“The teeth are a little hit or miss,” Elkin said. “Some old amalgam fillings. Otherwise, not in particularly great shape. My guess is, the victim hadn’t visited a dentist in a very long time.” He looked at Maggie. “You said you already know the ID?”
Maggie answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“Well, if you need me to corroborate it, your best bet at this stage is to send me the victim’s dental records, if they exist. Dental practices tend to destroy ex-patient records after a few years of nonactivity. And these teeth have been neglected awhile.” He gestured for them to follow him over to a lab table in the corner. “I did find this, though.”
A metal kidney bowl sat underneath a powerful magnifying lamp. Elkin switched on the light and angled the lens so that they both had a view of a gold ring in the bottom of the bowl.
“The victim’s wedding band,” Elkin said.
In processing the body, Elkin had removed it from Dana’s hand and soaped away the soot. In so doing, he’d uncovered an engraving inside the ring:
DC + TJC FOREVER
Loomis took several photos of it with his phone and uploaded them to Major Case’s cloud storage.
“I’ll email you the autopsy report before end of day,” Elkin said as he switched off the lamp. “Aside from that, we’re done here.”
Chapter Ten
RECHARGE THE BATTERIES
You do know we’re going to have to dredge that lake,” Loomis said as he and Maggie sat down in a booth, two hot coffees and a box of colorful doughnuts between them.
They were at a fast-food restaurant near the turnoff for Crown Pointe High School, a couple of miles south of Paradise Heights, where an odd mix of Sunday morning patrons were reading the papers and stocking up on calories. The rich aroma of roasting coffee and the sweet scents of confectionaries.
Maggie slid her old SIM card into the new phone she’d picked up on their way to the doughnut shop. Respectfully, she’d declined to take Loomis up on his offer of her using his unreliable five-year-old spare. The new phone had a bigger screen than her other, which was easier to see in daylight, and boasted a better camera, too.
“We know the killer tossed her purse,” Loomis said as he took a hearty sniff inside the box of doughnuts. “Stands to reason he tossed the gun as well. It’s now a murder weapon. He’d be a fool to hold on to it.” He picked out a blueberry doughnut and bit into it.
Maggie was still a little shaken after their visit to the morgue, the horrifying image of Dana’s melted face branding itself into her mind’s eye. Normally, a visit to the ME’s office didn’t faze her; she’d done it hundreds of times. Emotional detachment was the ticket. Out of the two of them, Loomis was the one who got itchy feet and needed a strong coffee afterward. But today was different. For the first time since becoming a homicide detective, Maggie had had a relationship with the person lying on the gurney, and her whole perspective had flipped on its head.
“This is so clichéd,” she said as she checked that the phone was operational. “You do realize that just by being here we’re conforming to every stereotypical preconceived idea about cops and doughnut shops.”
Loomis raised an eyebrow. “We do this at least once each week. Don’t act all put out and proper, Novak. You love it. Besides, where do you think those TV shows got their information? Single-handedly, the police keep the doughnut industry solvent.” He nudged the box toward her. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You said so yourself, Novak. Your blood sugar has flatlined. I don’t want you going all frail and flimsy on me. Eat, or Steve will skin me alive.”
“Steve’s harmless.”
“I’ve seen the way he handles a knife and fork. That dude is a pro.” His expression was serious.
Maggie checked that her phone contacts were accessible.
“How’s he doing, by the way?”
“Steve? Fine. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. He seemed a little pissed on the phone.”
“He did?”
“Couldn’t you tell?”
“No.”
“Like you’d called his kid ugly.”
“He doesn’t have a child.”
“As far as you know he doesn’t.” He saw her frown, and said, “Get outta here, Novak. I’m messing with you. Anyway, the thing is, what is he now—forty-three, forty-four?—and his worldly accomplishment to date is being a part-time surfer dude from the Outer Banks. That’s got to be a worry.”
“You’re conveniently forgetting he’s a full-time certified psychotherapist with more than ten years’ experience under his belt.”
“Don’t get picky. Anyone can get those certificates printed online.” He gobbled up another chunk of doughnut. “The fact of the matter is, he claims you’re his first serious girlfriend, ever. And this comes from some dude who’s combed the beaches up and down the Atlantic coast, from Montauk to Miami.”
Maggie placed the phone facedown on the table. “Okay. Spit it out.”
“Hey, I don’t want to rain on your parade. But if you ask me, something doesn’t ring true here.”
“Then it’s lucky for me no one asked you.” She picked up her coffee and leaned back in the booth.
“Hey, don’t get all defensive on me, Novak. I’m just saying. You know I go for the jugular.”
“I know you can be immensely insensitive without even trying. And wrong.”
“But you love me nevertheless.” He stuffed the remainder of the doughnut in his mouth. “Right?”
“If you say so.”
He picked out another frosted doughnut. “So what did you do to him?”
“We had dinner plans, yesterday evening. I was supposed to go to his place after the Halloween crawl.”
“You called to cancel, though.”
“That’s just it. I completely forgot. Nora called on my behalf.”
“Ouch. That’s got to hurt.”
“Let’s just say it smarts a little.”
