An Intimate Murder (The Catherine O'Brien Series) (14 page)

“Not a great alibi, Mr. Wren,” I said. “You don’t have anyone who can vouch for you?”

“Nope, but I haven’t been able to drive, or had a car, for over three years.” He tapped the side of his head. “I keep blacking out and the state won’t give me a driving card anymore.”

“We can check that you know, Mr. Wren,” I said.

“You know firecracker.” He smiled. “I thought you would have checked that before you got here.”

“What about diamonds?” Louise said.

Walter Wren’s brow wrinkled. “What about diamonds?”

“Do you have any diamond investments?” Louise rolled her hand in the air. “Ownership in a jewelry store? A diamond mining operation?”

“Diamond mining operations?” He gave her the thumbs down. “Do you know how many tons of earth they need to move to find just one decent stone? Not to mention the number of people they need to employ to move that earth. Not to mention the civil wars and other conflicts.”

He shook his head and wagged his finger at the same time.

“Bad investment those. Land is the only thing I invest in and it hasn’t let me down yet. I don’t need to do a thing to it and it doubles and triples in value the longer you sit and do nothing."

He had a point. We paid one hundred and fifty thousand for our house over ten years ago. The people who lived down the street just sold theirs for over three hundred thousand even after the dip in the housing market. I’d told Gavin that if we stayed in the house until we died we’d die rich. Of course, we wouldn’t be able to enjoy our wealth.

“I think that’s all we have for you Mr. Wren.” Louise stood, followed by our surprisingly silent observer.

“Are you sure?” His face lined with worry. “I don’t mean to chase you off. I can make some coffee and in the freezer I have some of them Girl Scout cookies that the neighbor girls sell.”

His watery, old, gray eyes pleaded with us not to leave just yet and my heart broke. I hadn’t gone to see my grandfather the week before he died, and the last time I’d left him, he had the same look on his face. Never, will I forget that lonely, pleading look.

“It’s such a cold day, I’d love some coffee,” I said. “As long as it’s fresh.”

Louise’s head snapped toward me. I nodded that she should sit and she did. Jane Katts however stayed standing and gawked at me.

“I can make fresh coffee.” He pushed himself out of the chair with great effort. “It won’t take a minute if you have the time.”

“We have plenty of time,” I said and let myself get sucked in by the sofa cushions again.

When we had downed a cup of coffee and more than a few
Thin Mints
and
Do Se Does,
we said our good-byes to Mr. Wren. He grabbed my arm before the screen door closed behind me. He crooked his gnarled finger and waved me closer to him as if he wanted to share a secret with me.

“Hey, firecracker.” He grinned a yellow-toothed grin. “I’m glad it’s you investigating the Luther murders. Jonathan Luther was a good man and he deserved to have someone with your spirit, investigating his death.”

He gave my arm a reassuring pat. “You give ’em hell, firecracker.”

“I will, Mr. Wren.” I laid my hand over his. “Thank you, for the coffee.”

He tipped his head down, gave a short wave, and then closed the door.

For the first time since I woke up this morning, I forgave myself for being me. I may be a firecracker, but not everyone was afraid of blowing their hands off when handling explosives. Some people enjoyed the random, unexpected detonations.

I made a metal note to call my grandmother when I got home tonight and tell her how much I loved and missed her. Like Mr. Wren, Grandma Gimse appreciated a good firecracker when she saw one.

I slid into the passenger seat of Louise’s car.

“What was that all about?” Jane Katts rolled her eyes. “Did you need to do your community service for the day or something?”

“No, I thought I’d do my human service.” I clicked my seatbelt into place, something Jane had once again forgotten. “Maybe you should look that word up when you get back to your office. Its spelled h-u-m-a-n.”

“Whatever. The old guy wasn’t lying though. I can tell. What was all the questioning about diamonds, Detective Montgomery? Did you find a diamond, diamond dust, or diamond certificates at the scene?”

Louise looked at me and I gave a small shake of my head. The diamond was something that only we, and the killer, knew about and that’s how it should stay. The last thing we needed was Jane Katts accidentally giving away our most vital evidence in some passing conversation.

Apparently, our telepathy was functioning this time because Louise nodded.

“No,” she said. “I was just curious. He seemed like a savvy investor and I’ve been debating over adding diamond stocks to my retirement portfolio.”

“Right. You know the funny thing is you two really believe I can’t read the little signals you give each other. I’m going to note that for my future article. Especially, if you underestimate your suspects as much as you underestimate me.”

Jane rifled through her purse and found her spiral bound notebook. She poised her pen over the page just as Louise tore away from the curb.

Jane ricocheted against the back wall of the Prius.

“Jesus, you really drive like crap, Detective Montgomery.”

“I’m going to tell you the same thing I tell, Catherine.” She glanced in the mirror to make sure Jane was paying attention. “Take your
Xanax
, look out the window, and hope for a miracle.”

I nodded. “It’s true. I just close my eyes and hope for a miracle. It’s much less stressful on my heart than looking out the window.”

I gave my chest a good thump.

Jane shifted into position and buckled her seatbelt. “Now where are we going?”

“Back to the office?” I turned to Louise for confirmation.

She shook her head. “You were going to call Chad’s aunt. As long as we’re out we might as well stop by for a visit.”

My cell phone, and the card I had written the aunt’s number on, were in the same pocket. I took them out and dialed the number.

“I’ll have to call for the address.”

Louise reached into her purse. The car swerved to the right, dangerously close to the embankment. I braced my feet on the dashboard and held my breath. Louise came up with a blue scrap of paper.

