Punish the Deed (7 page)

Thirteen

In the elevator of the Justice Complex, Lucinda pressed the Down button. She had decided to stop by the morgue before she’d let Theismann off the hook. She pushed open the swinging stainless-steel doors and called out for Doctor Sam.

“Back here, Lieutenant. How am I supposed to do my job if you keep interrupting me?”

“I haven’t bugged you for hours, you old curmudgeon. Have you finished the autopsy of Shari Fleming?”

“How slow do you think I am? I finished with her hours ago.”

“So what’s the verdict?” she asked.

“Verdicts are for court,” he snarled back at her.

“Doc, cut me some slack. Cause of death, manner of death, whatcha got?”

“Someday I won’t be around here anymore and then you’re gonna wish you treated me nicer.”

“C’mon, Doc. You know you’re my favorite ghoul. What did ya learn? What do I need to know?”

“I have half a mind to ignore you for that “ghoul” remark, but in the name of justice, I’ll let that slide. She died from blunt-force trauma to the head. The weapon was probably a baseball bat – not definitely now; it could have been any club-shaped object. But there were no splinters in her hair and so, whatever it was, it had a smooth, finished, rounded surface like a bat. And her hands, you remember her hands?”

Lucinda thought for a moment and said, “Yes. Across her chest. The fingers bent strangely.”

“Well, it looks like your guy broke her fingers after she was dead and then put her hands together like that.”

“A guy? Not a woman?”

“Possibly a woman but not likely. Whoever did this used a lot of brute force. Looks like you’ve brought me the handiwork of yet another sicko, Lieutenant. Thanks a lot,” he said as turned away to return to the autopsy table.

“Why, Doc, do you always blame me for the bad guys?”

He turned around and looked at her over the frame of his half-glasses. “Can’t blame the victim now, can I?”

Lucinda rolled her eyes and headed back to the elevator and up to the fourth floor. She observed Monica through the glass. Her shoulders slumped, her gaze cast down on the table and her hands folded on uncrossed legs that stood primly side by side. Lucinda walked into the room and Monica didn’t even raise her head. “Ms. Theismann, can we talk now?”

Monica nodded her head.

“About you and Superintendent Irving . . .?”

“Yes. You are right. I threw myself at him and he rejected me,” she said with bowed head. She turned her face upward and continued. “I swear to you, though, I had nothing to do with Shari Fleming’s death. You have to believe me.” Her eyes filled with tears.

Lucinda could see the tracks of those previously shed trace a line through the make-up on her face. She felt a moment of sympathy for the frightened woman before her and then remembered what a spiteful gossip monger she was. “You are still a person of interest and even if you are cleared of murder, you may be charged with obstructing justice for that rumor you started about Irving and Fleming.”

“Oh, please, please. I’m sorry,” Monica pleaded.

“It’s not up to me. It’s up to the District Attorney. But I have no further need to hold you here for now. You can leave,” Lucinda said and walked away from the table to the door.

“You’re not going to give me a ride back to work to get my car?”

“Not me. Not hardly.” Lucinda said, knowing any patrolman would gladly do just that but wanting Monica to have to figure that out for herself. Lucinda just walked out the door and didn’t look back.

Fourteen

Lucinda went to her desk, searched through her in-box and pulled out the contact list for all of Shari Fleming’s staff and headed out to visit their homes. She whispered a “thank you” into the air to whomever it was that had dug out the list she’d requested earlier that day. She drove off to start visiting their homes.

By 9:15 that night, she had completed six visits to social workers and received four names – three parents and one teacher – to check out as possible suspects. None of them sounded very likely but at least she had some leads. She decided she could squeeze in one more staff member before it would be too late to be disturbing people at home.

She rang the bell beside the door to the apartment of social worker Melanie Thomas. She heard the cover sliding off the peephole and a muffled voice asking, “Who is it?”

“Lieutenant Pierce. Homicide,” she said, holding her badge and identification in clear view.

The deadbolt clunked open, the chain slid out and the door opened. Melanie’s hair was jet black, straight and down to her waist. It contrasted sharply with a face as pale as a new Easter lily bloom. Her dark blue eyes were mesmerizing in the midst of that all that drama. “Are you here about Shari?”

