A Simple Lie

by Mary Bush

  “I think you need to take a look at this,” he said to Gavin.

  “What is it?”

  “The victim’s sister, the one that reported her missing, has a conviction record.”

  Gavin opened the folder, reading quickly, and then told Warren, “I want to see her first thing tomorrow. If she won’t come in willingly, I want you to bring her in.”

  5

  The next morning Gavin sat in his office staring at photos from the crime scenes of Jeanne Coleman and Francine Donohue. He flipped through each one, comparing them. He’d been going back and forth for over a half hour, completely ignoring Warren, who sat on the opposite side of the desk.

  He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a container of antacids, chewed on two and then took two more. The stress was burning a hole through his stomach. The media was all over this case and a gang-related killing was no longer suggested. Instead they had taken the liberty of announcing a serial killer on the prowl. The mere whisper of such a rumor had upped the game. Damn it, Gavin thought.

  There was no doubt the same person was responsible for both crimes. They had the same signature, and it was something that was never released to the media. Only the murderer would know to remove the sheets but leave the pillowcase behind. But there was no way this was random. These victims were woven together on a tighter level than some bizarre fetish associated with teeth and a pillowcase.

  Gavin initially thought Francine’s sister, Samantha Ritcher, would be a prime person of interest because of her conviction record, but the more he checked out her past, the less optimistic he became.

  Samantha had agreed to be interviewed and was due at any moment. As he waited for her to arrive, Gavin opened the case files, trying to see if there was any link between the victims.

  Francine Donohue hadn’t owned a private practice but had been employed part time for a large dental group. Seven months ago she’d quit her job and a month later had quickly and quietly disappeared, only to be discovered dead in the Eastville Projects. Why had she left suburbia to live in a slum shortly before her estranged sister went looking for her?

  Jeanne Coleman had a nephew who described her as reclusive. The last time the nephew had seen her was nearly a year and a half ago, and that was by coincidence at a local supermarket. He stopped to talk to her, chatted with her briefly and was eager to get on his way.

  Two deaths. Both included women who were trying to be almost invisible. What were they hiding from? Tossing the file aside, he picked up Samantha Ritcher’s conviction record. He could feel Warren staring at him, and glanced up. Reading the expression on Warren’s face, he answered, “I’m not discounting her, but she just doesn’t fit the profile in this case.” Though she had a dirty past Gavin just didn’t think Samantha was the mastermind who executed these killings.

  “That record doesn’t convince you?”

  “This record is why I’m not convinced,” he answered plainly and handed the documents to Warren.

  Warren read from the pages. “Samantha had three convictions before being committed to a state mental hospital at the age of seventeen—for involvement in a brutal killing. She was released several years back, but six months ago, decided to look up her sister—a sister that goes into hiding just before this reunion.” He looked up at Gavin. “And Samantha doesn’t fit a profile?”

  Instead of arguing about Samantha’s past, Gavin wanted to focus on the strategy they needed to take during the interview with her. “How do you want to do this?”

  “She’s not going to be easy to talk to. I’m expecting a struggle.”

  “I wouldn’t imagine she’d sit calmly while being grilled about involvement in her sister’s murder.” Gavin’s tone was biting, stress getting the better of him.

  “Yeah, but it would make our job easier if she did,” Warren said, equaling Gavin on the sarcasm. “By the way, how did you get a hold of that? Those are sealed. She was a juvenile then.”

  “I have my connections,” Gavin said as his secretary poked her nose into the office.

  “Samantha Ritcher’s here,” she said.

  Warren got up first. Gavin followed him out of the office.

  Samantha appeared much older than her years. Time in a facility and probably a drug addiction now had taken their toll. Gavin had seen the look of an addict enough to recognize it immediately. Her mousy brown hair was long and greasy, streaked with gray. Deep furrowed lines accentuated an ashen complexion and watery, bloodshot eyes. She was thin, almost too thin and held a cigarette through trembling fingers.

  “Samantha, I’m Detective Gavin and this is my partner Detective Warren.” He couldn’t help but notice how on edge she seemed. “You’re probably wondering why we’ve asked you to come in. We’d like to ask you some questions about your past, maybe find out a little more about you.”

  “I’m only here because I thought you were trying to find my sister’s killer. I thought you had some news about it. What right do you have to question me?” she protested immediately, becoming defensive and angry.

  “Your sister’s been murdered. It’s standard procedure to talk to everyone, especially family members. They get asked first. Your help allows us to rule you out and go after the monster who did this. We don’t want to waste our time questioning you when the real person is out there, so the quicker we complete this, the quicker we can move on.” Gavin reiterated, “It’s standard procedure.”

  Samantha Ritcher nodded, seemingly accepting this explanation.

  “What did you do time for?” Warren asked.

  “How dare you dig this shit up!” she yelled. “What the hell does that have to do with Francine?” Samantha jumped up from the chair. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “I’m afraid you do,” Warren said sharply and unwaveringly, implying Samantha better sit back down.

