The Fine Art of Murder (11 page)

“Might as well get this over with,” I told Nathan as I parked the jeep in front of Buckhorn.

“Want me to come with you?”

“No thanks, I’m fine. In fact it’s probably better if I go alone.” I left the engine running and went over to talk to Bostwick.

I missed my police uniform but was glad I’d put on my black pants suit that day. Clothes relay a person’s self-image and trigger a subconscious response. Black was a serious color; the matching jacket and pants meant business. The blouse could have ruined the effect if it had been a soft girlie color like pink, so I’d chosen grey. No distracting accessories; only a small pair of silver hoop earrings. Knowing I’d be going to the jail to see Randolph, I had to wear serious clothes to be taken seriously. But even as the day presented some unexpected challenges, I felt confident to handle them.

The sun was shining in his eyes, and Bostwick held a hand up to shield them. “I’m surprised you found your way back out here, so far from the city.”

“What do you want, Dean?”

“Word’s gotten back to me that you’re sticking your nose in my case . . . again. I don’t like it when a civilian interferes with official police work.”

“I’ve been hired by Randolph Pierce’s attorney as an investigator. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

“So now you’re an investigator? Like that old guy on TV, what was his name?” Bostwick looked up at the sky, acting like he was trying to remember Barnaby Jones. But I knew he was just getting a kick out of wasting my time.

“Look, I’m investigating the murder of Stacey Jordan, trying to clear my client’s name. We both know you don’t have enough evidence to go to trial. You just needed a warm body to point a finger at while you figure this whole thing out. Maybe you’re a little afraid you’re in over your head here, but that’s not for me to say. Anyway, get used to me being around because I’m not leaving until the real killer is caught. Now we can play nice and maybe share some information, or we can keep sparring and work against each other.”

“You can’t be serious!” he shouted. “You expect me to work with you? I did that for way too many years when I was just a lowly cop and you were the grand dame. But that was then and this is how it is today. You’re retired. In with the new, which means
me
, Mrs. Sullivan, and out with the old, which would be
you
.”

I shook my head slowly. “Still so childish, Dean. And it’s a pity because you were a good cop and could be a great chief. What’s that saying about youth being wasted on the young? But last I heard, you’re pushing the big four-oh. I believe that’s considered middle-age now, isn’t it?”

He reacted like I’d hit him below the belt, and maybe I had.

Three officers came out of the mansion. Two walked to one of the squad cars, without acknowledging either one of us, and got in and pulled away. The remaining one stood next to Bostwick. “Are we finished here, Chief?” he asked.

“Yeah, get in the car; I’ll be right there.”

“Look,” I said, after the man was gone, “we both want to see this murder solved. It’s your case, there’s no arguing about that. You’re in charge.” When in doubt, stroke some ego.

Bostwick nodded.

“All I want to know is what evidence you have against Pierce to pin this on him. As far as I can see, there’s just his lack of an alibi and the fact that a few witnesses saw him arguing with Stacey. Can you throw me a bone here? Maybe tell me what else you have?”

I don’t know what I’d said that made his attitude soften a little, but he shrugged. “Look, if you can get Pierce to take a polygraph, maybe we can talk.”

“Done. I know for a fact he has an alibi and a very reliable witness who’ll back him up.”

Bostwick’s eyes lit up. “And who would that be?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

***

When I got back into the jeep, Nathan didn’t say a word. But halfway down the long driveway, his questions came tumbling out.

“So what did you say to him? It looked like you guys were going at it pretty good there for a while. Did he threaten you? Because if he did, I’ll have a talk with him. Want me to talk to him for you? Are you okay, Kathy? Will you tell me what’s going on?”

I had to laugh. “Calm down and give me a chance to answer.”

He folded his hands and sat back in his seat. “Go ahead.”

It took the entire drive back to tell him everything.

***

Because E.T. had driven Nathan and Brock to the diner, I was Nathan’s ride home. Sully and I had spent many evenings playing cards or barbecuing with Nathan and Terry. They lived a few miles from my old neighborhood, and it felt like a strange homecoming when I parked on his street.

