Death Angel, page 26
Kate nodded again. While she took a drink of her water, Carl reached for a pad of lined, yellow paper, setting it directly in front of him. He tried not to set his expectations too high. He didn’t expect any revelations; the most he could hope for was an isolated piece of information that might give him new insights.
She began speaking, words halting as she talked about Jenny’s disappearance and death. Once that hurdle was passed, the narrative went smoother. She faltered again describing Leidecker’s interrogation after the funeral, and her realization that Richard was lying.
Carl leaned across the desk, trying to keep any judgmental tones from his voice. “Do you remember the exact wording of your question?”
“No. I think I asked him if he’d been in the forest preserve. He got really annoyed at my questioning him. He said he’d driven around, but he hadn’t gone near the forest preserve. I’m not sure I’m quoting him correctly. All I remember is that I was really frightened because I knew he was lying to me about something.”
He could see that she was upset. Her hand shook as she took a sip of water. Guessing that she felt disloyal to Richard’s memory, he let her catch her breath. After a moment she continued.
“When I’d had a chance to think it over, I realized that no matter what else Richard might have done, he would never kill Jenny.”
“Do you still feel that way?” When Kate looked at him sharply, he said, “It’s not a trick question. I need to know the answer.”
“I am absolutely convinced that Richard did not kill Jenny.”
Carl held her gaze for a moment. He heard the sincerity in her voice and accepted it. “All right, let’s assume you’re right. Can you think of any reason for him to lie about where he was the day Jenny disappeared?”
“I think he was having an affair. That would explain why he lied about where he was that day.” She blurted the words out, then took a deep breath. “I know in this age of sexual freedom, that sounds stupid, but Richard was very old fashioned. He had seen the hurt his father’s infidelity caused.”
“Do you have any proof he was having an affair?”
“No. It’s a guess. It was something that Chris Mayerling said. Or didn’t say.” She told him about the phone call from Chris the day Richard said he was going to Milwaukee. “I may be wrong, but I got the distinct impression that Chris tried to cover for him. Whether it was just because he didn’t want to upset me or because he knew where Richard had probably gone, I don’t know.”
“Could it have been someone at the office?”
“Maybe. It’s just like the joke about the wife being the last to know.”
“Had he ever been unfaithful before?”
“I don’t think so.” Despite the tremor in her voice and her heightened color, she didn’t dodge his question. “Once Jenny was born, sex wasn’t a priority for him. It was no longer a driving force.”
Carl got the picture of an old-fashioned marriage, where Richard was in full control of all aspects of Kate’s life. He began to see why she had never been assertive. The household revolved around Richard, and Kate had been content to follow his orders.
She presented a picture of vulnerability that appealed to a man’s protective nature. A knee-jerk reaction he’d been guilty of himself. Listening to her quiet narrative of everything she’d been through, he could not believe how much strength of character it must have taken for her to survive.
Watching her now, it seemed to Carl that since Richard’s disappearance she had begun to take the first steps to become an independent person. Where she had been ravaged by grief, she appeared to be energized by anger. He could hear flashes of it in her narrative.
She continued with her story, giving him some idea of how the pressure had built for her once Richard became a suspect. She held nothing back, describing how friends had abandoned them and others had rallied to their support. When she told him about the tomato throwing incident, he was appalled.
“Was it after the tomato thing that he said, ‘I should have told the truth’?” Carl asked.
“Yes. He sounded forlorn, not guilty. It was as if he suddenly realized that if he’d told the truth in the first place, he never would have been a suspect. I felt he was apologizing to me for the ugliness of the boys’ attack.”
Kate looked at him, seeking confirmation for her theory. He could only shrug. He had no way of knowing what had been in Richard’s head. When he made no comment, she continued.
“I’d like to tell you something that I couldn’t tell you earlier. The night the jogger was killed, I had my meeting with Chris Mayerling. When I got home Richard was passed out on the bed. His clothes were wet. I might not have thought anything about it except I’d just left Chris who had also gotten wet changing a flat tire in the rain. Richard’s jacket was soaking.”
Carl sighed, and Kate glared at him accusingly.
“I know you see this as further evidence that he killed Walter Hepburn, but I’m convinced he didn’t. According to the accounts I read in the paper and what Richard and I guessed, someone who knew his identity killed the jogger. Right?”
He nodded.
“I saw Richard’s face when he learned the jogger’s name. It meant nothing to him. Nothing. He didn’t have the slightest idea who Walter Hepburn was. Mike had to explain to Richard that it was the man who’d discovered Jenny’s body.”
“I’ll reserve judgment on this point. Let’s get back to his wet clothes. Did he give you any explanation?”
“No. When I got up the next morning he was already at work. When he came home, the reporters were out front and you were coming over. We only had a few minutes to talk before you arrived. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think about his wet clothes again until after Hepburn was identified. Even then, I didn’t ask him.”
“Why not?” Carl asked, studying her.
