A Reunion to Die For (A Joshua Thornton Mystery) (8 page)

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s a positive ID. It would have been wrong for you to ID him when you weren’t sure. You did the right thing by telling us that you weren’t.”

“They all looked alike.”

“I know.” Joshua led him from the room. “I don’t think I could have picked him out either. The only reason you picked him was because he had the attitude. He was daring you to pick him.”

“He’s the one who killed Grace, isn’t he? And I let him get away.”

“Murphy, we have him on armed robbery and attempted kidnapping. He’s not going anywhere, and eventually we’re going to get him for murder.”

“Eventually. Maybe. If I had been sure—”

“Murph—” He wondered if he should tell him the truth. “Son, he has an alibi.”

“He’s lying.”

“Is he?” Joshua could have been talking to a colleague, not his son. “His alibi is positive that they were together at the time of the murder. You aren’t positive about him being at the school. Which one should I believe?”

Joshua returned home to switch from the Corvette to the van and retrieve the rest of his children to go to brunch.

On an impulse, he stopped on the way to the restaurant to invite Tad to join them. While he ran up the steps to his cousin’s apartment, the kids stayed in the van to argue over what music to listen to on the CD player.

After letting himself in with his own key, Joshua called to Tad while he made his way through the living room cluttered with patient files and other things.

Dog ran in from the bedroom and jumped up on the visitor to beg for a petting. “Where’s your master?” he asked the dog as if he could answer.

The mutt had no interest in responding. He continued to paw at Joshua until he gave him a treat from the kitchen cupboard.

Joshua found Tad sprawled out on his bed in his underwear. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyes were shut. He was the picture of tranquility.

“Hey, cuz, what are you doing? I’ve come to take you to brunch.”

“You paying?” Tad asked with his eyes shut. If he was determined enough, he could continue the conversation in his sleep.

“If you insist.”

He opened one eye and raised an eyebrow. “That was easy.”

“I’m too tired to fight with you. I was up half the night.”

“So was I.” Tad shut his eye again.

“Anyone I know?”

“I wish. I was working.”

Joshua slapped one of his feet. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah, give me a minute.” Tad sat up with the effort of an old man and staggered into the bathroom.

“You must have had some night.” Joshua observed the messy bedroom.

Tad didn’t live this way due to lack of money. Simple was his lifestyle. He didn’t think that he needed more than the one-bedroom apartment over his medical office and a motorcycle. Even when he had spent all his money on booze and pot and cocaine, he hadn’t lusted for material possessions.

He called out of the bathroom over running water, “I did an on-scene examination on Rex Rollins early this morning.”

“Rex? Phyllis’s husband?”

“Late husband. Someone blew him away at the State Line last night.” Tad stepped into the bathroom doorway with a loaded toothbrush in his hand. He caught Joshua holding up a pair of red lace women’s panties. “They’re a friend’s.”

“What’s she wearing now?” He dropped them onto the top of his dresser. “How did Rollins get himself blown away?”

“Have you talked to Gail about her book?” Tad went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Joshua didn’t mention the writer’s late-night visit. Tad would make some sort of joke in reference to his one-night stand with her. “Yeah, we got into a fight about it. I caught her over at the Henderson place making a case for Grace’s and Tricia’s murders being connected. She got them all upset.” From the bathroom doorway, he watched Tad brush his teeth. “I’m reopening the Wheeler case.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Tad rinsed his mouth by sticking his head under the faucet and spitting out the water after letting it flow into his open mouth.

“I owe it to Tricia to find out what really happened.”

Tad tossed his toothbrush into the cabinet. “That all happened a long time ago.” He stepped around Joshua to return to the bedroom. “Even if you can find out what happened, it’s going to be near impossible to find enough evidence to get a conviction.” Noticing the scratch above the collar of his shirt, he paused. “What happened to your neck?”

“What?” Forgetting about the wound Gail had inflicted on him, Joshua rubbed his neck. When his fingers touched the scratch, he shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Looks like it drew blood.” The doctor examined it. “Did you disinfect it?”

“Yes, Daddy. Will you get dressed? I’m hungry, and I want to know what Rollins got himself into that got him killed.”

Tad picked up two pairs of jeans in search of the cleaner pair. He made his determination by sniffing them to see which one smelled less offensive. “The bartender at the State Line told me that Rollins was bragging to everyone last night that he had written a book about a woman he called the wicked witch and her getting away with murder.”

