Invisible (14 page)

“No. Except that she was, in general, a rather . . . secretive person. But she was nice, very sweet and considerate. A responsible renter.”

He turned the snapshot over. “May we keep the photo?”

“Yes. Of course.” It occurred to me that I’d still have the negative, though I didn’t know what use I’d have for it.

And then we went to the morgue.

* * *

There were a few formalities. Detective Dixon introduced me to a woman in charge, tall and lean, wearing white pants and lab jacket and thick-soled shoes. I showed my identification and signed my name in a logbook.

I’d read enough detective and mystery novels to know a little of what to expect, so I wasn’t horrified by the sound of laughter behind a closed door as the woman led us down a long hallway, her shoes squeaking as she walked. Life goes on in the midst of death. Maybe someone was telling a good morgue or corpse joke.

I also wasn’t surprised by the formidable double doors at the end of the hallway, or the glaring fluorescent lights, surfaces of stainless steel, chilled air, and antiseptic scent. I expected the impersonal aura of the room. I wasn’t shocked by the big refrigerated unit with individual pull-out compartments that held remains of the dead.

Yet none of that prepared me for when the woman rolled one of the compartments out and I saw a body draped in a green sheet. Or for the moment when she pulled the sheet back just far enough to expose the face of the dead woman.

Kendra.

Not an instant of doubt in my mind, even though I felt a reeling moment of blackness. I heard a gasp and realized it was my own. Detective Dixon’s hand was already on my arm to steady me, and I was grateful for the support. The top of my head felt as if it might float away.

Not because the body was in a dreadful state. I couldn’t see the horror of the fatal gunshot wound. Marks of an autopsy, which I knew must have been performed, were not visible. In spite of the fact that she hadn’t been treated to cosmetic touches by an undertaker, Kendra’s face was still delicately beautiful. Her skin was pale and bloodless, a single abrasion on her temple, her dark hair tangled but not matted.

Yet there was a horror here that had been absent at the many funerals I’d attended. Because here was no impartial disease or accident or old age. Here was murder.

“Did they find a bullet when they did the autopsy?” I whispered.

“Yes. It may be helpful at some point. Can you identify her?” Detective Dixon asked gently, although I’m sure he already knew my answer. He pulled the sheet up an inch and tucked it around Kendra’s chin, an almost protective gesture that touched me.

“Yes. It’s my neighbor. Thea’s renter. Kendra Alexander.”

I signed something confirming my identification, but I have no memory of going out the double doors or walking down the long hallway. I blinked at the sudden blaze of summer sunshine. We were outside, standing above wide concrete steps leading down to the sidewalk.

“You have guts, Mrs. Malone,” Detective Dixon said.

I didn’t feel as if I had “guts.” I felt drained, a bit woozy and disoriented. A faint scent of antiseptic and other unidentifiable chemicals lingered, more in my head than nostrils. I grasped the metal railing and breathed deeply, trying to bring in fresh clean air and expel the tainted.

Back in the police car, I propped my purse in my lap and wrapped my fingers around the clasp to keep them from trembling. “Now what?”

“Now we pour a big cup of coffee into you.”

That wasn’t what I’d meant, but even in the heat of the summer day it was exactly what I needed.

Detective Dixon pulled into the drive-through window at a McDonald’s. He ordered two large coffees. Black. I was so rattled I didn’t even think to tell him mine should get a senior discount. Then he drove the police car around the building and parked in shade on the far side of the lot. He took off his tan jacket. I wondered when, if ever, he took off the shoulder holster and gun.

After several minutes of sipping strong coffee, I repeated the question. “Now what happens?”

“Now we try to find out more about your friend so we can notify her next of kin. And we figure out who did this to her and nail him.”

“I think I told you her family is out in California. She never talked much about them, although I don’t think there was any family estrangement. I never did know why she left California and came here.”

“We’ll check into all that.”

“Will you investigate the man she’d been seeing?”

“Oh yes. Now that we have positive identification, he’s definitely a person of interest. You have no idea who he is?”

“Not a clue. I saw him once, but all I can say is that he’s tall and lanky. An angular face. Walks with a swagger. He seldom came to the apartment, and he was very skittish the one time Thea and I bumped into him there. Kendra usually met him somewhere.”

“You mean as if they were . . . sneaking around?”

I didn’t like to get into this, because it made Kendra look sleazy, but there was no avoiding it. “Thea and I suspected he might be married.”

“Sounds possible.”

“Have you found out anything about her?”

“Not having positive identification of the body, we’ve done only some preliminary investigation so far. We ran the name through the files and didn’t find any criminal records. Not even a traffic ticket. But now we’ll dig much deeper, of course. The photo you furnished will help.”

“Bottom-Buck Barney’s should have some information. Kendra must have filled out a job application and listed references.” I felt sudden embarrassment. “But who am I to be telling you how to investigate?”

Detective Dixon grinned, apparently not offended by my unsolicited suggestions. “I think we can use all the help we can get on this one.”

“There’s another case I’d like to ask you about.”

He lifted blond eyebrows. “Not another murder, I hope?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. But there’s been this vandalism out at a little rural cemetery called Country Peace. Maybe you’ve heard about it?”

“I’m with the city’s major crimes unit, so that would be out of my jurisdiction. But I do remember seeing photos in the newspaper. Makes you wonder what’s wrong with people, that they get their kicks doing something like that.”

“My friend Thea’s aunt and uncle are buried there, and their tombstone was overturned. Thea was so upset about it that after her passing I decided to . . . do something about it.”

“You contacted the authorities?”

“Yes. But it didn’t sound as if the county sheriff’s office could do much. So I’ve been going out there almost every night to watch for the vandals. And Saturday night—”

Detective Dixon turned in the seat so rapidly that his coffee tidal-waved over the edge of the cup. “You’ve been doing what?”