“No need, I got the address from the uniforms who dropped Chad off last night.” Louise swerved back into the center of the lane. “Catherine, get your feet off my dash.”

My heart dropped back to a samba and I returned my feet to the floor. I pinched the piece of paper between my thumb and index finger, and checked the address. Chad Luther’s Aunt was less than two miles from Walter Wren.

“You’re good, Louise.”

“I know.”

She wheeled us onto the freeway again, and within a few minutes, we had reached the home of Linda Myers. The colonial revival, with its neatly trimmed and freshly raked lawn, belied the turmoil of the family inside.

I rang the doorbell. From the other side came the baritone bark of a large dog. Probably one of those shorthaired, menacing models, that was taller than I am, and could take an intruder's face off in one large chomp.

The muffled sound of a male voice issued commands to the dog to get in the garage. The dog’s voice became more distant and then nearly disappeared as a door thumped shut. Then the front door opened.

A tall broad shouldered man, who would be in shape if he hadn’t been carrying the standard middle-aged ten pounds around his middle stared at us from behind the screen.

“Yes?” His tone was clipped and impatient. “What do you want?”

My Mother had instilled the idea of good manners in me as a child. Instilled isn’t quite the word; she drilled the idea into my head, and good manners dictated that you call before dropping in on anyone other than immediate family members. I’d managed to overcome most of what she’d taught me through the years, but a few flashbacks struck me now and again.

“Mr. Myers?” I asked.

“Yes.” His eyes fixed on me with a mixture of boredom and anger. “I don’t want whatever you’re selling, and I’ve already accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, so I don’t need to share a bible passage with you. Thanks.”

I looked down at my jeans and T-shirt and wondered what sect of Jehovah Witnesses were visiting this neighborhood.

Before he could slam the door in my face, I pulled my badge from the pocket of my jacket.

“Mr. Myers, I’m Detective O’Brien from the Saint Paul Police Department.”

He pulled the door open again, and scrutinized my badge, as if he were an expert in forged documents. Once satisfied, he nodded but didn’t step back to allow us inside.

“Do you have an update for us?” He asked and leaned his shoulder on the jamb as if the walls were holding up his bulk.

“No,” I said. “Your wife called, she needed to speak with us about something.”

He tilted his head up as if to say, ah. He turned and yelled over his shoulder.

“Linda!”

He closed the door as he turned away. I glanced at Louise. She furrowed her brows at me.

Only people who had something to hide kept the police at bay when they showed up at the door. My natural curiosity wanted to know what Mr. Myers considered important enough to conceal from us.

“Mr. Myers, it’s very cold out here.” I shivered for effect. “May we come inside to wait for your wife?”

The deer in headlight stare was expected as Myers tried to decide if allowing us to stand in the entryway could hurt. He hesitated a little too long.

“Yeah, come on in,” he said. “Linda!”

He stood back enough for Louise, Jane, and I to step inside the entry. He made no effort to take our coats and no offer of refreshments.

“I’ll be right down,” a voice called from the second floor.

Myers folded his arms and cast his gaze to the floor. Then he began an uncomfortable shuffle dance of impatience from foot to foot.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Myers?” Louise asked.

His lips pressed flat. “No. Why?”

“You seem –” She paused a moment to think. “Distracted. Is there something on your mind?”

“We’ve had a stressful twenty-four hours or so.” He splayed his arms wide. “I’m sure you can understand.”

There was a slight, but distinct, sneer in his voice. Even if Mr. Myers had nothing to hide, he certainly had no love for the police.

“Who is it Jack?”

The top of the stairs wrapped around to the opposite side of the entry so a person at the top couldn’t see anyone at the bottom until they rounded the first half flight of steps. Jack stepped back a few paces and cocked his head toward the second floor landing.

“There are some police officers here to see you, Linda.”

Slipper clad feet appeared first, then gray sweatpants and sweatshirt. When Linda Myers turned to face us on the landing between floors, her face was as ashen gray as her sweat suit. Dark crescents framed her tear puffed eyes. Clumps of hair had worked their way out of a ponytail holder and hung around her face.

“Detective O’Brien, right?”

I nodded.

She descended the last length of steps.

“I saw you on the news last night.” She reached out her hand to me. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t expect you to stop by.”

I shook her hand and introduced her to Louise and our observer, Jane. Linda Myers didn’t appear to notice that Jane was the only one who didn’t produce a badge.

“Thank you for coming.” She held out her arm toward the living room. “Please come in. I’d like to speak with you if you have time.”

“That’s why we’re here,” I said and removed my shoes.

Jack Myers stared at his wife with a mild look of astonishment, though she didn’t seem to notice or care. Linda Myers had other more important things running through her mind, than whether or not her husband approved of her houseguests.

“I saw you on the news last night, and I heard how you tried to protect Chad. Thank you. I’m sure you caught hell for what you said, but he needed someone to watch over him last night.”

“Is Chad here?” I asked.

“No. He went back to his dorm today. I guess he wanted to be with his friends.”

She rocked slowly on the couch and rubbed her hands together as if trying to drive warmth into them, which probably wasn’t far from the truth. She had been through a terrible shock and her entire circulatory system had more than likely gone into slow motion.

“What is it, Mrs. Myers?” I asked. “You sounded troubled on the phone.”

Her eyebrows shot up and a hysterical laugh brayed from her. “You could say that I’m feeling a little troubled too.”

“I’m sorry. I know you’re going through a hard time. I meant you sounded like you had something urgent.”

The rocking started again and she closed her eyes. Her lips moved silently. Linda Myers twisted her hands together so hard that her knuckles went white.