Joshua couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t you have to be able to read before you can write?”

“I didn’t say it was a good book. Think about it. Rex was soon to be the former Phyllis Barlow’s ex-husband. He was really mad when she shot him a couple of weeks ago. She lived next door to the Wheelers when Tricia died.” He slipped on a pair of jeans with faded knees.

“Come on, Tad! This is Rex we’re talking about. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but the man was a drunken blowhard. He was always bragging about something or other. He heard that Gail was writing a book about solving a real murder and saw a way to make a quick buck.”

“Just because a man is a drunk doesn’t mean that he is incapable of knowing anything. Some of my best information comes from drunks and addicts. When you’re in a bar with a friend and you see a drunk next to you, do you lower your voice, or do you pretend he’s not there?” He answered his own question. “You tell yourself that it’s just some drunk. You’d be surprised what people say in front of them.”

“Why would Phyllis kill Trish? They didn’t exactly run with the same crowd, but they weren’t enemies, either.”

Tad slipped a gray long-sleeved sweatshirt on over his head. “You know, Rex did a lot of work for Margo throughout the years.”

“And her lawyer was representing him on violating that restraining order,” Joshua mused.

“Why would Margo’s lawyer defend him?” Tad saw a suspicious look cross his cousin’s face. “Didn’t Margo and Trish have a feud?”

Joshua shook his head at the notion of Rex Rollins having any knowledge of Margo committing Tricia’s murder. “Margo is miles out of his league. What could he possibly know about the murder if she did it?”

Unable to give him an answer, Tad shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that Rex Rollins was in the State Line bragging about writing a book about a killing and shortly afterwards two bullets went through his head.”

Tad’s words stuck in Joshua’s craw until he couldn’t go on without knowing everything. At brunch at Elby’s in Calcutta, located on the other side of East Liverpool, he called Seth on his cell phone during the children’s claim-to-be-the-last-trip to the buffet during a feeding frenzy.

“You’ll get my report when people stop killing each other long enough for me to write it,” the detective said in response to his question about Rex Rollins’ murder.

“Can you give me the highlights?”

“Come to Grant and Second in Newell and I’ll give them to you.”

In Newell, Joshua found the fire department cleaning up their equipment from putting out the fire that destroyed the top floor and roof of the boardinghouse in which the late Rex Rollins had lived. “What happened?” he asked Seth when he found him sitting in his cruiser.

The detective answered without humor, “I believe they call it a fire.” He reported, “Rollins lived on the top floor of this rooming house. Fire started shortly after one o’clock. The doc said he was killed between midnight and one. Guess where it started?”

“His room. Anyone hurt?”

“Nah, landlady smelled the smoke and got everyone out. The top floor and attic were destroyed. The bottom floors only got smoke and water damage.”

“Anybody see or hear anything?”

“Can you let me do my job and send you the report when I’m done?”

“From what I’m seeing, the effectiveness of your job performance leaves a lot to be desired.”

Seth made a remark in reference to the previous night, which now seemed like an incident in the distant past to both men. “If I didn’t have kids playing Clint Eastwood, I’d be more effective.”

The fire marshal came from inside the house and told the detective that he could investigate the remains of Rex Rollins’ room.

Joshua was turning to leave when the marshal, assuming that he was there to survey the crime scene, offered him a hard hat. Not wanting to argue any further with Seth, he hesitated, and then decided that he wanted to see what was inside.

An elderly woman dressed in a tattered bathrobe held together by multicolored patches darted out of the crowd of spectators. She grabbed the detective by the arm with a boney claw. “When can I get my stuff?”

“As soon as they say it is safe to go inside.”

She squinted at Joshua with suspicion. “Then why is he going inside?”

Seth answered in a tone devoid of respect, “This is Joshua Thornton, the county prosecutor.” He gestured with his head toward the old woman. “This is Bella Polk, the owner of the boardinghouse.”

“I’m sorry about your home.” The lawyer’s most charming grin had no effect on her.

“I knew something like this was going to happen,” she said in raspy voice.

Joshua did not doubt that the detective investigating the case heard her statement. Yet, Seth dismissed her and went inside the house without any comment.

The prosecutor treated her remark as a clue. “Why?”