“Yes, I am,” Lucinda said.

“Come in. What can I get you? Coffee? Tea? A soft drink? A glass of wine? Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“Just a little time and some information,” Lucinda said, following her into the living room.

Melanie plopped down on the sofa, stretched her legs out across the cushions and pointed to an adjacent upholstered chair. Lucinda took a seat and could tell the other woman was studying Lucinda’s face. The question marks in Melanie’s eyes were as obvious as dog drool.
I am so tired of answering questions about my face.

Before Melanie could verbalize what was on her mind, Lucinda asked her about her job responsibilities and daily routine at Olde Towne Primary School, then asked her about her whereabouts the night before.

“I was right here. My sister and her boyfriend were here, too. They came down for a long weekend – almost a week, actually – and didn’t leave until this morning. Her boyfriend went to bed around ten last night but we were up till two in the morning talking about everything.” Melanie grabbed a notepad and pen off the coffee table. “Here’s my sister’s phone number and I think I’ve got his number on my cell.” She pulled it out of her pocket and scrolled down. “There it is.” She jotted it down on the pad, tore off the sheet and handed it to Lucinda.

“I usually have to ask first,” Lucinda said with a chuckle.

“Hey, why waste time? I guess my eagerness could be misinterpreted as a cover-up for a grand conspiracy. But shoot, if that were true, I’d be a goner all ready; my sister is such a blabbermouth. What else can I tell you?”

It was refreshing and maybe even a little disarming to find such a cooperative witness, but Lucinda worked on being grateful instead of skeptical. “Are there any parents at your school with a reason to be angry at Ms. Fleming?”

“Oh, wow, you’ve got to be kidding. These are all young parents with little kids in the program at my school. Some of them were kids when they had kids – some of them still are kids. Shari and the program are their salvation. They love it when she comes by the school for one of our parent meetings. They call her “Tia Shari” and gather round her like kittens to a bowl of milk.”

“Most of the families are Hispanic?”

“Heck no, not at this school, just a handful are. Most of our families are African-American. But one Latina started calling her “Tia” and now everyone does.”

“What about the teaching staff and the school’s administrative staff, any problems there?”

“Jeez, no. We solve so many problems for them from head lice to absenteeism to behavior issues. The only problem we have from the faculty is excessive demonstrations of gratitude.”

“No behavior problems you couldn’t solve – one that caused a teacher to blame you or Ms. Fleming?”

“We don’t really have the serious issues that are common at the middle schools and high schools. These are little guys, Pre-K, Kindergarten and first grade. A little acting out from a need for attention. If you take action right away, and get the parents involved, it usually clears up in no time. And unless Mr. and Mrs. Satan move into the neighborhood and enroll their little minion-ettes, I don’t expect any life-threatening problems.”

“Okay then, what about the staff of Communities in Schools? Anyone discontent, annoyed, angry?”

Melanie looked down and contemplated the lines in the palm of her hand. Lucinda waited in silence.

“Have you talked to any other staff members?” she asked without looking up.

“Yes, I have. A few of them.”

“Did any of them mention any problems with co-workers?”

“No, they didn’t.”

Melanie grimaced and looked up. “I’m really not comfortable answering that question.”

Lucinda sat still, holding her gaze but not saying a word.

Melanie sighed. “I really don’t think it’s relevant.”

Still Lucinda did not utter a word.

“But if it popped up at another time, it might throw you off the track. So, here goes. Timmy Seifert.”

“What about Timmy Seifert?”

“Timmy is a social worker like me. But he’s at Timberlane High School. He’s always complaining about not being the Executive Director.”

“He wants Ms. Fleming’s job?” Lucinda asked.
Possible motive?
she wondered.

“Well, he certainly did. Timmy’s been around as long as Shari, since the very beginning. In fact, he applied for her job then. He was one of the three finalists but Shari got the job and he’s been ticked at the board of directors ever since.”

“Has he been angry at Shari, too?”

“He’s never expressed that. He always talks and acts like he owes Shari a debt of gratitude. According to Timmy, he appreciated Shari for hiring him despite the fact that he competed for her job and in defiance of a board of directors that believes he’s gay.”