“I like the new paint job,” I said, looking at his split-level ranch.

“I needed something to do . . . to get my mind off . . . you know . . . after Terry died.”

“It’s a nice shade of blue. Very soothing.”

“That’s what I thought.” He started to unbuckle his seat belt. “You’re coming in, aren’t you?”

I looked at the clock on the dashboard, but it didn’t matter what time it was. Lizzie and the kids weren’t waiting for me. “Sure.”

Rows of daffodils were lined up along either side of the front walk. Their bright yellow heads bobbed as we passed by, and I remembered how much Terry had loved them. I’d gone with her one time to the local garden center. She’d bought so many bags of bulbs that we’d had trouble fitting them all into the trunk of her compact car. As Nathan took out his keys, I stood there missing his wife—my friend.

He walked inside and then held the door open for me.

“Come on in.”

Nothing had changed, except maybe the arrangement of the furniture, but even that wasn’t drastic. Nathan’s recliner had been moved closer to the TV, a new big screen. Terry’s chair was still by the bookcase. Pictures of family and vacation spots still hung where they’d been for years. The worn couch had a new yellow throw draped across it with matching pillows at each end. I wondered if he’d picked them out or had someone help him.

“Get comfortable; I’ll go grab a couple of beers. You still drink beer, don’t you?”

“Have you met me?”

He left the room and I could hear him out in the kitchen opening cabinets and clanking glass. When he came back, he had a bottle in each hand and a bag of chips under one arm. He set a bottle on the table in front of me, tossed the bag down next to it, then collapsed in his big chair with his beer.

“Now,” he started after I was done making noise opening the chip bag, “first thing you have to do is talk to Pierce about the polygraph.”

“I already did. He and Lizzie will cooperate.”

“Good deal.”

“We should go back out to Buckhorn when we can take our time looking around without any interference,” I said.

“I’m glad you said ‘we’ because there’s no way you’re going out there alone. After what happened to me, we know whoever it was is violent.”

“I agree. And I’ve been thinking that I need to know more about Stacey Jordan. Maybe there’s someone out there who isn’t even connected to the whole Pierce art thing. Maybe her murder was personal.”

“Like a jealous boyfriend or some coworker she pissed off?”

“We used to see that kind of thing all the time, remember?”

Nathan had a mouthful of chips and could only nod.

“Maybe an ex-lover tracked her down at the mansion. They were alone out there, no one to see. It would have been the perfect place to kill her.”

After a long drink of beer, Nathan said, “I’ll get Polly on that.” Then casually he asked, “So what do you think of my crew?”

“They all seem more than competent. I especially like Rosie. She’s a real character. And Polly sure knows her stuff. But E.T. . . . he’s . . . an enigma.”

“The guy drives me crazy with all his Zen-ness. I’ve seen him kick the crap out of a bad guy and the very next minute refuse to swat a fly. And you should see his apartment. Only
the bare essentials. Nothing fancy like a TV or radio. And don’t even get him started about the evils of a microwave. But when it comes down to weaponry and martial arts, he’s a respected expert.”

“Wouldn’t it be funny to fix him up on a blind date with Lizzie?” I asked. The thought made me giggle.

“Stop laughing, they might surprise you and get along great. He’s a pacifist who can be violent when he has to be. Elizabeth’s a victim’s advocate who can defend murderers if she has to. Each of them has a little bit of the old yin and yang inside of ’em.”

“Maybe so.”

“And good old Brock. He’s a one-man army. You haven’t had a chance to see him in action yet, but that big guy has the grace of a ballerina when he’s pushed against the wall.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Once the business part of our conversation was done, Nathan brought out an Al Pacino movie.

“I remember in our last e-mail that you mentioned wanting to see this. How about I run down to Chang’s and bring back some lo mein; we can eat it while we watch.”

I was touched that he’d gone out of his way for me. “Sounds perfect. I’ll make some tea.”