“Steve got secondhand news from the baby sister. No wonder he was pissed.”
“I’m telling you he wasn’t.”
“Take it from a guy who knows guys. He was pissed.” He nudged the box a little closer to her. “Come on. Eat. I don’t want you fainting on me. We’ve a long day ahead. You need your energy.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. She reached into the box, her hand passing over an orange-and-chocolate-chip doughnut before scooping up a regular glazed.
Loomis looked offended. “What’s wrong with the pumpkin special? I chose it specially for you.”
Maggie showed him a glimmer of a smile. “I’m allergic to Halloween.” She took a bite, scooping crumbs back into her mouth. “Anyway,” she said, “how is it you manage to eat as much junk as you do without piling on weight?”
“Genetics. Plus, my resting metabolic rate is through the roof. My doctor says I burn twice as many calories in my sleep than I do working out.”
“You’re weird.”
“Can’t argue with DNA, Novak.”
They feasted awhile, washing the sweet and sticky doughnuts down with plenty of coffee.
Here in the doughnut shop, where people were enjoying breakfast and catching up on world events, it was hard to imagine that bad things could happen to regular folk. That people could be shot, point blank, and set on fire.
Did Dana ever eat here, maybe even sitting in this same booth?
Licking his fingers, Loomis said, “So how you holding up?”
“In what way?”
He leaned closer. “I know we touched on it briefly. But we didn’t get a chance to bare our souls last night. Some may not agree, but I’m not a total invertebrate. I have eyes, senses. This murder has shaken you up, Novak. You’re not yourself. It must have hit you hard, finding out this victim was your girl.”
A bite of doughnut stuck to Maggie’s throat on its way down. She helped it on its way with a gulp of coffee. “Let’s just say, it was the last thing I expected.�
��
“I know you said you hung out together. But were the two of you super close? Besties?”
“How did you get to be so nosy?”
“It’s in my job description. The word detective kind of gives it away. If you’d prefer we didn’t—”
“No,” she said. “It’s okay. Just give me a second.”
Maggie leaned back in the booth, nursing her coffee. As a rule, she never withheld pertinent case information from Loomis, and she believed he did the same. To do so would be counterproductive, not just for them, but to the investigation as a whole. Two heads were always better than one. Their partnership was more than a case of simply working together. It was a union based on mutual respect and cast-iron trust. But in this instance, she found herself holding back, unwilling to completely bare all, because to do so would expose her past failings.
Nothing she could do about it.
“Rita and I grew up in the same neighborhood,” she began slowly. “We went to the same schools. We hung out in the evenings and on the weekends. And you’re right. For a while we were best friends.”
“Like BFFs?”
She found her smile, even if it was weak. “We hadn’t invented those acronyms back then.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I spent a lot of my early childhood playing at her house. I grew close to her family. So when the house fire happened . . .” A hot geyser plumed inside her. She closed her mouth, hoping that nothing would leak out.
“Any idea who might have wanted her dead?” Loomis said softly.
She shook her head. It didn’t dissipate the heat.
“No weird neighbors or disgruntled boyfriends?”
“Loomis, it was twenty years ago.”
“Just saying. We make enemies from the day we’re introduced to other people. You run faster than another kid, they want to break your legs. You score higher on a test, some average Joe holds that grudge for the rest of his life. You steal some dude’s girl . . .”
“Are we speaking from personal experience here?”
“Aren’t we always?”
Loomis never failed to surprise her.
“The truth is,” she said, sitting forward again, the heat subsiding, “we have no idea what’s happened in her life over the past twenty years, especially when it comes to any unsavory characters she met along the way. We need to fill in the twenty-year blank. There’s so much we don’t know.”
“Like how Rita managed to escape the house fire.”
“Exactly. And why she became Dana. It’s basic information we need to find out.”
“Let’s hope the husband has some answers.”
They finished up and then made their way outside.
“Abby is cooking pot roast for dinner this evening,” Loomis said as they walked to the car. “Why don’t you come over? Fetch Steve.”
“That way he can tell you all about his beach babe conquests?”
“Don’t be bitter, Novak. Doesn’t look good on you.”
“Even if he has any,” she said as they got in the car, “which I’m in no doubt he has, he won’t share.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s a shrink. And shrinks are notorious for never taking their own advice. He talks less about himself than I do.”
Loomis turned the ignition. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
“Pot roast.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to miss out. Abby nails it.” He glanced at her as he buckled up. “This isn’t a request, by the way. I’m worried about you, Novak. I don’t think you’re eating enough.”
“You worry too much.”
“Someone’s got to. One thing’s for certain—you’re going to need much bigger fat reserves for the baby.”
“What baby?”
“The one Steve has planned.”
“And you know this how?”
“Because he’s in love and you’re a keeper.”
Maggie smiled dismissively. “Never going to happen.”
“We’ll see.”
He put the car in gear and drove out onto the highway, whistling like he didn’t have a care in the world.
It had never occurred to Maggie that Steve might want to start a family at some point. The subject hadn’t come up, and he’d never hinted at any kind of desire to join the ranks of fatherhood. But if it did turn out to be the case, that Steve wanted children, Maggie would be ready with her answer.
