Claws and Effect (21 page)

“823–9497.” He repeated the number as she read it to him.

“She must have had fabric or something over the mouthpiece but it was a woman,” Mim stated, “and she sounded familiar.”

“Thanks. You've done good work. I'll have someone in the hayloft tomorrow and another officer flat in the backseat of your car. Park your car at the barn.”

“I will.”

When Rick checked the phone number it turned out to be the pay phone in the supermarket parking lot.

         

Harry chastised Mrs. Murphy and Tucker, neither of whom appeared remorseful, which only infuriated her more. She thanked Miranda for keeping them overnight. That was at seven in the morning.

By seven-thirty Rob Collier had dropped off two canvas sacks of mail, a light day. As Harry sorted mail and Miranda tackled the packages and manila envelopes, the two bold creatures told Pewter everything.

“Nurse Logan. Tussie Logan?”
Pewter couldn't believe it.
“It's hard to imagine her as a killer.”

“We didn't say she was the killer. Only that she went down into the room and came back out three hours later. We assume she's cleaning the infusion pumps.”
Mrs. Murphy allowed herself a lordly tone.

“Remember the first three letters of assume.”
Pewter smarted off.

41

A spiral of blue smoke lazed upward for a few feet, then flattened out. Whenever smoke descended hunters felt that scent would be good. Rick, not being a foxhunter, would have gladly picked up a good scent, figuratively speaking. He felt he was on the cusp of knowledge yet it eluded him like a receding wave.

The temperature hovered in the low forties but the air carried the hint of snow. He looked west at the gunmetal-blue clouds peeping over the tops of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Turning up the collar of his jacket, he stood on a knoll a half mile from Mim's barn. Coop, next to him, held a cell phone in her hand. They waited for the call from the barn.

“You know I've always felt that killers, like painters, eventually leave a body of work behind so distinctive that you can identify them—by looking at the canvas. Some people kill out of self-defense. Understandable. Admirable even, and hard to fault.” A plume of air escaped his lips.

“As long as those killers are men. If a wife kills in self-defense against an abusive husband people find reasons why she shouldn't have done so. In fact, boss, killing seems to still be male turf.”

“Yep, for the most part it is. We jealously guard our propensity for violence. That's the real reason the services have trouble with women in combat. Scares the men.” He half laughed. “If she's got an Uzi, she's as powerful as I am.”

She hunched up. The wind picked up. She checked her watch. Nine-fifteen. No call.

They waited until ten-thirty, then walked back to the barn. Mim and the two officers at the barn were bitterly disappointed.

Mim returned to her house accompanied by one of the officers.

“Stay in the barn office until noon unless you hear from me,” Rick ordered the other man. Then he and Cooper trudged through the woods to their squad car parked in the hay shed on a farm road. The ground was frozen. They'd drive out without getting stuck.

Once inside the car they sat for a moment while the heater warmed the vehicle and Rick squashed his cigarette in the ashtray.

“Boss.” Coop unzipped her coat. “Harry had an idea.”

“Sweet Jesus.” He whistled.

“The Cramers foxhunt with Middleburg Hunt and Orange, too.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” He turned toward her, his heavy beard shadow giving his jaw a bluish tinge.

“According to Harry it means they hunt with fast packs, they're good riders.”

“So what?”

“So, she said invite them down to hunt. It might rattle our killer.”

“Harry thought of that, did she?” He leaned back, putting both hands behind his head. “Remind me to take that girl to lunch.”

“The sight of them might provoke our guy to do something stupid.”

“We still have to keep somebody with them. No chances. Can you ride good enough to stay with them?”

“No, but Graham Pitsenberger can and so can Lieutenant-Colonel Dennis Foster. They're both tough guys. They'll be armed, .38s tucked away in arm holsters or the small of the back. We can trust them.”

“You've asked them?”

“Yes. Graham will come over from Staunton. Dennis will drive down from Leesburg. Harry said she'll mount them.”

“That sounds exciting,” he wryly noted.

“I'll go with the Hilltoppers.”

“God, Cooper, I can't keep track of all this horse lingo.”

“Hilltoppers don't jump. It will take me a while before I can negotiate those jumps. I will though.” A determined set to her jaw made her look the way she must have looked as a child when told no by her mother.

“I'll stick to fishing. Not that I have the time. I've been promising Herb we'd go over to Highland County to fish for the last four years.” He sighed, cracking his knuckles behind his head.

“You haven't spit on dogs or cussed Christians so I guess it's all right?”

“Where do you get these expressions?” He smiled at her. “I'm a Virginia boy and I haven't heard some of them.”

“I get around.” She winked.

“When are the Cramers coming?”

“This Saturday.”

“I'll try to get there for part of it, anyway.”

“Roger.”

“Let's cruise.” He put the car in gear. “Maybe if we're lucky we'll catch this perp before there's more harm done.”

What neither of them knew was that they were already too late.

42

“Ran down over everything, part of my ceiling fell in.” Randy Sands, bone white, coughed, composed himself, and continued, “so I banged on the door and shouted and then I opened the door. I guess that's when I knew something was—was not right.” He coughed again.

Rick sympathetically put his arm around Randy's thin shoulders. “Quite a shock, Randy.”

“Well, I yelled for her but she didn't answer so I went straight to the bathroom.” His lower lip trembled. “The rest you know.”