“Watching for the vandals. I stash my car down the road a ways, and then hide behind Aunt Maude’s tombstone and—”

“Let me get this straight. You, just you alone, you’re sitting out there in the dark, in the middle of the night, all alone in a cemetery?”

“You’re repeating yourself.”

“I’m having a hard time picturing it.” He paused. “I’m not sure I want to picture it.”

“Picture a tombstone resembling a Volkswagen Bug. Yours truly swigging 7-Up and doing jumping jacks to stay awake. But I wasn’t alone. God was right there with me, just as he always is.”

Detective Dixon shook his head. “You’ve got guts, Mrs. Malone,” he said again.

More guts than brains, I suspected he was thinking.

“You don’t happen to have an unmarried granddaughter stashed away somewhere, do you?” he added.

The disconnected question momentarily befuddled me. “Granddaughter?” I repeated. Then I realized what he was getting at and felt a nice glow at the roundabout compliment. “Unfortunately, no.”

“Shucks.”

“You don’t happen to have an attractive unmarried grandpa stashed somewhere?” I challenged.

“No.”

“Shucks. Now to get back to my stakeout at the cemetery—”

“Mrs. Malone, I really have to ask you not to do that anymore. It could be dangerous. Kids get out like that, drinking and partying, you can’t tell what—”

“They weren’t kids. And I don’t think they were drinking.”

“No?”

“No. It was two grown men. I’m not sure how old, the big one maybe in his forties, but definitely neither of them teenagers. They were driving a pickup, probably four-wheel drive, with something on back to fasten a cable to.”

“Probably a trailer hitch.”

“They’d wrap the cable around a tombstone, fasten it to the pickup, and pull.”

“You could see all this from a distance, in the dark?”

“It was dark, but I wasn’t far away. I sneaked up to within a few yards of them. But then I fell in a ditch, so I didn’t get close enough to the license plate to feel the numbers, and I know that’s what you need.”

Detective Dixon groaned. “Mrs. Malone, you shouldn’t . . . you can’t—”

“One man I didn’t see clearly. I just heard him speak. He had a high-pitched, almost squeaky voice. But the flashlight accidentally lit up the other one’s face. It was broad, not exactly fat, but kind of beefy. He was the boss.”

“Look, Mrs. Malone, you have to promise me you won’t go out there again.”

“But somebody has to do something about what’s going on, and if the sheriff’s office doesn’t have time or man-power—”

“This is out of my jurisdiction, but I’ll talk to the sheriff’s office. But you have to promise me—”

I jiggled my almost empty coffee cup, reluctant to make promises. But I didn’t mind bargaining. “If I promise you this, will you promise to tell me what you find out about Kendra?”

“Some information is confidential, for departmental use only.”

“Just promise you’ll tell me anything that isn’t confidential. I’d like to express my sympathy to her family, once you find out who they are. And maybe I’ll be able to think of something more that would be helpful. For example, if you’d like to look around her apartment, I have a key.”

“A key? Great! We’ll need to get into the apartment. Okay, we have a deal. You don’t go out to this cemetery anymore, and I’ll tell you what I can as the investigation on Kendra progresses.”

“Okay. Now, I’ve been wondering about Kendra’s car. I assume she must have driven it to wherever she disappeared from.”

Detective Dixon filtered that question through some mental strainer and apparently decided this wasn’t confidential information. “We ran the name through vehicle registrations, and now we’ll distribute the license plate number and VIN, that’s vehicle identification number, nationwide. My guess is that it’ll turn up abandoned somewhere. But not necessarily around here. Her killer may have driven halfway across the country by now. She may have been killed during a theft of the car, in fact.”

I shuddered to think that someone would kill for that mundane little car. “I’ve also been wondering what happened to all her personal belongings that were in the apartment. It looks as if she loaded up everything intending to leave, and then someone killed her.”

“Are you saying the killer could be someone who didn’t want her to leave? Like the boyfriend?”

“I’m not sure what I’m saying,” I admitted. “I guess I’m just thinking out loud. Although I still can’t imagine Kendra taking Thea’s lamps when she left.”

“Which means whoever killed her may not have been after the car. That the killer may have been someone she knew, and that person came back and emptied the apartment to make it look as if she’d left on her own—” He broke off as if he realized he was also thinking out loud, and he’d rather I didn’t hear his thoughts.

Could someone have done that without anyone in the neighborhood seeing it happen? Yes, under cover of darkness, there would have been no problem. Most nights I hadn’t been around, and Magnolia, though certainly inquisitive and observant, slept with plugs in her ears and an anti-wrinkle mask over her face. And this was no longer an area where neighbors in general looked out for each other or paid much attention to what anyone else was doing.

“Do you know where her body was put into the river?” I asked.

“Probably tossed from one of the bridges, although it’ll be tough to pin down, unless someone comes forward who saw it happen. Or she could have been dumped into a smaller tributary and then the body floated on down to the river.”

“You mentioned ‘discrepancies’ about Kendra,” I said.

“Nothing I can tell you about at the moment.”

“Kendra had mentioned to me once that she had something to do here, and another time said she was almost through here. I asked her if she was up to something, and she reacted very strangely. I’ve wondered what all that meant.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Detective Dixon took me home. He insisted on walking me to the door, even though I told him I was fine. I could see Magnolia watching from the side gate to her backyard. If she craned her head any further, she’d have a neck like that weird little alien in the
ET
movie.

The police car was barely out of the driveway when Magnolia barreled over to my backyard. I told her about identifying Kendra’s body, and she plopped down on Harley’s bench. I was glad it was good and sturdy. She fanned herself with a handkerchief from the pocket of her caftan.