  Gavin wasn’t surprised by her reaction. He also didn’t expect her to be hard to neutralize. According to her record, she had spent a lot of time in the state hospital, and had a past abusive relationship. Submissiveness should be ingrained in Samantha. She would do as she was told to do. He just had to strategically coax the information out of her.

  Gavin responded again with his rationale for questioning her. He encouraged her to continue talking. With his manipulation and Warren’s dominance he knew someone like Samantha would eventually obey. This is why he thought Samantha was a poor suspect for the murders. She was too easily controlled. Someone who was in power committed these crimes, not someone who could be dominated.

  It took a moment, but Samantha breathed deeply, and then stated her reason for conviction. “Possession.” Her one-word answer was evasive.

  “Of what?”

  “Cocaine.” Again one word.

  “Drug possession was for your first two offenses, tell us about the third one, the one that ultimately landed you in the state hospital,” Warren insisted.

  Samantha remained quiet and just glared at the detectives.

  “They don’t put you in a mental institution for cocaine possession, Samantha. What else?” Warren grew impatient. So did Samantha.

  She crushed her cigarette into an ashtray and fidgeted in the chair before speaking. “What the hell does this have to do with finding my sister’s killer? Don’t you bastards have a real suspect to go after? Is that what it is? Is your head so far up your ass you’re questioning me? My record is all in the past. I was a kid back then,” she said defensively. “Why are you asking me these stupid questions? This has nothing to do with finding Francine’s killer.”

  “It has everything to do with it.”

  “Why don’t you tell me then? Tell me about my record. You have it all right in front of you,” she spat.

  “Because I want to hear your story, your feelings of what happened. This report can’t do that. This report lists what they said happened. Now Samantha, why don’t you tell us about your stay in the state hospital? Why were you there? Tell us about it in your own words,” Gavin said
, his voice purposely calm and much more sympathetic than his partner’s.

  Samantha looked at the floor as she spoke, her foot tracing the outlines of the tiles. “I got mixed up with someone pretty bad. He had me do some things for him.”

  “What kind of things?” Gavin asked gently.

  She shrugged her shoulders, avoiding a verbal answer. Her foot continued to trace the squares.

  “You helped your ex-husband murder a young girl?” Warren tossed crime-scene photos on the table from a case that happened almost two decades ago. Samantha looked up from the floor, showing no emotion as she glanced at the pictures.

  “I didn’t murder anyone. He did!” she said vehemently. “I’m the reason why he’s sitting in jail. My testimony put him away. I told everyone what he did.”

  “After a plea bargain,” Warren said unceremoniously.

  “You’re as much of an asshole as he was,” Samantha hissed. “Christ, I was seventeen. I was a young girl myself. I was an abused child under the control of a bastard. I did what he told me to do.”

  “You could have let her go.”

  “I did what he told me to do,” she repeated.

  “You lured her in. She trusted you and then you sat back and did nothing while he did this to her.” He pushed the pictures towards her again, this time she did not look.

  “Do you still talk to Daniel Ritcher?” Gavin asked, referring to her ex-husband who was in jail serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole.

  “I haven’t seen him since the day I testified against him. I have no reason to talk to him.”

  “Does he try to contact you?”

  “No.”

  “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?” Warren said.

  “I said no. What the hell more do you want?” Samantha’s chest heaved and every muscle tensed.

  Gavin knew if they pressed her too much on this issue, they might lose the ability to question her altogether. He softened his tone and asked a different question. “After all this time, you must still care about your sister very much.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “How did you know Francine was missing?” he asked.

  “I called and left messages,” she said after a few seconds, seeming to relax a little.

  “Did Francine return any of your calls?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure you had the right number?”

  “I got her answering machine. The voice was Francine’s.” Samantha continued to relax.

  “How many times did you try her?”

  “I called her for about two weeks. Then I went to her apartment and asked around about her, but no one had seen her in a couple of days. What I heard is that she just took off but I didn’t believe it.”

  “Any chance she took off because you were looking for her? Any reason she didn’t want you to find her?” Warren questioned.

  “Why the hell would she do that? I hadn’t heard from her in almost twenty years. If she wanted nothing to do with me, well all she had to do was just say so. Why are you asking me all of these questions? Jesus Christ, you sound like I’m the reason why she took off.”

  “We need to know why she left,” Gavin said.

  “I don’t know why.”

  “Did she ever come to visit you when you were in the hospital?”

  “No. The last day I saw her was the day I was sentenced.”

  “Why look her up now, after all this time?”

  “I’m getting my life together. Francine was the only family I had. I wanted to get to know her again.”

  Gavin looked at Warren. The interview was done as far as he was concerned. There was nothing more that they were going to get from her, at least not at this time. “I think that’s all we need right now, Samantha.”

  She grabbed her purse, threw it over her shoulder and didn’t bother to look back as she rushed out of the room. She did manage to mumble “bastards” on the way out.

  “What do you think, Mitch? You have to at least be suspicious of her,” Warren said.