I hadn’t packed anything appropriate for a walkathon. When I told Lizzie, she excitedly ran to get me a T-shirt listing sponsors down the back, including her office. My jeans would be fine, and I did have a pair of old sneakers I always traveled with.

I cleared away the breakfast dishes, since I was the first one dressed. Lizzie walked through the house, phone to her ear, giving her assistant Josh last minute instructions about what to bring to Westwood Park, where participants were scheduled to meet.

Chloe came up behind me. “Mom’s on her phone twenty-four-seven. She practically sleeps with it. OMG, I was never that bad.”

I turned around. “Chloe, sweetie, are you telling me that a grown-up woman, using a phone to run a business, support three people, pay bills, and arrange schedules, is the same as a teenager using her phone to ask a friend what she’s wearing?”

She scrunched up her face. “I talk to my dad, too. That’s important.”

“I know it is. But I’m sure you can see it’s not quite the same?”

Frustrated with my logic, she inhaled and blew out a long, frustrated sigh. “Guess not.”

She’d managed to tie her short hair into a ponytail that stuck out of her head all bristly. Her face was scrubbed clean except for the pink lip gloss she loved to continually apply. An oversized shirt hung loosely over her floral print leggings. Bright pink tennis shoes completed her ensemble.

I grabbed her and held on tight. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” I asked.

“A lot,” she mumbled into my chest.

When I finally released her, she burst out of my arms and ran for the door, shouting over her shoulder, “Love you, too!”

Lizzie came rushing in. “Can you help Cam get ready, Mother? I have to be there early to help set things up.”

“Sure.”

His door was open and I could see Cam sitting on the edge of the bed, dangling his bare feet.

“Put on your shoes and socks; we gotta get going.”

“I’m working on something,” he said, sketching on a large pad with a worn pencil.

“Can I see?”

“If you want. But I just started.”

I walked into his cozy little room and sat next to him.

His hand moved swiftly across the rough paper without a second of hesitation. What a contrast to the stiff, unsure way he carried himself. Watching him draw like that, it almost seemed as if he was taking directions from an inner voice.

The abstract shapes interconnected in a free-flowing, harmonious design. I felt a little envious of his innate talent. Nothing had ever come that easily to me. I’d always had to study and work so hard.

“I like it,” I told him. “It makes me feel . . . peaceful.”

“Me too.”

“So what happened with your art project? Did the teacher like it?”

“I got a B plus. I would have gotten an A, but some glue from the frame leaked on a couple blocks.” He pointed to the piece propped up on his desk.

He didn’t seem to particularly care what his grade had been. But I still felt the need to cheer him on. It’s what grandmothers do, I guess. “B plus is great. You should be proud.”

Focused on his drawing, he didn’t respond.

As I glanced over at the framed blocks, which had initially reminded me of Jackie’s bracelet, I remembered Stacey had been wearing a similarly colorful one the day I met her at the gallery. Strange . . .

Lizzie suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Come on, you two. We have to be there in twenty minutes.”

Cameron got up off the bed carrying his pad and pencil to the computer desk in the corner.

With his back to us, he asked, “Do I have to walk at this thing . . . with all the other people? I don’t know any of them.”

Lizzie looked to me for some help.

“I’m not going to walk. You can sit with your old Grammy and watch. There’ll be chairs or something, right?” I asked Lizzie.

“Bleachers are set up all along the course. And there should be refreshment stands so you can have a snack. Does that sound good, Cam?”

He turned around. “Will they have hot dogs?”

“Yep,” his mother told him.

“Okay.” He went to his dresser to find a pair of socks.

“I’ll go get my jacket,” I said as I started to leave the room.

“Grammy?”

“What, Cam?”

“You shouldn’t call yourself old. ’Cause you’re not.”

“Thank you, Cam. I’ll have to stop doing that.”

***

The shirt Lizzie had given me was white with several puzzle pieces—the symbol for Autism Awareness—in the center. Each piece was a different color—red, yellow, and blue—and attendees’ shirts, hats, visors, and jackets all featured at least one of these primary colors, making the park look like a gigantic field of tulips. The temperature had risen to seventy-five, adding to the crowd’s enthusiasm.

