Death on Sunset Hill (A Tommy St. James Mystery Novella Book 2)

by Kristi Belcamino

  Tommy kept in close touch with Daniels. She checked in with him once a day, but he had nothing new to report: All the investigators were coming up empty-handed.

  Even the mayor of Minneapolis held a press conference reassuring citizens that the crime was so unusual that nobody need live in fear, saying, “Our finest detectives are assigned to this case and we expect to have some leads and an arrest.”

  Tommy thought he was lying, but early the next morning when she had just come back from a long run and taken her first sip of coffee, her cell phone rang.

  It was Daniels.

  “I think we got something,” he said.

  Tommy was all ears. She grabbed a paper and pen off her counter and held her breath, waiting.

  “You didn’t get this from me ...”

  “Of course not!” she said.

  “We pulled a search warrant for a house in that neighborhood. Just behind the cemetery.”

  “What?” Tommy sat up. “How can I get it?”

  “Here’s the details.” He quickly spouted a street address. “Name is Timothy Bender. Go check at the courthouse. You’ll see what they found.”

  Scrambling, Tommy rushed to shower so she could be at the courthouse when it opened.

  At the clerk’s office, she requested the search warrant for Timothy Bender’s house. Her hair was still wet and her knee-length white skirt was wrinkled, but no other journalists were around. Good. She needed a scoop. If she could prove to the higher ups that she was more valuable than young Suzie, she might have a chance of surviving. Maybe a huge scoop would do it.

  For some reason the publisher, probably because he lived near the walking path, was all over this story. He had given it huge play, top of the fold, across the spread, each time there had been a new development. He also wrote an editorial slamming the police department for not being more proactive in solving the case. Tommy thought the editorial was a bit unfair. From what little she heard from Kelly, who was always closed mouth about everything to do with the department, the detective bureau had been working nonstop. No time off. Fourteen-hour days. She didn’t really think it was their fault that the case had them stumped. The killer must have been good. Or, if it was just some random guy driving by, they might never solve it.

  She’d called Parker on the way over and told him to meet her here. He hadn’t arrived yet. She paid for copies of the warrant and then plopped down in a chair in the courthouse lobby to read it. This way, she could find Parker when he arrived.

  She pored through the file with eyebrows raised.

  Apparently, Timothy Bender was a thirty-four-year-old mentally ill man who lived with his parents at a house less than a quarter mile from the spot Jackie Chandler was killed. He had a history of volatile behavior, always directed at his parents. He never assaulted them, but police had been called more than once. At one point, he’d been put in the psych ward lockdown on a 72-hour hold.

  Tommy read quickly, flipping the pages. Then found it. Boom. Timothy Bender often took walks around the cemetery loop during the day while his parents were at work.

  And the kicker: three days after Jackie’s body was found, Timothy Bender had killed himself by jumping off the Washington Avenue bridge.

  It was during rush hour so quite a few drivers had witnessed Bender’s fatal swan dive. Even so, it never made the papers. Suicides rarely do unless they are someone famous. Something about not encouraging people to do it for the publicity, which is a really twisted thing to think about, Tommy thought.

  She kept reading.

  Investigators had seized several items from Bender’s house:

  A pair of boots, size 10

  Several pairs of pants and shirts from the dirty clothes hamper

  A journal

  Scraps of paper with notes on them

  Duct tape

  Rope

  A roll of plastic garbage bags

  The drum from a washing machine.

  Tommy stared at the list.

  Here was her big scoop. Her job would be saved.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Tommy sat back in her chair.

  This would save her.

  She stared at the list of search warrant items.

  The drum from inside the family’s washing machine.

  Tommy thought back to the autopsy results. They had shown that although Jackie had been strangled, there had been blood. She had a cut on her head, probably from being thrown onto the ground.

  Investigators must be looking for blood spatter or Jackie Chandler’s DNA or something that had come off of Bender’s clothes in the wash.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Parker came flying into the room. He looked like he just tumbled out of bed. He gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I ... uh ... had company.”

  Tommy knew just whom he meant. The newspaper had a summer intern from the University of Minnesota. Some scholarship program paid for her editorial assistance, so, of course, management was all about the free labor. Sandoval told her it was keeping him from layoffs for another month.

  While Tommy was grateful about this, she worried that Parker was taking advantage of the college kid. She looked all of eighteen with her cute, giggly dimples.

  “The Riverdale looking kid? What is she a sophomore in high school?”

  “She’s not that young,” Parker said. “She’s twenty-five. She was in the peace corps for a few years before she started college.”

  Tommy ignored him. If he was trying to make her jealous it wasn’t going to work. They were history. She didn’t need to tell him she had her own company last night. A warm memory of Detective Patrick Kelly came flooding back to her, making her cheeks warm.

  Come to think of it, the jealousy might be on Parker’s end. For a few years, sadly, Tommy had been at his beck and call. Simply because she was lonely until she had met Kelly. Then, all that had changed.

