He hadn’t set his mind to what he wanted to do. He went to college because Lillian and I insisted he should. He failed to pay sufficient attention to his studies. Got into the wrong crowd.” He wiped a hand across his brow and glanced again at his wife. “Gambling. Drugs. I paid off the debts and sent him to rehab. I’d hoped this move to the country might help him focus.”
It was not an unfamiliar story in these times as experience had shown both Hetrick and Runyan.
“Any evidence he might have started using again?” Runyan asked. “Or that someone from then still held a grudge?”
“None I saw,” Stoneroad replied. “And, like I said, I paid off his debts. There’d be no reason for those people to care about him now.” He glanced at the two women. “Lillian?”
She shook her head.
“I doubt it,” Nan Calder told them. “Jason was so involved with Lydia I don’t think he n
eeded any other stimulus. Besides, we haven’t been here very long. If he did want to gamble or buy drugs, would he know where to go?”
Hetrick didn’t say anything, but he knew gamblers and junkies were always capable of finding what they needed.
* * * *
Flora didn’t see Harry again until he came to her house that night for dinner. After a quick kiss and procuring a beer from the refrigerator for him, she asked, “So, any luck with the fingerprints?”
Harry pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. He shook his head. “If she was at the motel, she cleaned up good after herself. With all the prints in the place I really hoped she might have missed some.”
Flora’s dog Change nuzzled Harry, greedy for some attention. He tugged the dog’s ear and ran a hand over her head. The dog whined and thumped her tail on the floor.
Flora got herself a Coke and sat opposite him. “Maybe she’s telling the truth and wasn’t there.”
“Possible. But her arriving in town at just the right time—seems almost too much of a coincidence.” He took a sip of beer. “Where’s your dad?”
Flora laid a hand on his. “Pinochle night. I have you all to myself for a change.”
The dog put her paws up on Harry’s lap, eager for more affection. Harry laughed. “Not quite,” he said.
Chapter 16
Lydia crumpled another Kleenex and tossed it on the floor. God, I’ve damned near used up a box. Snuffling, she turned over on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. How many times did he lie to me? He was a leech. Never once did he say the words I wanted to hear. All he wanted to do when we were together was…
Damn him. Damn him.
But, God, I loved him.
A tap at the door interrupted her thoughts.
“You’ve got to eat something,” her mother pleaded.
“I can’t,” Lydia responded. “Not now, mother. Please, just leave me alone.”
“Do you want to talk?”
In Silence Sealed Page 9