“Is he gay?”

“No. He’s just a mess. He’s a real homophobe, actually, with insecurity about his own gender identity. Then, God only knows why, he got into a profession where most practitioners are female. It makes him real defensive and he’s always suspecting discrimination because someone, somewhere, thinks he’s gay. He believes that’s why he didn’t get Shari’s job in the first place. I tell him he’s silly. The board flat out doesn’t care one way or another just what his sexual preference is, just so long as it doesn’t involve kids. He’s paranoid about it. Always saying this person or that person thinks he’s gay ’cause he’s a social worker.’”

“How can you be sure that the board didn’t discriminate against him?”

“Because there is at least one woman who is lesbian and a guy who’s gay on the board. And there are rumors that another guy dresses up like a woman when he’s out of town on vacation.”

“Nonetheless, do you think there is a possibility that he might take his resentment toward the board out on Ms. Fleming?”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I’d bet on it. Then again, I’m just a social worker, although I have a really good intuitive feel for people. Still, I’m not a mind reader.”

“Anything else you think I should know?”

Melanie shook her head. “I wish I did, Lieutenant. I wish I had all the answers for you. As a social worker and a Christian, I am all about redemption. But not for this guy. Not for whoever killed Shari. Catch him and put a bullet in his head if you get half a chance. I kinda felt guilty thinking that, but now I’ve said it and I guess that makes it even worse. I should be ashamed but I’m not.”

“You’re just human, Ms. Thomas; no need to be ashamed of that,” Lucinda said as she stood and handed Melanie a business card. “You think of anything, give me a call.”

Melanie nodded, stood and placed a hand on Lucinda’s forearm. “Listen, Lieutenant. I do referrals all the time. If you need any help hooking up with a surgeon or a counselor, just let me know. I’d be glad to help.”

Lucinda wanted to scream, but instead, she forced a smile, said “Thank you” and let herself out of the apartment as quickly as she could.

Back at the station, Lucinda ran a criminal background check on all the names she’d gathered that evening. Besides a few minor juvenile infractions, only one of the parents on the list popped up with an adult offense: Clarence Dumas. He was arrested and convicted of DUI six years earlier. Probation served without incident. No repeat offense. Not exactly a precursor for violent homicide. Still, she’d have to give him special attention. She had just signed out of the database when Ted walked in the door.

“Hey Lucinda,” he greeted her. “The techs have finished up at the scene and the whole building has been searched for a possible murder weapon. They brought in a couple of baseball bats they found in offices throughout the building and a couple of pieces of pipe from the basement. None of them appeared to have blood on them but they’ll do a thorough check in the lab.”

“Did you release the building?”

“Oh, no. I figured you’d want to do a walk through in the morning. I left the tape up and patrol folks on duty. You can release it when you’re satisfied. I know better than to second-guess you,” he teased.

“Oh yeah, Ted. I’m so difficult to work with.”

“Nah, not really. But you are demanding. As you should be.”

Lucinda gave him a smile and brought him up to date on her end of the investigation. They agreed that Ted would visit as many of the Communities in Schools staff as he could the next day and Lucinda would follow up on the new leads she’d got from her interviews.

“I’m heading home, Ted. My cat awaits and is probably in a foul mood since I’ve been away and he’s been without tuna for . . .” She stretched out her arm and looked at her watch. “Close to eighteen hours. And if there were anything else I could do tonight, I still wouldn’t be going home – so, he should consider himself lucky, but he won’t.”

“Want to grab a drink first?”

“No. I just want to go home, Ted.”

“Not me. Home is a messy apartment I share with a guy who snores louder than I thought humanly possible. “

“You still haven’t patched things up in your marriage?”

“My marriage is dead, Lucinda.”

“Have you been to counseling with Ellen?”

“No. It would just be a waste of time. End of discussion, Lucinda.”

“Damn it, Ted. You owe her. Ellen is still grieving over the loss of the baby. If you don’t help her get past this, you will regret it.”

“I guess that means you’re not going to invite me to your place for a drink, either.”

“Shut up, Ted,” Lucinda said and stomped out of the office.