A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (14 page)

“She’s here. She, not he,” he said. “Why are you really here?”

“I told you,” I said.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I need to talk to the reverend,” I said.

“What about?” Ameche asked.

“That’s a personal theological matter.”

“A personal, theological matter that you have to talk about, at nine o’clock at night, at a church you’ve never been to before with a reverend you don’t know.”

“You’ve got it, so excuse me, and I’ll let you get back to your duties.” I did an about-face and made for the knob again.

“Hey!” Ameche grabbed my arm and spun me back around. I faked a fall into his chest complete with a little gasp.

“Let go,” I said, looking up and gazing into his eyes. I’ve been told I’m exceptional at that angle. You know, the big eyes, slightly parted lips with my hair tossed back. Men could be such suckers for the dramatic, but I couldn’t help loving them for it. It was nice to know romance wasn’t dead among males, no matter their claims.

“Sorry, sorry.” Ameche let go, backed up, lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his dark hair before settling it back on his head.

“It’s okay. Can I go now? Please?” I rubbed my arm and pulled my top a bit lower. Ameche took in the complete picture and heaved an exasperated sigh.

“What do you really want?” he asked.

I calculated my odds and they weren’t good. He wasn’t stupid or horny. Or, more likely, good old Carl had given his partner an earful after my earlier appearance and Ameche wanted to follow his instructions. It was my last at bat, so I decided to go for a homer. Why not? I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Plus, I was starting to like Ameche. He hadn’t tried to cop a feel when the chance presented itself. With a body like mine, I appreciated a man with a sense of decency; there were so few around. He looked honest. The honesty was useless, but he also looked ambitious. That I could use.

“So Carl filled you in on my dad?”

“Yeah. What about it?” asked Ameche.

“So you know he’s got tremendous pull in the department.”

“Are you trying to bribe me?”

“I’m trying to help you,” I said.

“I’m not a total fucking idiot. You don’t want to help me. You want to get in the scene and you can forget it.”

Damn it
.

Ameche was getting brighter by the minute, but, then again, that made him even more ambitious.

“Let me guess, you want to be a detective, right?”

“And you’re gonna help me make it. You must think I’m a complete asshole,” he said.

“Not at all.” I reached in my purse and fished out my wallet. I opened it and held out a picture. “That’s Gavin Flouder and my dad at his retirement party. They were once partners. Gavin was murdered on Sunday. You hear anything about that?”

“I might’ve.”

“I think Gavin’s death has something to do with the murder here. My dad is on a cruise, barfing his brains out, or he’d be here talking to you. Actually, he wouldn’t. Chuck Watts, my cousin, would’ve already given him the keys to the kingdom. Now Dad wants me to do this, so I’m damn well gonna do it. Gavin wasn’t just Dad’s partner twenty years ago, he was our friend. He and Dixie had Easter dinner with us, for Christ’s sake. That was the last time I saw him unless you count the slab, something I’m personally trying to forget. So cut me some slack here, and I swear Dad will talk you up. Unless you have a dozen high-profile busts under your belt, I’m guessing you need it,” I said.

“And if I don’t?”

“Don’t expect help on anything, ever. Dad has a long memory as do I.”

Ameche considered his options carefully. I’d seen that look before and I knew it’d go in my favor. In my senior year of high school I decided to ask Werner Schneider to homecoming. My best friend, Ellen, told me not to, but, me being me, I did it anyway. Werner was good-looking in a geeky sort of way, but that wasn’t why I chose him. First of all, if I didn’t ask a guy, I’d have no date, again. I scared guys for some reason. I liked Werner for it because we’d had several conversations in Chem class, and he’d never once looked at my boobs. Ameche had the same look Werner had when I said, “Hey, want to go to homecoming with me?” He wanted it, oh yes he did, but he also had a certain standing to uphold. In Werner’s case, he was supposed to be above all the trivial society gatherings of all us peons. He was an academic. Ameche was afraid of getting caught and never being left on his own again.

“What exactly do you want to do?” Ameche asked.

“Check out the layout. Do some timing and look at where the body was found. I won’t touch anything. Come with me.”

“Your damn skippy I’m coming with you.”

Ha! Got him. Another guy dancing against his better judgment.

“One more thing,” I said.

Ameche let out a low groan, and said, “Now what?”

“Did you get a look at any of the evidence?”

“Like what?”

“Did they bag a cell phone?” I asked.

“I didn’t see what got bagged. What’s the deal?”

“I need to know if they found a cell phone near the body and, if possible, whose it is.”

“Why?” His fists were on his hips and I thought that I might’ve gone too far.

“Long story,” I said.

“What do you expect me to do?” Ameche lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair again.

“Get a look at the evidence list or the evidence itself. Chuck might have it on his desk. He likes to look at stuff while he’s working things out in his head.”

“How do you know that?”

“Cause my dad does the same thing and Chuck’s his protégé,” I said.

“If Chuck’s your cousin why don’t you just ask him?”

“I would, if he’d tell me, which he won’t. We don’t get along all that well.”

“Why not?” Ameche looked at me like I might be worse than he thought, if my own cousin didn’t trust me.

“We have this thing. He hits on me. I insult him. It’s like that,” I said.

“Your cousin hits on you,” Ameche said, his upper lip curling in distaste.

“He’s not my real cousin. His mother married my uncle when he was three,” I said. “He just does it to piss me off.”

“Works, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.” Ameche smiled.

“Swell. Now are you going to get a look at that cell for me or what?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“And there’s one more thing,” I said.

“Of course there is,” said Ameche.