  “Look at this,” she said, waving the search warrant document in front of him tauntingly. “Looks like we’ve got our story. A scoop, even.”

  Parker sat, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he perused the folder.

  “Holy moly, this is good stuff. This guy did it. Why haven’t they announced this yet? It seems like they would be all over it.”

  “Maybe they’re still putting together the case?”

  “Or,” he said, his eyes getting bright. “They know they don’t have to be in a hurry to build their case because dude is dead. Right?”

  Tommy shrugged. “I guess. But with all this public pressure, you’d think they would want it out there as soon as possible.”

  “Yeah. It’s a bit odd, but we’re going to run with it. This is the biggest development in this story yet. You know the guy did it. Why else would he off himself a few days later? He must have known he was going to get caught. Or maybe the guilt got to him.”

  As they walked to the car, Parker stopped and looked at Tommy.

  “Why don’t you ask Kelly about this guy? See what he has to say. Maybe he’ll give you a quote. You can’t tell me that he’s not your source. It’s plain as day.”

  “He’s not my source.” She glared at Parker.

  “Sure, whatever.”

  Tommy bristled. “He’s not that kind of cop, Parker. He’s a decent guy. He’s not going to get in trouble by slipping me info on a homicide investigation.”

  But what did that say about Daniels? Tommy thought even as she defended Kelly’s honor, so to speak.

  “Aw, he wouldn’t get in trouble. Why don’t you give it a try, Snap?”

  “He won’t do it. You don’t know him.” Her voice was shrill and she found herself getting angry. “He’s not even a homicide cop, Parker.”

  Parker must not have liked Tommy’s tone. She could tell by the way his eyes narrowed and what came out next.

  “I don’t know him. But he’s a guy. And I know you.” Here he gave her a pointed look. “You know you could get it out of him if you wanted.”

  Fighting the urge to
slap him across the face, Tommy stalked off not bothering to look behind her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The story ran top of the fold the next morning.

  The headline stretched across the entire top of the paper: “Police Investigate Mentally Ill Man in Jackie Chandler Killing. Investigators are calling him a ‘person of interest.’”

  And then below: “Man Jumped Off Washington Ave Bridge Days After Murder.”

  Face still flushed from her morning run, Tommy stood at her kitchen counter reading the paper. She felt a surge of excitement seeing her scoop splayed across the front page. Now, let the big bosses try to get rid of her. She’d shown that not only was she a photographer, but she could report the hell out of a story, too.

  Parker had given her an attribution line at the end of the article, saying Tommy St. James contributed to this story. Reporters never ever gave photogs props for anything. She was surprised. He was probably just trying to make up for being such a jerk the day before.

  The person who counted, Martin Sandoval, knew it was her scoop. That was all she cared about. He could tell the big bosses himself.

  But as she walked through the newsroom that morning, it seemed like everyone else had read that little tag line on the bottom of the story: “Tommy St. James contributed to this story.” They were including her in the scoop. Reporters stuck out their hands to give her high fives.

  “Nice scoop by you and Parker.”

  “Just watch the St. Paul paper try to get this one nailed down!” The managing editor said slapping his fist down on a desk.

  “Be careful or a photog is going to steal one of our jobs,” a veteran reporter said loudly with a twinkle in his eye. “Good reporting, St. James!”

  Even the editor and publisher sent her emails praising her for her investigative work.

  “This is the kind of teamwork, with a photographer and reporter working together, this paper needs to see more of. Great job. Keep up the good work.”

  The managing editor nominated Parker and Tommy each for employee of the month awards.

  Life was good, Tommy thought. All this glory from one well-placed source in the police department. Tommy gave a sigh of relief. She was sure this meant she would keep her job.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kelly’s reaction was surprisingly subdued that night when Tommy got home.

  “Maybe I should start calling you ‘Scoop.’”

  Tommy laughed but didn’t like the look in her boyfriend’s eyes when he said it. It was an odd look and she couldn’t figure it out. She decided to ignore it. They were sitting on her small patio, drinking Mojitos and taking in the sunset as it coated the Minneapolis skyline in pinks and oranges.

  She kicked off her sandals and put her feet up on the balcony rail, leaning back. “Oh, it feels good to soak in the sun. I wish summer lasted forever.”

  It was all too easy to remember how the view out this window would look on dark winter days, where the sun set at four and the patio grew thick with ice and snow.

  Kelly said, “It goes fast. That’s why we need to take that ride along the Greenway this weekend. If we keep putting it off, summer will be over.”

  “Deal.” After meeting Kelly, Tommy had splurged on a vintage turquoise beach cruiser so she could spend more time riding bicycles. It wasn’t really her thing, but it was Kelly’s. She didn’t know much about bikes, but she did know that Kelly had spent about a week’s pay on his little European number. Luckily, he always slowed his pace so Tommy could keep up. He saved his marathon riding skills for his monthly rides with his biking club — a group of guys who spent entire days biking the paths in the Twin Cities, stopping occasionally to suck down a beer at small brewpubs.