Bella explained, “There was trouble brewing ever since my husband started renting out rooms here. That good-for-nothing didn’t want to get a regular job like a real man, and the other tramps who lived here were no better. He always said that they were down on their luck and that letting them flop here was Christian charity. Christian charity, my ass! Tramps, perverts, and degenerates!” She looked around to see if anyone was listening. “I even caught some queers a few times.” She giggled. “There was a couple that swore they were straight, but I knew better. Why would two grown men share a room if they weren’t fairies? One night, I waited until it was late and I sneaked—”

“What about Rex Rollins?” Joshua reminded her of the reason he was there. “Was he having trouble with anyone before the fire last night?”

Bella frowned that he had interrupted what she considered a great story. “Rex was the worst: always drunk; never had a job; never paid his rent. I heard that he got himself killed. How did it happen?”

“I’m afraid we can’t discuss the particulars of the case.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“We’re working on that. Did he ever have any guests visiting him here at the boardinghouse? Phone calls?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “Do you know why he got himself killed?”

“Once we know that, we’ll know who killed him.” He offered her another question, “What did he do most of the time?”

“He spent all of his time up in his room working on that damn computer he got.”

“Rex had a computer?”

“Yeah, he brought it home a little more than a week ago.” Bella snorted. “He was typing away on it day and night ever since he got out of the hospital. I’ll bet he was surfing around on those porno Web sites they talk about. I was about to call the sheriff to have him come bust him for pornography but I guess now it doesn’t matter.” Her lips wrinkled together to resemble a bird’s beak.

“Well,” Joshua said while backing up toward the house, “thank you for all your information, Mrs. Polk.”

“Is there a reward for catching his murderer?” she asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Suppose someone gave you something that could help you catch ’em?”

He stopped his backward retreat. “Like what?”

“What are you looking for?” she squinted at him. “What are you going in my house to find?”

“Evidence to find out who killed Rex and torched your house.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. We’ll know it when we see it. Do you have any suggestions of what we should look for, Mrs. Polk?”

“No,” she responded quickly. “Who is going to pay for fixing my house?”

“Well, your insurance—” he started to answer, but she interrupted him.

“Bunch of crooks.” She launched into a speech about the unscrupulous nature of insurance companies. She had canceled the homeowners insurance thirty years earlier after they refused to pay for damage to her roof after a storm.

As Bella advanced during her speech, Joshua backed away until he was able to escape inside the smoky building.

The would-be author’s room was a black hole. It was still smoldering and hissing from the meeting of fire and water. Rex did not have much in the way of possessions for them to observe, and what he did have was destroyed.

The detective was searching through the closet of torched clothes when Joshua found him.

“Tad talked to a barmaid last night who said that Rex Rollins was bragging to everyone that he wrote a tell-all book about a woman getting away with murder,” Joshua told him.

Seth scoffed, “Give me a break. She told me that he was inebriated when he came in and inebriated when he left. I’m putting my money on a second drunk with a hot temper who Rollins owed money to.”

“I can see where you would come to that conclusion.” The lawyer poked through what was left of a table that had served as Rex’s computer desk. “Except that the landlady told me that he had come home with a computer a week ago and has been working on it ever since.” He bent over and rested his hands on his knees. It was a cheap table that had enough room for the computer and not much else.

“If that drunk wrote a book,” Seth continued, “then anyone who knew him would know that the odds of him ever getting it published were equal to winning the lottery.” He peered over the lawyer’s shoulder at the table that had collapsed under the weight of the melted monitor resting on top.

Joshua poked with his pen through the things on the desk.

“Come on, Thornton. If he had walked into your office and told you he knew something about a killing, would you take him seriously?”

After stabbing through the charred equipment, he responded, “Tell me, Cavanaugh, since you became a cop have you ever had a saint for a witness?”

Seth admitted he hadn’t.

“It’s a fact that ninety percent of the time witnesses are from the dregs of society. They aren’t necessarily credible, and they do have something to hide. That’s why lawyers like to destroy their credibility in front of the jury—because they can. Everyone has something he or she wants to hide, whether it be an illicit affair or cheating on taxes. When a defense attorney digs up dirt on my witnesses, I ask the jury to consider what sins they have committed for lawyers to use as stones to throw at them if they ever become a witness. When jurors think about that, they usually get back on track.”

“What are you looking for?” Seth gestured towards the desk.

Joshua stood up. “What is wrong with this picture?”

The melted monitor had slipped over onto its side. The keyboard swung off the desk by its cord. The printer was barely recognizable where it rested on the floor. Cords with nothing to connect to hung from the monitor and the power outlet.

“Where’s his hard drive?” Joshua asked the detective.