To the Last Drop

by Sandra Balzo

  ‘And she’s planning on using you to turn this into a homicide investigation. And I might point out that if that happens, your ex will be on the list of suspects right behind Crazy Rita and the grieving widow.’

  ‘Don’t forget Clay Tartare. Though Rita is my fave for now. So tidy,’ I waved the dishrag, ‘when the person who finds the body is also the killer.’

  ‘You’re usually that person,’ she reminded me.

  There was that. ‘At least this time I had a witness with me.’

  ‘Your son would lie for you in a heartbeat.’

  ‘I’d like to think so,’ I said with motherly pride. ‘If you believe I’ll let Lynne manipulate me, relax. The medical examiner will find for suicide and the case will be closed.’ I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

  ‘But …’ Sarah prompted.

  ‘There was a blow to William’s forehead, did I tell you that?’

  ‘Happens when you hit the ground with it.’ Sarah’s expression changed. ‘Could we be missing something here?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘What we were talking about earlier – the obvious. Maybe William Swope just leaned against the glass and it broke.’

  The windows were over fifty years old. ‘That could put a dent in Eric’s college fund.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Sarah didn’t seem to know if I was entertaining her suggestion or dismissing it.

  ‘If somebody can lean on the window and fall out, there might be a liability issue. I hope Ted’s insurance policy is up to date.’ Ted now owned the building alone thanks to the divorce-settlement gods.

  ‘Even if the building itself isn’t,’ Sarah said, ‘I do know building codes were different back then. I remember a kid in my kindergarten class falling through a pane of glass at our school.’

  ‘Oh my God – was he or she hurt?’

  ‘Nah, she was fine. A few scratches. You’ve such a bleeding heart.’

  ‘The girl was five,’ I said, turning on the water to rinse the dishcloth.

  ‘And now she’s forty-five. Not such a big deal anymore, is it?’

  How do you answer that?

  So I didn’t. ‘There’s something else that’s been bothering me. I’m nearly certain I saw lividity on the backs of William’s arms.’

  ‘You’re the corpse-whisperer, but isn’t that normal?’

  Squeezing the last bit of water out of the rag, I hung it over the edge of the sink before I turned. ‘Blood starts to pool after a couple hours.’

  ‘So does that give you a time of death?’

  I was back to chewing on my cheek. ‘Not really. The rain stopped at three a.m., according to Pavlik, so if William died even at six or seven in the morning there was still time for the discoloration to start before I saw the body around nine. Obviously the medical examiner will know better but—’

  Sarah interrupted. ‘This “blood pooling” happens whether he jumped, fell or was pushed, right? What’s your point?’

  Honestly, my friend made thinking out loud feel like a contact sport. ‘My point is that I saw it.’

  Sarah was looking at me like she wouldn’t mind committing a murder of her own.

  ‘After death, blood settles in the lower parts of the body,’ I explained. ‘Meaning the parts underneath. How come I was able to see it on the backs of his arms?’

  ‘Because …’

  ‘Because, I think the body might have been moved. After lividity set in.’

  TWELVE

  While Sarah had seemed at least somewhat impressed with my theory about William Swope’s body being moved, Pavlik appeared less so.

  I was seated in one of the two leather guest chairs in front of his massive mahogany desk in the Brookhills County Sheriff’s Office. The sheriff’s office, in turn, was situated in the county complex that also housed the Brookhills’ courthouse, administrative offices, sheriff’s department and juvenile and adult jails.

  My stomach growled. Having arrived at Uncommon Grounds late for my shift, I’d not only passed on Sarah’s cinnamon roll and skipped lunch, but offered to work the afternoon. Before Sarah was to leave at three, though, I took a break and walked rather than drove to Pavlik’s office as penance for all the pizza the night before.

  At the sound of my stomach rumbling, the sheriff pulled open his right-hand desk drawer. ‘Granola bar? Or an orange?’ He picked up the orange. ‘Well, maybe not. It’s fuzzy. But I think the granola bar is still good.’

  I started to refuse until I noticed it was peanut butter chocolate chip. If God had wanted us to skip lunch he wouldn’t have made peanut butter.

