The mention of the funeral had Barb in tears, and I decided she needed a minute alone. I stood and offered to give Stuart a hand with the groceries since it was obvious Chelsea had no intention of helping him herself.
On the way to the car, he offered me a look of concern. “How’s Barb doing today?”
“She seems fine.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think she is. Barb and Chad were supposed to go to the funeral home this morning to get everything planned out for Olivia’s funeral, but Barb couldn’t bring herself to do it. Chad’s taking care of it on his own, I guess.”
“I think Barb needs some time to herself so she can better process everything that’s happened. It’s hard to do when everyone’s around all of the time.”
He handed me two bags of groceries, grabbed a few himself, and shut the trunk. “I understand what you’re getting at. Leaving her alone right now though … well, it’s not gonna happen.”
“Why not?”
“Chad called me on the way to the funeral home. Said he found a near-empty bottle of pills under Barb’s side of the bed while he was making it up this morning. She hasn’t had the prescription long. He thinks she’s popping a lot more pills than the recommended dose.”
“What kind of pills are we talking about?”
“Prozac.”
It was the same depression medication my doctor tried to prescribe me after my daughter Fallon died. Maybe they would have helped, but I declined, knowing the pills might numb the pain, but they wouldn’t erase it—not all the way. They couldn’t bring her back any more than Barb could bring Olivia back.
“Did Chad say anything to Barb about the pill bottle he found?” I asked.
Stuart nodded. “He showed her the bottle and asked how many she’d been taking. She got angry and stormed off without answering the question.”
“Guess I understand now why you and Chelsea are hanging around so much.”
“Yeah, we’re all worried about her. We’ve been keeping an eye on her in shifts.”
We took the shopping bags into the kitchen, and I walked to my car, stopping to make a phone call before I headed to the next location on my list. If Barb refused to talk to her family about the pills, I knew one person who could make her talk whether she wanted to or not—Aunt Laura.
Chapter 17
Casper slumped into a seat across from Harvey and said, “What’s this about? Why am I here?”
“When you arrived at the bookshop after Olivia died, did you notice if she was wearing the engagement ring you gave her?”
“You made me come all the way here to talk about the ring? Why?”
All the way was less than a ten-minute drive from his parents’ house.
“I heard Olivia never took the ring off after you gave it to her,” I said. “I’ve gone through the photos of the crime scene, and the ring wasn’t on her finger when I arrived at the bookshop.”
“So?”
“So … I’ve been wondering where it is.”
He shrugged. “How should I know?”
Harvey leaned closer to Casper and said, “Do you know where the ring is or why she wasn’t wearing it when we found her?”
Casper huffed an irritated, “This is bullshit.”
“Is it?” I asked. “You’re wearing a chain around your neck, a chain you weren’t wearing the night Olivia was murdered.”
He glared at me, eyes wide, like he was shocked I’d noticed such a small detail. “Yeah, so?”
“Why do you keep the bottom of the chain tucked under your shirt?” I asked. “It was tucked beneath your shirt two days ago, and it’s tucked now.”
“That’s how I like to wear it. Why does it matter?”
“Maybe it doesn’t. Pull it all the way out. I’d like to see it.”
He shook his head.
Harvey slanted his eyes at Casper and said, “Son, you’re not leaving here until we get a look at your necklace. Stall all you want. We have plenty of available cells we can stick you in until you change your mind.”
“I want a lawyer,” Casper muttered.
“Why?” Harvey asked. “Do you have something to hide? It’s a simple request. If you need to get a lawyer involved, I’d say taking a gander at the chain around your neck is the least of your problems.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with Olivia’s death,” Casper said. “It’s like I told you—I loved her.”
I turned toward Harvey. “Why not let him call his lawyer? While we wait for the lawyer to arrive, we’ll speak to the judge about a search warrant for Casper’s parents’ house.”
Casper sat up straight and waved his hands in front of him. “Whoa, a search warrant? For what?”
“I don’t know yet. That’s why I want a warrant.”
“My parents don’t deserve to be dragged into this, okay? You’re not going in there and trashing their house. I won’t let you.”
He wouldn’t let us?
He seemed unaware of how a search warrant worked.
“Whether or not we order the search warrant today is up to you, Casper,” I said. “You’re hiding something from me. I’m sure of it. This is your last chance to tell me what it is.”
Casper’s face flushed, and tiny droplets of sweat began to form on his brow. He grabbed the chain, yanked it off his neck, and threw it on the table. “Here! Take it. Happy now?”
I looked at Harvey … and then back at the necklace with the ring dangling from it.
Well, well, what do we have here?
Chapter 18
“Is this the engagement ring you gave to Olivia?” I asked.
“What do you think?” Casper said.
“Was she wearing it the night she died?”
“Yep.”
“Did you remove it from her finger?”
“Yep.”
“Did you kill her, Casper? Did you kill Olivia?”
“No! I didn’t! How many times do I need to say it?”
“You lied to us. You acted like you didn’t know where the ring was, even though you had it on your person. Why not be honest with me when I asked you the first time?”
“Why do you think? I’ve seen enough cop shows to know you’re looking for someone to pin Olivia’s murder on. It’s not gonna be me, got it?”