Chapter Eleven
IT’S ALWAYS THE HUSBAND
Someone should definitely do something to spruce this place up,” Loomis said as they headed into Paradise Heights. “Starting with dynamite.”
The name Paradise Heights conjured sunny images of multimillion-dollar palatial homes set within idyllic scenery. Grand water-fronted estates steeped in old money, with gleaming playboy yachts moored in a marina.
In reality, the small community located on the eastern edge of Lake Apopka was one of the poorest suburban neighborhoods in this part of the county, with a hodgepodge of rundown properties and family-run businesses that reflected their low-income households.
Maggie had always wondered if the name had been adopted with good intentions, or if it had been someone’s idea of a joke. If Loomis’s gloomy expression was any kind of barometer, there was her answer.
“Missing out on a little TLC around here,” he commented as they turned into Summer Haven Lane. Another name bearing no resemblance to real life.
Maggie wasn’t so quick to form a negative judgment. Foliage grew rapidly in the subtropical climate, and things could look overgrown and unkempt overnight. Plus, people lived where they could afford. The poverty line didn’t breed bad folk; it just kept the lowest paid separated from those with enough wealth for it not to matter.
Dana’s home address brought them to a small pink-painted wooden cottage sitting in the middle of a well-tended cactus garden. Tall trees draped in Spanish moss overhanging the property. Last night, when Maggie had stopped by, none of the details had been visible.
Loomis killed the engine, and they sat quietly for a moment, taking stock while Maggie used her new phone to take a test picture of the house. The image came out color saturated and crystal sharp.
“Okay?” Loomis asked.
“Perfect.”
Before setting out to the ME’s office, Maggie had logged into the Orange County Comptroller’s computerized records system to determine the identities of those residents registered at this address. According to the voting register, Dana had lived here with her husband, Thomas Joseph Cullen, for a little over eighteen months now. Without running a wider search, it was anyone’s guess where they lived before here.
A male rider in a red helmet roared by on a dirt bike, disturbing the Sunday morning peace, blue smoke trailing.
Loomis muttered something about unlicensed road use and that there were never any cops around when you needed one.
Maggie took a photo of the biker as he skipped the sidewalk, shooting between two houses farther down the street.
Then she zoomed the camera in on the white Subaru Baja pickup truck parked in the driveway of the Cullen residence. A decal on the driver’s door advertised CULLEN LANDSCAPING underneath the image of a cartoon character wielding a chain saw. She snapped a picture.
Informing the next of kin that their loved one had died was part of the job that many people in law enforcement dreaded, and understandably so. This kind of meeting had to be played by ear, and gently. Right now they had no way of knowing if the husband was involved in the murder. Although statistics showed that most murders of married women were perpetrated by their husbands, the last thing Maggie wanted was to spook Cullen and give him an excuse to clam up. In instances of uxoricide—when a man killed his wife—Maggie had found a surprising number of husbands unable to hold it together when questioned. One wrong comment could sabotage a pending confession.
“How do you want to play this?” Loomis said as they got out of the car. “Good
cop, bad cop?”
“Let’s just be ourselves.”
“It’s what I said.”
“Just remember we’re the bearers of bad news.”
“Relax, Novak. Everybody knows I’m a sensitive guy.”
But Maggie knew it wasn’t the whole of it. Although Loomis could be sensitive, when it came to dealing with certain men, he could be downright undiplomatic. She’d decided it was a man thing. An inherent refusal to wear another man’s shoes.
Maggie glanced in the truck as they walked up the driveway. Although the outside looked recently washed, the inside was a different matter. A fine layer of white dust clung to the dash, and the seats were covered in a fine powdering of soil and grit. Larger grains, as well as bits of plant debris, were scattered on the carpeting.
Loomis jabbed a thumb against the doorbell. A resonant ding-dong sounded, and a few moments later the front door creaked opened to reveal a middle-aged redheaded man with a curly beard. He was a head shorter than Maggie, hefty looking rather than sculpted muscle. He had on a green polo shirt, khaki chinos, and slip-on boat shoes. Embroidered in yellow on the left chest of his shirt was a miniature copy of the Cullen Landscaping business decal.
“Mr. Cullen?” Maggie said, pulling back her jacket so that he could see the police badge dangling on its necklace. “Sheriff’s Office. Detectives Novak and Loomis. Can we step in and talk?”
Thomas Cullen’s eyes flicked from Maggie to Loomis—who presented his own police badge on cue—then back to Maggie again. She detected no hint of fear in his eyes, or the makings of any panic. If anything, his expression was impassive.
On the face of it, he didn’t look like a man who had set his wife on fire the night before.
“Going somewhere?” Loomis said before Cullen could answer. He gestured at a piece of carry-on luggage standing in the hallway behind the man, a raincoat folded over the extended handle.
“Excuse me?” he said with the same blank expression.
“Planning a trip?” Loomis said.
While Cullen glanced behind him at the carry-on, Maggie gave Loomis a look that told him to let her handle things.
“It’s my wife’s,” Cullen said.
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