  A visit to Pavlik’s office – high ceilings, wood paneling, marble floors, massive wooden desk and credenza – always reminded me that I was doing the sheriff, so it was good to know that even he stashed food – including rotting fruit, apparently – in his desk drawers.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, taking the granola bar.

  Pavlik could pull rank on occasion, sometimes with words and sometimes just with eyes that turned from sunny blue to stormy gray in an instant. But for now his eyes were neutral blue and he didn’t seem inclined to kick me out of his office. Still, something just seemed … off. I missed the intimacy of our first long weekend away together. Here we were, back to real life. And, in Pavlik’s case, his official role.

  ‘We need to see what the ME has to say on the lividity.’ The sheriff pushed his wheeled chair back from his desk. ‘And by “we,” I mean my detectives and me. Not you.’

  Message received, if ignored. ‘But don’t you think the lividity, along with the fact the back of his shirt was dry, points to the body being moved? I know you just have my word to go on about the shirt …’ I remembered something. ‘His cell phone was gone.’

  ‘Gone from where?’

  ‘William’s khakis. He slipped it and a packet of sugar into his back pocket before he went out onto the porch to talk to Ted. The sugar was still there this morning but I didn’t see the phone.’

  ‘Because we found it on his desk.’

  So William had gone to his office – obvious, since that was where he’d fallen from, but also had been there long enough to settle in a bit before his fall. Take his phone out of his pocket. Maybe make a call?

  I asked Pavlik.

  ‘I don’t have that information.’

  Hearing the ‘police spokesperson’ in his tone, I tried another angle. ‘I suppose when he pulled out his phone the sugar came partially with it, which is why I could see it poking out.’

  ‘And this is remarkable for some reason?’

  ‘Only because the paper wasn’t soaked. Just like the shirt was dry until that first drop of rain fell on it.’ OK, maybe I was hammering my point, but I thought it was important.

  ‘Completely dry?’ Pavlik asked. ‘Or could it have partially dried in the five or six hours between the rain stopping and you seeing the body?’

  ‘I—’

  The sheriff leaned forward. ‘If I put you on a witness stand, Maggy, could you swear that the shirt was totally dry?’

  ‘Swear?’ I was thinking back. The falling rain had made darker drops on the red shirt but that didn’t mean it had been utterly dry. In fact, I was willing to bet the front half of the shirt was wet so it couldn’t possibly be described as ‘totally dry.’ ‘No, I guess I couldn’t swear to it. But—’

  ‘And lots of things can affect lividity patterns,’ Pavlik continued. ‘Tissue damage, for one thing.’

  ‘You mean maybe he broke his arms in the fall.’ I was remembering the ‘flying superman’ pose of William’s arms above his body. Had the man broken the glass with the chair and performed an actual swan dive, head first? The very sight of the ground approaching had to be horrifying. And while falling ten stories might take mere seconds, it was certainly time enough to reconsider.

  I shivered. ‘I don’t suppose anybody heard anything?’

  Pavlik shook his head. ‘No, but that’s not surprising. Nothing but the parking lot an
d train tracks behind the office building and Schultz’s Market next door. The rest of the area is office park until you get to the Morrison.’

  True. And Schultz’s market closed at eight p.m. ‘Too bad, since we still don’t know the time of death.’

  ‘The ME’s report should give us some idea on that.’

  All roads dead-ended at the medical examiner’s office for now. ‘His neck sure looked broken. Did you see the head wound?’

  ‘Hitting the ground from that height can do a lot of damage,’ Pavlik said, echoing Sarah’s comments on the same subject. But from Pavlik it felt like another info-block.

  ‘I saw the broken window on the tenth floor from the street but I can’t remember if that would be an exam room or an office these days.’

  ‘It’s Doctor Swope’s office,’ Pavlik confirmed. ‘And before you ask: yes, that’s where he exited the building.’

  I was struck by Pavlik’s ‘exited’ – the same term I’d used talking to Sarah and Lynne. Jumped, fell, was pushed – all might imply facts that had yet to be proven.

  Elvis has, indeed, left the building. We’re just not sure how.