“You’re right about one thing,” I said. “I am looking for someone to pin it on, but I’m not pinning anything on anyone until I’m certain I have the right person.”
“I know what you’re trying to do.”
“What am I trying to do? Enlighten me.”
“You want to keep me talking so I’ll say something you can use against me. I won’t. I won’t do it.” He balled up his hand and fist-punched the side of his chair. “Damnit! This is so stupid. I can’t …”
And then he burst into tears.
Time to take five.
I left Harvey to keep an eye on him, grabbed him a soda out of the fridge, and brought it to Casper. “Hey, I thought you might be thirsty.”
He looked at the soda can and shook his head. “I don’t want it.”
I set it on the table in front of him. “Look, Casper, I know you’re going through a lot right now. I’m just trying to do my job. If you’re innocent, I imagine you want to know who killed Olivia just as much as we do, right?”
He remained silent for a time and then cracked the tab on the soda and swigged half of it down. He set it back on the table and said, “The ring I gave Olivia, this ring … it belonged to my grandmother. She gave it to my dad. He gave it to my mom, and when I told my mom I planned to propose, she passed it on to me.”
I thought about the seed Chelsea had planted in Barb’s mind about the ring being nothing more than a cheap trinket. All too often people did the same, placing judgment on others before taking time to learn the entire story. What a shame.
“The ring has sentimental value,” I said. “I get it.”
“You get why I wanted it back, then, right?”
I nodded. “D
id Olivia ever talk to you about the poetry she wrote?”
He leaned back in the chair. “She mentioned something about a writing class she took in high school. I never saw anything she wrote though.”
“A couple poems seemed to be about a woman who had been raped. Olivia told her teacher they were about her mother.”
He jerked his head back, looking shocked. “Whoa, you serious?”
“Did Olivia ever mention anything about her mother being raped?”
He shook his head. “Never. Do you believe it?”
“Right now, I don’t, even though I’m still trying to figure out why she wrote the poems in the first place.”
He crossed his arms and shrugged.
The poetry line of questioning wasn’t going anywhere, so I switched topics.
“Did you know Olivia had a safe in the closet in her bedroom?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I saw it a few times when I was over there.”
“Did she show you what she kept inside?”
“She opened it in front of me once. Think I saw a pair of earrings. Not sure what else.”
I opened a file folder on the desk and passed him a copy of the photos I’d found in the safe. “We found these in Olivia’s safe. Any idea whose face has been ripped out of these pictures?”
He stared at the photos, and his eyes widened.
Harvey looked at me and smiled.
“You recognize the photos, don’t you?” I asked.
He folded his arms and blew out a long, frustrated breath of air. “They’re, uhh … they’re mine. These photos belong to me. I’ve been wondering what happened to them.”
“Who’s the girl in the photos?” I asked.
“Brandy Jacobsen, my ex.”
“The same ex you dumped after you met Olivia?”
“It’s not … it wasn’t like that.”
“How was it, then?”
“I had plans to break up with Brandy before Olivia came along.”
“Do you think Olivia took the photos because she was jealous, or …?”
“She saw them when we were in my room one day, and she asked me to get rid of them. She didn’t understand why I still had photos of an ex-girlfriend kicking around. I thought she was overreacting. It wasn’t like they were on display. They were in my dresser drawer.”
“How long ago did you notice they were missing?” I asked.
“Few months, I’d say. I asked Olivia if she knew where they were. She said no.”
“She lied to you.”
He scratched the side of his head. “Guess so. Wow. I never thought she’d lie to me about anything. Doesn’t seem like her. If she lied about the photos, what else was she lying about?”
I pointed at one of the photos. “Scratching Brandy’s face off in every single photo is an aggressive thing to do.”
“Yeah, well, I think I know why she did it. We were coming out of the movie theater one night, and we ran into my ex. She started screaming a bunch of stuff at Olivia.”
“What did Brandy say?”
“She called her, you know, names. Not nice ones.”
“Can you be more specific?” I asked.
“I’d rather not.”
“Just give us an idea.”
“The B word, and a ‘ho,’ slut maybe, and some other things. She accused Olivia of stealing me away from her.”
“Other than the name-calling, did Brandy threaten Olivia in any way?”
He squirmed in his seat, hesitant to answer the question.
“Even if Brandy threatened her, she didn’t mean anything by it. She was just blowing off steam. Anyway, Olivia started crying, and I told Brandy to knock it off.”
“Did Brandy lay a hand on Olivia?” I asked. “If she did, we need to know.”
“She shoved her. One time.”
I thought back to the conversation I’d had with Abigail. “Did Brandy shove Olivia hard enough to leave bruises on her shoulder?”
He lowered his voice and said, “Yeah. She did. I stepped in after that, and then Brandy said something about knowing where Olivia lived, and she told her to watch her back. Brandy has a temper. She says things she shouldn’t sometimes. Stupid things. She’s all talk though. I know how all of this sounds, but she had nothing to do with Olivia’s death. I’m sure of it. We dated for over a year. I know her. I know what she’s like.”
He knew her, huh?