Chloe perked up when she saw a few of her girlfriends and raced over to talk to them. Lizzie was immediately surrounded
by volunteers needing direction. After assuring her I’d keep Cam close and Chloe well within sight, she hurried off, shouting her thanks as she went.

I scanned the crowd.

Margaret Ann stood with a few of her girls from the beauty shop. She waved, mouthing a hello. A young cop I’d worked with for a few months before I retired was with his family. I couldn’t remember his name. He was holding a cooler while a woman I guessed to be his wife spread out a blanket on the lawn. It always threw me off seeing one of my men out of uniform in an unfamiliar setting. I knew them so well—and yet didn’t.

Cam was quiet, as usual, and focused on the handheld game he’d brought from home. I led him through the crowd, looking for a space on the bleachers near the starting line.

“Katherine! Hey, Sullivan!”

I looked out over the crowd but couldn’t see who had called me, so I sat. Cam plopped down next to me.

“Think you’re too good to say hi to an old friend?”

I still couldn’t figure out where the voice was coming from.

“Up here!”

Turning around, I saw Barbara Nylander sitting at the top of the bleachers.

“How long you been in town?” she asked, stepping down to sit beside me. “And why do I have to come all the way out here to see you?”

“I was planning to call you—swear—but I got involved in—”

“—the Jordan murder,” she said, making sure Cam couldn’t hear. “There are no secrets in this town, you know.”

“It isn’t a big secret. I’m just doing some investigating for Randolph Pierce’s lawyer.”

“Yeah, I heard your daughter hired you.”

I had to laugh. “Nothing gets by you, does it?”

“Being the county coroner sort of puts me out there on the front line.”

I wanted to ask a hundred questions and get her spin on the murder, but this wasn’t the place. Cam had fooled me before into thinking he hadn’t heard parts of a conversation, only to repeat every word that had been said later. Barbara was quick and caught on when I nodded toward him.

“We can talk business anytime,” I said. “So how’re you doing?”

“Better than the folks who end up on my table, that’s for sure.” She laughed at her own joke. She always did. Maybe it was her macabre sense of humor that helped her cope with what she had to do and see every day.

“How come you’re not out there walking?” she asked. “You’re in good shape.”

“Oh, my grandson and I are spectators today. Right, Cam?” I turned to look at him but he never took his eyes off the game he held tightly.

“What about Elizabeth? Is she here?”

“Somewhere. She’s one of the sponsors, which means she has to be everywhere at once. That’s my granddaughter Chloe over there.” I pointed.

“The one with the ponytail?”

“That’s her.”

“Cute.”

“So are you going to walk today?” I asked.

“Bum knees, bad back. You know how it is. Once you hit fifty, everything starts to go.”

“Must be hard with all the bending and standing you have to do on the job.”

“Yeah it is, but I’ve only got a year and a half till retirement. Then John and I are heading south.”

“Florida?”

“Hell’s waiting room? God, no. I’ve seen enough old stiffs to last a lifetime. No, I’ve got a sister who lives in Rio; she runs a hotel down there. What a place. Gorgeous beaches, beautiful, healthy people. Emphasis on healthy.” She laughed.

That time I did, too.

We tried to talk above the commotion around us, but it was getting frustrating.

Things were gearing up to start. I couldn’t let Barbara get away. “You know, I’d like to stop by your office sometime.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. Won’t it be closed up?”

She winked. “I got the key. How’s two o’clock? Gives me time to feed the old man and get him settled in front of the TV for his sport shows. He’ll never miss me.”

“I’ll be there.” I turned toward her, getting close to her ear. “This means a lot, thanks.”

A voice came over the very loud speaker, first welcoming everyone, then thanking the crowd for their support. When a
national representative started talking about what percentage of donations were going where, Cam reached over and shook my leg.

“Can we get hot dogs now?”

“Let’s go.”