  Tonight, Tommy and Kelly looked off into the distance as the blue sky turned deeper purple and the stars began twinkling. After a moment of silence, Kelly turned to Tommy.

  “So, how did you find out about that search warrant?”

  Again, he had that odd look on his face.

  “I can’t reveal my sources. You know that.” She was a bit annoyed that he even asked. He knew how serious she was about protecting her sources.

  “Okay. I just don’t like the idea of some other cop trying to curry favor with you. That’s my job.” His smile didn’t match the seriousness of his remark.

  “Very funny. You have nothing to worry about.”

  But she was wrong.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Her moment of glory lasted for a very short 24 hours. Then it turned into a nightmare. She first got inkling of it when she walked into the newsroom early the next morning and saw the police chief on the big screen TV that took up an entire wall of the room. The volume was down, but she didn’t need to hear the chief’s voice to see he was upset: his face was red.

  Tommy quickly hurried over to the photo department and grabbed the TV remote.

  “The Twin Cities News was dead wrong. We have not named Timothy Bender as a suspect and at this point, have no intention of doing so. I will repeat this: We have no suspects at this time. This is an open investigation and we will let the public know as soon as we make an arrest.”

  At first, Tommy brushed it off. The chief was pissed that information on their best lead had been leaked to the press, but that didn’t mean the information was wrong. The detective bureau had devoted a lot of manpower to Bender and obviously had to have probable cause to obtain a search warrant.

  The chief was probably angry because they didn’t have enough evidence to say for sure it was Bender and close the case, even if they knew it was him.

  A few reporters shot questions at the chief asking him inane questions, such as whether the public need be afraid. “We do not believe that there is a killer on the loose,” the chief said. “We believe the attack on Jackie Chandler was an isolated incident. I would like to repeat what I said at the beginning of this press conference: At this time, we have cleared Timothy Bender as a suspect.

  Cleared.

  Tommy could feel the blood drain from her face.

  Cleared him as a suspect? Less than twenty-four hours after her paper had splashed the story over the front page. Tommy felt a wave of nausea rise in her throat.

  The TV station cut to the front of a small, brick home where a man with angry eyebrows and a paunch was waving his hands in anger.

  “This was completely irresponsible reporting on the part of the Twin Cities News. They ruined my son’s name. They ruined our family’s reputation. And for what? To sell a few papers? My son was troubled, but he was not a rapist or murderer. He was a disturbed man, but he would never have hurt a fly. The only person we were ever worried about him hurting was himself. And we were right to worry. Now, he’s dead and the only thing we have left is the local newspaper trying to make our pain even worse.”

  Tommy leaned over and put her head on her desk.

  She didn’t hear the next question the reporter asked, but she hear the answer when she lifted her head. She saw the man square his shoulders. “Yes, as I said, we are consulting an attorney and considering legal action against the newspaper at this time.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The meeting that morning in the newsroom conference room was grim.

  Tommy and Parker didn’t look at one another and the photo editor, Martin Sandoval, tried to look busy on his phone.

  Finally, the publisher marched in, trailed by the managing editor, a prissy woman who was Parker’s direct boss.

  The publisher looked weary as he turned toward Parker. “I’m going to ask you one more time: where did you and St. James get this information about the search warrant? I get protecting your sources, but that applies to telling people outside the paper, not your editors and publisher.”

  Parker looked down and shook his head. “We can’t reveal our sources.”

  Tommy couldn’t believe it. She didn’t think he had it in him. She gave him a look, trying to tell him with her eyes that it was okay. But he wouldn’t look at her.

/>   Why wouldn’t he say that he didn’t know who the source was? Why didn’t he tell the publisher that only Tommy had the source; that she’d never told him. That he had just taken her word for it being solid. Why didn’t he blame her? Sandoval knew the truth. That it was her scoop. He sat there not looking at her. Would he say something?

  “Okay, Parker.” The publisher stood up. “Why don’t you take a few days off to think about it? Call me when you’re ready to talk and you can come back to work.”

  Parker looked up angrily. “Fine! I’ll—”

  Tommy had a feeling he was about to exchange his unpaid leave for a pink slip, so she blurted out, “He doesn’t know. I never told him!”

  “Shit!” said Sandoval, the photo editor. The publisher slowly pivoted on his heels and fixed his steely gaze on Tommy.

  “Excuse me? Ms. St. James, what are you talking about? Please explain. Sit down, Parker.”

  Parker looked at Tommy and shook his head before sinking back into his chair.

  “It was my information. I was the one. I told Parker and he printed it.” Tommy said in despair putting her head in her hands to hide the tears that were slipping out. “I just feel awful. That poor family. It’s all my fault. Everything is my fault.”

  The publisher and Sandoval exchanged looks.

  “Just where did you get this information?”

  “A police source.”

  “Wait a minute,” the publisher said. “You got that from the police department?” He turned toward the managing editor. “So, you’re telling me one of the photographers is better sourced in the police department than our police reporter? Why does this answer not make Parker look any better to me?”