If he knew Brandy like he knew Olivia, he didn’t know her at all.
Chapter 19
Brandy was renting a small Cracker Jack-sized place with a roommate on the edge of town. I arrived to find the front door wide open and an argument taking place inside. I cupped a hand to the side of my mouth, poked my head inside, and shouted, “Brandy? My name’s Detective Germaine. I need to ask you a few—”
Before I finished, a female voice yelled, “I know what you did. Admit it! It was you!”
It seemed no one had heard me.
A second, higher-pitched voice replied, “You’re a dumbass. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Get the hell out of my house, or I’m calling the cops!”
“Call the cops, tramp. Call them right now. You can give them your confession while you’re at it.”
“I won’t be confessing anything.”
“Oh, no? What about now?”
A shrill, deafening scream was followed by, “Are you kidding? You brought a flipping gun? Get it out of my face!”
The flame in the female catfight had just been cranked all the way up. I made a quick call for backup and then raced toward the back of the house. Two girls, who both appeared to be college age, were facing each other on opposite sides of a queen-sized bed. One was tall and slender, dressed head to toe in athletic wear. She had a fishtail braid that went all the way down to her bum. The other girl was pint-sized, dressed in all black, donned a semi-shaved head, and wore Doc Marten boots. She also had a gun aimed at the other girl.
Shaved Head Girl jerked back, eyeing my gun, which was pointed at her.
“Put the gun down,” I said. “Now.”
Shaved Head Girl said, “This has nothing to do with you, lady. Get out of here. Ya feel me?”
I sure as hell didn’t feel her.
But she was about to feel me take her down.
“Don’t leave me with this psycho,” Athletic Wear Girl said. “Get your phone out and call the police.”
“I am the police.” I shifted my attention back to Shaved Head Girl. “You have about two seconds to put the gun down.”
“You don’t understand. I’m not the one you need to worry about—she is. She’s a murdering little—”
“Put the gun down and you can explain everything to me.”
Shaved Head Girl lowered the weapon, and Athletic Wear Girl leapt across the bed, tackling Shaved Head Girl to the floor. “You think you can come into my house and point a gun at me? You’re dead!”
I reached down and yanked Athletic Wear Girl back. She whipped around, elbowing me in the face. Shaved Head Girl dropped the gun, and it went off, the bullet tearing through Athletic Wear Girl’s shoulder. She dropped to her knees, grabbed her arm, and cried out in pain.
Shaved Head Girl burst into a fit of laughter. “I hope it hurts. I hope it hurts super bad.”
“Enough!” I kicked the gun into the hallway, pointed at a chair next to the bed, and glared at Shaved Head Girl. “You. Sit. Now.”
She narrowed her eyes at me and crossed her arms in defiance.
“I told you to sit down,” I said, gesturing toward the chair with my gun. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”
She shrugged and said, “Fine, whatever.”
I zip tied her wrists together behind her back, warned her not to even think about moving, and then turned my attention on Athletic Wear Girl, who was still bawling her eyes out.
“You’re going to be fine,” I said.
“Do I look fine?” she shrieked. “I’ve been shot! How is that fine?”
“I’ve been
shot before, and it was, ehh … a lot worse than the little flesh wound you’ve got going on. Suck it up, princess.”
I reached for a shirt in the closet and tore it in half. She eyeballed me like I’d just destroyed the most prized possession in her athletic wear collection. “What the hell? What are you—”
“Shut up.” I bent down, wrapped the fabric around her arm, and tied it off. “This will have to do until the medics arrive. Are you Brandy?”
She sniffled a few more times and then said, “Yeah.”
I shifted my focus to the other girl. “And you? Who are you?”
“Harley Quinn.”
“Oh, so you think this is funny?”
“I mean, yeah. Kinda.”
“Her name’s Roxie,” Brandy said. “Roxie Moreno, and if you’re wondering, yes … I plan on filing charges.”
Roxie.
“You work for Dr. Terry Pearson, and you were friends with Olivia Spencer, right?”
“How do you know so much about me?”
“Your name has come up a few times this week. You were next on my list of people to talk to today.”
“Talk to about what?”
The whir of sirens whined in the distance, the volume increasing as two vehicles came to a stop in front of the house. Officers Higgins and Decker entered the house, followed by the paramedics. Higgins glanced around and said, “This looks fun. What do we have here?”
I filled him in on recent events and then he loaded Roxie into the squad car. They headed out, and I climbed into the back of the ambulance to see what information I could get out of Brandy on the way to the hospital.
“What was the fight with Roxie about?” I asked.
“She thinks I had something to do with Olivia’s death. Scratch that. She thinks I killed her.”
“Did you?”
“Of course not. Do I look like the type of girl who beats someone to death with a pipe?”
Killers came in all shapes and sizes, and Brandy looked like the type of girl who became enraged if one of her fingernails got chipped.
“You look like a jealous ex-girlfriend who shoved Olivia so hard it left bruises,” I said.
“I don’t feel bad about what happened that night at the theater, but I didn’t mean to leave bruises on her. It’s not my fault she had sensitive skin.”
Little Broken Things Page 8