“You can’t imagine what that day was like. For Richard, it was an emotional roller coaster. He was positive that the second death meant he wouldn’t be a suspect anymore. Then with the discovery that the dead man was connected to Jenny’s murder, he was convinced he was facing possible arrest. If I questioned him then, I knew he would think I doubted his innocence. I didn’t know it would be the last time I’d see him.”
She pressed the tips of her fingers against her trembling lips. He didn’t rush her. Dark smudges ringed her eyes, giving her face a haunted quality. He knew nothing he could say would ease her pain. He was neither her friend nor confidante. He was her interrogator.
She blinked several times, and then continued speaking. “In Richard’s statement to you, he said he had gotten home just after five. He knew that I left the house before five because I’d told him so before you arrived. But the rain hadn’t started much before five. As wet as his clothes were, he didn’t get home until at least six. Maybe even later.”
For the first time since she’d made up her mind to talk to him, she was avoiding Carl’s eyes. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair as if only the pressure kept her from bolting for the door. Much as he felt sorry for her, he knew he had to force her to tell him what she was holding back.
“If you keep it inside, Kate, it’ll just be something else gnawing at your guts.” He spoke from the heart and hoped she’d hear his sincerity. Her bottom lip trembled. When she raised her eyes, he could see how close she was to tears.
“He was very drunk. He was mumbling, talking to himself. I don’t really know how aware he was of me. He said something about not wanting to hurt me. Said he shouldn’t have gone and then he said —”
She swallowed hard but couldn’t get the words out. Carl couldn’t wait, afraid she’d lose courage.
“What did Richard say, Kate?” he asked, his voice a command.
“He said, ‘I had to go. He was going to tell.’ ”
Twenty-four
“ ‘He was going to tell?’ That’s what Richard said?”
Carl kept his voice neutral, showing nothing but curiosity. He could understand why Kate had been reluctant to tell him this before. It was a damning statement.
“Yes. I don’t know if they’re the exact words but they’re close enough.”
“Did you draw any conclusions from what he said?”
“No.”
He let it go. It didn’t matter what she’d thought. Her situation had been a nightmare, and she’d coped the best she could. He gave her a chance to catch her breath while he looked back over his notes.
“As you think about the last couple months is there anything that strikes you as out of place. A little thing. Maybe a detail that nagged at you but didn’t seem particularly important.”
She thought for a moment, her gaze unfocused as she retraced the past. At one point her eyebrows jerked and then they both drew together. Carl tried not to get his hopes up. Finally she looked across the desk at him.
“Several things come to mind. One is a question. When I was going through Richard’s office the other day, I came across the computer printout of the cars with PF license plates. Were all of those people checked out? Like for alibis?”
Without knowing what had prompted her question, Carl answered as fully as he could. “No. You’ve seen the list, so you know it wasn’t feasible in the time frame that we had. Better than half the people in town have the plates.”
He could see the disappointment on her face. “You must understand, Kate, that the possibility always existed that the car was stolen or borrowed. We used the printout as a cross reference for anyone who turned up on any other list. Is it important?”
“No. I was just curious.”
Although he suspected she was holding something back, he didn’t challenge her. “You said there were several things.”
“Richard’s knife is missing. It was a small Buck penknife. Black. I gave it to him one year for Christmas and he always carried it in his pocket. It should have been with the things that were found in the car the day he disappeared, but I couldn’t find it.”
Carl jotted the word “knife” on a Post-it and stuck it to the telephone to be dealt with later. “I’ll check the list of things that were returned to you. If it’s on the list then it may have just been misplaced. Either way, I’ll get back to you.”
“I’d appreciate it. The knife holds a lot of good memories.” She reached for the carafe of water and filled her glass. She drank it slowly. “Ever since Jenny died, we’ve had crank calls but there were several that were different.”
He listened as she described the first call from the person she called the Whisperer.
“I wish you’d told me.”
“I couldn’t. By then you already suspected Richard. If I said I’d received a call from someone saying he’d been in the forest preserve and seen Richard attack and kill Jenny, you’d have been convinced he was guilty. Admit it.”
Carl pushed his chair back, too restless to remain seated. He walked to the window. Oblivious to the sunlit scene, he stared outside. She was right, and he knew it.
Turning, he faced Kate.
“You’re right. If you had told me about that call, I would have taken it as further confirmation that Richard was guilty. I don’t know if my opinion will change when I’ve sifted through everything we’ve talked about today, but I will promise to keep my mind open.”
Her eyes were steady on his face, her expression closed. Whatever her assessment, she merely nodded her head and finished up the narrative by describing the series of phone calls on the day that Walter Hepburn was killed. He didn’t tell her that he already knew about the calls to the house or the last one to Richard’s office.
“Okay. For the moment, let’s go back to that first phone call. You didn’t recognize the voice?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It had no real substance. Just a whisper. Neither male nor female. It could have been anyone.”
He pulled over the desk calendar. “It was a Monday when you got that first call, and the series of calls on the day Hepburn was killed was also a Monday. I don’t know if it means anything, but it’s curious. During the last call of that series when the person asked to talk to Richard, did you feel it was the same voice as the one you call the Whisperer?”
“Yes. I think so. But again I can’t be positive.”
“Did Richard ever mention any calls?”