  ‘Was the air tank on the ground used to break the glass?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t have that information,’ Pavlik said.

  Argh. ‘OK, would you let me know when the ME report comes back?’ I stood.

  ‘Don’t leave yet,’ Pavlik said, holding up a hand. ‘Sit.’

  I sat.

  ‘How well do you know Lynne Swope?’

  I was surprised by the question. ‘We met just yesterday when I hired her as my financial advisor. You know, for my inheritance from my brother.’

  For once Pavlik looked disappointed that I wasn’t more involved.

  ‘You could talk to Mary Callahan at the library,’ I offered for having come up short. ‘Mary and Lynne are sisters.’

  ‘I’d like to keep this line of inquiry quiet for now.’

  And no one trusted Mary to keep a secret, including the sheriff. ‘Do you suspect Lynne had something to do with William’s death?’

  ‘Taylor thinks she’s hiding something.’ Pavlik pulled a folder over and flipped it open. ‘Did you know that the daughter, Virginia, is Lynne Swope’s child from a previous marriage?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ I said. ‘They seemed so close – Ginny and William, I mean.’

  ‘Not so surprising. The girl was a toddler when her father was killed in an accident and only six when her mother remarried.’

  ‘What kind of accident?’

  Another check of the notes. ‘The father had a blood alcohol level of .23 and ran off the road head-on into a tree. Virginia was strapped into a car seat in the back, which is the only reason she survived.’

  No wonder Lynne was protective of Ginny. And vice versa. ‘I’m not sure what Taylor thinks Lynne might be hiding but I do know she’s worried about Ginny feeling responsible.’

  Pavlik looked up, puzzled. He must have missed his homicide detective’s post-interrogation chat with Ginny, just as I had. ‘What does the girl have to feel responsible for?’

  I waved away his sudden suspicion. ‘William killing himself. That’s still the most likely scenario, right?’

  ‘We can’t rule anything out.’

  Another enlightening answer. ‘Well, Ginny flunked out of her school up in the Twin Cities and thinks that, along with William losing his job here, it might have pushed him over the edge.’

  ‘From what I can see, his stepdaughter’s grades were the least of his worries.’

  Ah ha. Finally, an opportunity to find out more. ‘You mean his practice in Louisville?’

  ‘What about it?’

  Pavlik was certainly playing it close to the vest today. ‘I was hoping you’d tell me. Clay Tartare had been trying to get hold of him. Why?’

  ‘Time will tell.’

  Argh, squared. ‘Well, what about Rita Pahlke and the extortion?’

  ‘For putting GPS devices in patients’ teeth?’ Pavlik shrugged.

  ‘Well, if Pahlke was camped out overnight, maybe she heard something.’ Glass breaking. William screaming.

  ‘No camp-out. Ms Pahlke stayed at the Morrison last night.’

  A bit of information at last. ‘The hotel confirms that?’

  ‘Checked in yesterday afternoon and bought a large coffee from the restaurant at seven this morning.’

  That explained the need to pee. ‘Lynne thinks Pahlke might have killed William. Though I guess if Lynne is a suspect, as you seem to think, she’d be trying to deflect blame.’

  Pavlik didn’t bite. ‘Even in a suicide, family members look for alternative explanations. People can’t get their heads around the idea their loved ones voluntarily left them.’

  ‘Sarah said maybe there’s a suicide exemption in William’s life insurance policy.’

  ‘Entirely possible.’ It was Pavlik who stood up this time. ‘Like I said, we’re looking into everything, but first we need—’

  ‘—the ME’s report.’

  When Amy arrived to relieve me at five, Sarah was at the desk in the office.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, hanging my apron on one of the wooden pegs by the door. ‘Your shift was over two hours ago.’

  ‘I came back.’ Sarah laced her fingers together over her head and stretched. ‘Thought you might be up for Chinese takeout tonight.’

  ‘That’s a great idea – thanks.’ The granola bar was long gone and I was starving again.

  ‘You place the order,’ I continued, ‘and I’ll just run home quick and let Frank out. I should be at your place by the time the food arrives.’ I was already pulling on my jacket.