  “I don’t know.” Gavin shook his head. “She just doesn’t fit the profile. If anything, the more likely scenario is that she’s repeating a pattern by being an accomplice, not the one in charge. Did you find anything on her boyfriend? She listed his name and contact information as her own. It seems like she’s living with him.”

  “I found nothing on the guy.”

  Gavin glanced down at his notepad, jotting down several points he didn’t want to forget. He was so absorbed that he didn’t even notice his secretary standing in the doorway.

  She said, “I’ve been waiting for you to finish. Dr. Blythe called during your interview. The DNA results are in on that toothless skull that was found. He confirmed it belongs to Jeanne Coleman.”

  6

  Val followed the Francine Donohue and Jeanne Coleman case nonstop. She gobbled any bits of this story from any source she could find. Three days had passed since the discovery of Francine’s teeth and this story was still headline news. So was the claim that a serial killer was on the loose.

  It was easy to feel the fear that gripped the city. The news repeated, When will the next victim be found? Every single woman is now a potential victim. It further stressed that people should make sure doors and windows were locked.

  Though Val had heard from Detective Gavin’s own mouth that a serial killer had not committed these crimes, she bought two new deadbolts anyway, one for each of her doors. If she had had the money, she would have gotten an alarm system too.

  The one place where she heard nothing about these women who had their teeth removed by a depraved psychopath was at the medical examiner’s office. There was no gossip, no talk at all. She began to wonder if Dr. Blythe had a gag order on the case. Even Candace was strangely tight-lipped. Then she thought of the likely reason for the silence. This was just another case to them and they had to be professional about such matters. The news sensationalized such things. The medical examiner’s office did not.

  Of course this is the reason why, she told herself. But damn it, I want to know what is going on. Val bit her fingernails and stared out of the car window.

  “Val, are you ready? You’re going in first. I’ll jump in only when I think you might need me. Okay?” Howie said. “Okay?” he asked again.

  Val snapped to attention. “Of course.” Howie and Val sat together in their official death scene investigator van. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windshield and she put her hand up to her eyes, protecting them from the glare. They had parked a few minutes ago.

  Howie grabbed the door handle. “Let’s go,” he said. “You’ve had enough time for any necessary pre-investigatory meditation.”

  Val was about to enter her first death scene as the lead investigator and was anxious as all hell. Dr. Blythe had decided to send her here today. From what she heard around the office, his newest investigator, one that Oliver highly recommended, should be ready to jump into action. Luckily, since the day she was hired, she had buried herself in Howie’s death scene investigation textbooks, learning everything she could.

  Julia had arranged for Howie to be with her on this assignment which made Val less nervous. Julia had also given her good advice: “Study basic technique. That’s the most important thing right now. The rest you’re going to learn as you go on. Mostly, know what to do when you first walk onto any death scene. Just act like you’ve been doing this for years and don’t let the cops bully you.”

  Val looked at the house they were about to enter. There was a dead man in there waiting for her to document the circumstances of his demise.

  Oh my God, what if I screw this up?

  She opened the car door, and stepped onto the pavement.

  Howie came around to Val’s side of the car and put his arm around her. “Just remember, you’re here to do a job. Try not to get emotional and act confident.”

  Her assignment seemed straightforward. An elderly man had been found dead in his a
partment by the visiting nurse. No foul play was suspected, but he was alone with his wife at the time of his death, and she failed to alert the authorities that the man had died.

  As they walked to the front door, Howie read from his report and explained the circumstances the responding officer provided to them. “The wife had no idea where he was or what happened. The visiting nurse found him dead in the bedroom and called 911. She noticed some odd bruising on the man’s head and was suspicious. Officer Reynolds responded to the call.” Howie pointed to the uniformed man standing in the doorway. “That must be Officer Reynolds.”

  “We’re not expecting foul play. They’re both in their nineties,” Reynolds said. “We’re here mainly because no one can find the name of this guy’s doctor to see what his pre-existing medical conditions were.”

  “He was in his nineties?” Val asked. “What pre-existing conditions didn’t he have?”

  The officer didn’t respond, but sized Val up. He continued to look at her and she felt herself shrinking. She repeated Julia’s advice to herself. Don’t be bullied. Stand up to them.

  “Where’s the body?” she asked, her voice firm.

  “He’s in there.” Reynolds pointed towards the bedroom.

  Val walked into the room, then stopped suddenly. She expected the dead man to be lying on the bed or the floor, but that’s not where he was. Holy crap, she thought, thankful that her thoughts didn’t make it to the ears of others.

  A portable commode sat in a tight space between the bed and a dresser. The man was still on the seat and would have slumped to the floor if the furniture hadn’t supported him. His head leaned against the corner of the dresser. This could have easily accounted for the large bruise on the side of his head, the same side still in contact with the dresser. The visiting nurse who’d found him dead stood several feet from the body.

  Val took a deep breath, walked up to the man and started her exam. Both the nurse and Officer Reynolds watched as she inspected him. She had been busy for about five minutes when Howie spoke. “By the condition of the body, he’s been dead for how long?” he asked.