“He never said anything, but when he was home he didn’t like me answering the phone. And the ones later —”
It was the shock on Kate’s face that tipped Carl off to the fact she had inadvertently let something slip. “Later than what?”
Kate’s lips were pressed firmly together, spots of color dotting her cheeks. At first he thought she was embarrassed but when she looked at him, anger was clearly evident.
“Someone called a week after Richard disappeared. He wanted me to believe that Richard was still alive. His words were: ‘I’m safe.’ The second call came about a week later. Same words. Same whispered voice.”
“Did you ever think the calls might actually have been from Richard?”
“Not for an instant. They infuriated me. It seemed like the purpose was to make me lose faith in Richard. I told you before that running away would not have been his style. So if he didn’t run away, he had to be dead. Maybe Richard was so overwrought that he swam out too far and then between the cold and the distance couldn’t get back to shore. Although it was an accidental drowning, I feel Jenny’s murderer was just as responsible for his death as he would have been if he’d actually murdered Richard.”
Carl had been staring down at his notes, and felt a spark of excitement at Kate’s final words. Although at one time he’d given a cursory thought to the idea that Richard had been murdered, none of the evidence supported it. With some of the additional information that Kate had provided, it might be interesting to reconsider that possibility. He made a note, and looked across at Kate.
She sat perfectly still, a speculative expression on her face. He sensed that she was weighing whether or not to tell him something.
“You know, Kate, every piece of information helps in the investigation of a case. Small, random items can make all the difference when it comes to presenting a case to the jury. In a trial it’s imperative to have a solid case in order to ensure a conviction. Have you any information you’d like to add?” he asked.
Her body language indicated her withdrawal. He knew the interview was over before she spoke.
“No. I can’t think of anything else I need to tell you,” she said.
Carl grimaced at her choice of words. He didn’t know if it was something he’d said, but she’d decided against telling him anything more. Given time she might confide whatever she was holding back. He accepted the dismissal and came around the desk as she stood up and smoothed down her skirt.
“I appreciate your coming in, Kate. This has been incredibly difficult for you. You mustn’t think of this as a betrayal of loyalty. What you’ve told me today may eventually lead to justice for Jenny.”
He walked outside with her, chatting about the weather, letting the small talk ease her back into the real world. He waited until she had driven out of the parking lot before he returned to his office. He stared at the scribbled notes, circled several entries, and marked a star in front of the words: computer printout. Why had she asked about the printout?
Leaning back in his chair, he opened the top drawer of his desk.
He pulled out the crumpled piece of yellow, lined paper he’d found at the library the day he’d run into Kate. She’d looked so guilty when she first spotted him that he’d been curious about what she’d been doing. After she left, he’d looked in the wastebasket and found the piece of paper with the references to Joseph Garvey.
He placed the paper on his desk, smoothed it out, and reached back into the drawer. On top of the yellow paper, he set the cellophane ButterSkots wrapper he’d found in Kate’s kitchen. She hadn’t mentioned it.
Where did she find the candy wrapper, and why was she looking up information on Joseph Garvey? He glared at the starred item in his notes. What did Garvey, the candy wrapper, and the computer printout have in common? It wouldn’t take long to check. He had a hunch about what he’d find.
He didn’t know what to do about Kate, but to be on the safe side he’d better have a talk with Joseph Garvey.
Kate sat in the car outside the police station, wondering if she’d made a mistake. She’d sworn to tell Leidecker everything, but at the last minute she couldn’t talk about Joseph Garvey. She’d been about to tell Carl her suspicions when he began talking about trials and convictions.
She remembered seeing Carl and Garvey talking together at the Fine Arts Dinner. Would Carl even take her accusations seriously? He said he wanted the truth, but what if it involved a well-connected member of the community?
Garvey was rich, and he had a ton of political contacts. He could afford an expert team of defense lawyers. Even if irrefutable evidence was discovered, she suspected he’d never see the inside of a prison cell. It had happened in too many high-profile cases. Even if a jury convicted him, he’d probably end up with a fine, two years probation, and fifty hours of community service.
What kind of justice was that for the life of a child?
God, how she hated the man who killed Jenny! It didn’t matter if it was Garvey or someone else. Whoever it was, had to be stopped. If he wasn’t caught soon, he might kill again.
Questions! Everywhere he turned there were questions. He should have known it would be like this. First it was the COP. He gave him the perfect solution to the deaths, but the man refused to close the case. The COP wanted every lead chased down, every detail nailed.
And now SHE was asking questions.
SHE was small and fragile looking. To look at HER, he’d never have guessed SHE had so much tenacity. SHE reminded him of the snapping turtle he’d gotten on his birthday when he was a kid.
Tortuga.
He’d seen it in the pet shop and the owner, Mr. Collins, let him play with it. The turtle wasn’t big. Six inches across with a wrinkled neck and brownish green shell. He’d bite at anything. The best fun was to hold out a stalk of celery. The turtle would scuttle across the bottom of the box and snap at the celery. He’d cut it off clean. The crunch sound when the turtle first bit down made his heart jerk inside his chest.