  ‘I thought we’d do it at your house.’

  I paused, one arm in the sleeve. ‘My house?’

  ‘Courtney is having friends over tonight.’ Sarah picked up her own jacket. ‘Four sixteen-year-old girls chattering, one voice more piercing than the next.’

  Courtney and her brother Sam had come to live with Sarah after their mother’s death. My partner was an unlikely guardian, but not half bad at it.

  ‘So you’re inviting yourself to dinner.’ I started down the hall, not even bothering to hope she wouldn’t follow.

  ‘Not only that but you’re both ordering and paying.’ Sarah pushed past me to open the door to the boarding platform and lead the way down the steps to the back parking lot.

  ‘Goodness,’ I said, following, ‘why the largesse? I mean on my part?’

  ‘Because you owe me.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I’m giving you a ride home.’ Sarah pulled her car keys out of her jacket pocket. ‘Eric has your car, remember?’

  Oh, yeah.

  THIRTEEN

  Eric might have my car but he hadn’t driven it home. At least, not home to my house.

  ‘Honest to God,’ Sarah said, wiping the glass-topped coffee table with a napkin so she could set down her wine glass. ‘How do you stand it?’

  ‘Stand what?’ Having ordered our food, I set my phone on a dry area of the table.

  ‘The drool, the dog hair, the—’

  ‘Sheepdogs don’t shed,’ I said, picking up my own glass. ‘Right, Frank?’

  The dog raised his head and smiled, or so I imagined. But then I imagined many things. Being richer. Younger. Nicer.

  Frank was lying on the hearth. The fireplace, like the flat screen above it and the sheepdog below, was far too big for the living room. What was left of the floor space was occupied by the coffee table, a couch and an overstuffed armchair. I was sitting on the chair; Sarah was on the couch.

  She stuck a hand down into the space between the cushions and came up furry. ‘Oh, yeah?’

  I cringed. ‘That’s probably from when I brushed him.’

  ‘Inside the house?’

  ‘It’s November. He shivers.’

  ‘The dog’s a walking parka.’ She sniffed. ‘Though I have to admit he doesn’t smell nearly as bad as usual.’


  ‘I know,’ I said, nodding and smiling like some proud, lunatic doggy-mother. ‘I think it’s because I don’t let him have onions on his pizza anymore. Did you know they’re bad for dogs? Somebody told me I could have killed him.’

  ‘And yet,’ Sarah stuffed the handful of Frank back where it had been, ‘you didn’t.’

  Now truth be told, there was a time when I’d have agreed with Sarah’s opinion of Frank. But that was before Ted left me less than twenty-four hours after he and I had moved Eric into the dorms in Minneapolis.

  Alone in the house, it was my son and his left-behind sheepdog Frank who kept me sane. Though away at school, Eric had promptly replied to every text message from me, occasionally even answering the phone when I called. Two years later he was back to being a normal college student, meaning he got in touch when he needed something. But Frank, bless his co-dependent canine soul, still dogged my every step and hung on my every word. Everybody needs a Frank in their life.

  The bell rang and the sheepdog made a beeline for the front door, as eager as I was for our food delivery.

  ‘Coming,’ I called, picking up the bills I’d laid on the coffee table and following. Blocking the dog with my body, I cracked open the door. ‘That was fast—’

  But instead of our delivery guy, Lynne Swope stood in front of me.

  If I was disappointed, Frank was devastated. He gave a pathetic little whimper more appropriate for a shih tzu than a sheepdog and collapsed like one of those fainting goats you see on Animal Planet.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Lynne said. ‘Is it dead?’

  ‘No. Though he’d like you to think he will be if the food doesn’t get here soon.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner.’ Despite her words and my less-than-subtle hint, she stepped into the foyer and shrugged out of her coat.

  ‘You’re not interrupting dinner,’ Sarah said, sticking her head around the corner from the living room as I reluctantly took the coat. ‘Yet.’

  Badly as I might feel for Lynne, I’d just met the woman yesterday. Wasn’t calling her husband’s body into 911 this morning and sitting with her while the police investigated enough of a commitment for such a new relationship?