“I need to know who my dear cousin was interviewing the morning after Sample’s death.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“If Chuck was interviewing them, they couldn’t have killed Gavin.”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” said Ameche.

“Okay then. Let’s go.” I moved towards the door, but then thought better of it and motioned for Ameche to lead the way. He gave a quick look skyward, as if to say, “Please God don’t let me get caught.” Then he opened the door and I went inside.

Ameche switched on the light. We were in an antechamber used for storage. Racks of choir robes, stacks of chairs, and boxes of children’s books, bibles, and hymnals littered the floor. There were no signs of a forensic technician going over the place.

“Didn’t they search this area?” I asked.

“It was locked at the time of the murder. This way to the crying room. That’s where the body was found.” Ameche led me down a hallway past several doors into the main section of the church. He closed the door behind me and said, “That door was locked after the ceremony and was still locked when we showed up.”

We walked down the aisle of the chapel, still decorated for the wedding. Small bouquets of flowers garnished each pew along the center aisle and the white satin runner covered the floor. The smell of rotting gardenias lay heavy in the air, making me remember why I hated gardenias. Ameche opened one of the entry doors to the chapel, the one the bride goes through on her way to her vows. The heavy walnut paneling didn’t quite match the understated elegance of the chapel with its white walls and tasteful bible scenes painted fresco style at regular intervals. A six-foot-tall golden cross with no decoration sat behind the simple altar. It couldn’t have been more different than the cathedral I attended as a child. Everything was bright and crisp with no hint of pain or sacrifice. All blissfully guiltless, but it felt wrong to me without the intricate mosaics, rich colors, and stained glass. The chapel might’ve been pure in its devotion, but I missed the mystery.

Ameche ushered me through the doors into a little antechamber. To my left and right were two more identical doors. Each had fingerprint powder residue at strategic points and were open. Ameche put his hand on the small of my back. “Don’t touch anything. The geek squad has been here three times already. All I need is for them to find new fingerprints.”

I clasped my hands behind my back and walked in. It was a typical crying room with two rocking chairs, small round table and chairs, and a changing table. All of which had been dusted for prints and, from the look of it, they’d found plenty. Four red plastic numbers at the far right end of the room marked specific evidence. The bench against the right wall had a number one marker next to it. On the back wall was the changing table with the numbers two and three on the floor next to the leg nearest the bench. In the center of the room was the last number, four, next to a bloodstain about two feet in diameter. The stain wasn’t a pool. It looked more like someone had went over the floor with a bloody mop.

“I thought she was strangled,” I said.

“She was, but she took a pretty good blow to the head on the bench, too.”

“But strangling was the cause of death?”

“As far as I know,” Ameche said.

Other than the evidence markers and blood, the scene was relatively undisturbed. The rocker nearest to the changing table lay on its side, but that was it. Not a bit like I imagined it would be. I expected the scene to look like a cyclone had torn through there. Get a damp sponge, right the rocker, and the room would be good to go.

“Lot of fingerprints,” I said.

“Yeah, dozens. It’ll probably take those techs awhile to sort through them.”

“And probably to no avail.”

“How come?” asked Ameche with a frown. “They think this was a crime of passion. I doubt he took the time to put on gloves.”

“Most people get killed by people they know. Everybody she knew was probably at the wedding and could come up with a reason for being in here.”

Ameche nodded. “The whole bridal party got dressed in here. I think I heard the photographer used it to store some equipment, too. It’s all bagged and down at forensics.”

“Okay. How many exits?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, let’s take a look, shall we.” I led him back into the hall and through the opposite doorway. It was a cloakroom with hanging racks and a couple of boxes of stray hats, gloves and boots. More folding chairs were stacked against the wall. It was windowless like the crying room and hadn’t been dusted for prints. Presumably because there would’ve been no reason for the killer to have used the room since it had no exit or it’d been locked. Ameche watched me while I walked around the room and then followed when I exited. I went over to the chapel’s front doors. They were massive, lightly carved and had dusting powder on the hand panels and surrounding area.

“Unlocked at the time?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

Dad wouldn’t be happy. An easy exit at night. Fantastic.

“Let’s take a look at the other exits.”

We went back into the chapel this time, walking down the other side towards a door at the right of the altar. I motioned to it. “Locked?”

“No, it leads outside,” he said.

“Let’s go.”

Ameche pushed open the door and waved me through it. It opened to an empty antechamber, probably where the groomsmen waited for the wedding ceremonies to begin. Directly opposite the door was another door. Ameche opened it for me and I stepped out, breathing in the warm night air and enjoying the feel of it on my skin. The killer might have done the same, so he wouldn’t look suspicious. We went down the short flight of stairs to a sidewalk until it branched off in three directions. One walk wrapped around the back of the chapel towards the parking lot. Another went alongside the chapel towards the front and a third led straight to a low, stone building about twenty yards from the chapel.

“Reception hall?” I asked, leading the way.

“You got it.”

“Do you have the key?”

“Don’t need one. It’s open.” Ameche opened the door for me, reached inside, groped around for a moment, and flipped a light switch. “They’re done with this area. Finished yesterday.”

Any evidence of the wedding was gone. All tables and chairs were stacked neatly against the wall. It didn’t take a genius to figure out anyone could’ve slipped out of the reception, gone to the crying room, strangled the victim and been back before anyone noticed. I could ask Dad how long it takes to strangle someone, but I imagined not more than ten minutes, less if she was knocked unconscious before being aware of the killer’s presence. On the other hand, they might’ve argued, struggled before the blow to the head and who knows how long that could’ve taken.