In the background the rescue squad removed the body of Tussie Logan. The fingerprint team had come and gone.

Coop figured from the body that Tussie had been in the tub perhaps four or five hours. Whoever shot her had come up behind her and shot down through the heart, one shot.

“Randy, how long have you owned this house?” Rick asked as Coop joined him.

“Since Momma died.” Randy thought this information was sufficient.

“When was that?”

“Nineteen ninety-two.” He fidgeted when the body was rolled out on the gurney even though it was in a body bag. “She was a good-looking woman. I hated to see her like that.”

“Yes.” Rick guided him to the sofa. “Sit down, Randy. Your first impressions are valuable to us and I know you're shaken but I have to ask questions.”

Shaken though he was, it wasn't often that Randy Sands was the center of attention. He sat on the wicker sofa, brightly colored cushions behind him. Rick sat in a chair opposite the sofa. Coop quietly examined each room in the airy upstairs apartment.

“Did Tussie lock her doors?”

The clapboard house with the wraparound porch built in 1904 was halfway between Charlottesville and Crozet, situated back off Garth Road. The location was convenient to the hospital yet afforded privacy and a touch of the country. Randy couldn't always keep up with the forty-two acres. Tussie enjoyed mowing the lawn on the riding mower, edging the flower beds, and hanging plants on the porch.

“Where were you today?”

“At work. I came home around five-thirty. Finished a little early today. That's when I found Tussie.”

“Where do you work, Randy?”

“Chromatech. Off the downtown mall. My bosses Lucia and Chuck Morse can verify my hours.” A slightly belligerent tone infected his voice.

“I'm sure they can. Now do you have any idea who would kill Tussie?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“Drugs?”

“No. Never.”

“Drinking?”

“No. Well, socially but I never saw her drunk. I can't imagine who would do this.”

“Is anything obvious missing? Jewelry? Money? Paintings?”

“I didn't check her jewelry box. I stayed right here in the living room. I—” He didn't want to say he was afraid to walk from room to room.

“Boss.” Cynthia Cooper called from the glassed-in back porch, which had been a sleeping loft in the old days.

“Excuse me, Randy. You wait here.” Rick walked down the hallway to the back.

The porch overlooked the meadows, the mountains beyond. Filled with light, it was a wonderful place to work. A bookshelf rested against the back wall. Her desk, a door over two file cabinets, was in the middle of the narrow room, coldish except for a space heater on the floor.

“Here.” Coop pointed to a very expensive computer and laser printer.

“Huh. Must have cost close to six thousand dollars.”

“This computer and printer can do anything. The quality is very high.”

“Invoices?” Rick wanted another cigarette but stopped himself from reaching for the pack in his inside coat pocket. “Maybe.”

“Is everything all right?” Randy's querulous voice wafted back to them.

“Yes, fine,” Rick called back. “Coop, can you get into the computer?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“I'll keep Randy busy. Maybe I'll walk him outside. He can show me if there's a back way in.” Rick winked and returned to the slender man in the corduroy pants.

Coop sat down, flicked on the computer. Tussie had lots of e-mail. She had been plugged into a nurses' chat room. She'd taped a list of passwords on the side of her computer, a defense against forgetfulness perhaps. Coop went through the passwords finally hitting pay dirt with “Nightingale.” Coop perused the messages. She then pulled up the graphics package, which was extensive.

“I could sit here all day and play with this,” Coop said to herself, wishing she could afford the same system.

Tussie had a code. Coop couldn't crack it.

After checking out what she could, she shut off the computer and walked to the bedroom. With gloved hands she lifted the lid on the leather jewelry box. Earrings, bracelets, and necklaces were thrown in together. She opened the top drawer of the dresser. Silk underwear was jumbled. A green savings bankbook rested under the eggplant-colored underwear.

She pulled it out, flipped the white pages to the last balance. “Wow.” She whistled.

Tussie's savings account balance as of February 25 was $139,990.36.

“I'm beginning to get the picture,” Coop said to herself.

Once she and Rick were together in the squad car she informed him of her finds. They wondered where and how Hank Brevard had hidden his profits. To date they'd found nothing in that department.

Rick picked up the phone, calling in to headquarters. He ordered the department computer whiz to see if he could crack Tussie's code.

“Screwy, isn't it?” Coop wiggled down in her seat, hunching her shoulders. “What's the plan, boss?”

“First we'll go to Sam Mahanes, which means he'll call for his lawyers.”

“Right. Then he'll express grief.”

“Then we'll go to Bruce Buxton.”

“More shock and dismay but in a different way.”

“We'll go to her Pediatric unit. And then you and I are going to walk through this hospital one more time. As many times as it takes over the next few days, weeks, or whatever. We know there are false billings. We know those infusion pumps have to be cleaned and rehabbed. They have to be in that hospital somewhere. Damn, it's right under our noses!”

Coop, having heard that before, sat up straight and said nothing. She was wondering why a woman like Tussie Logan got involved in the scam in the first place. Tussie seemed like a nice enough person. She knew right from wrong. She knew what she was doing was wrong—even before the murders. Maybe Tussie was one of the murderers. How does a woman like that get into something like this? She knew what Tussie Logan had done was wrong and she knew Tussie knew it was wrong.

Coop expected more of women than men. It surprised her. She'd never thought of herself as a sexist but her response to Tussie's criminal behavior gave her a gleam of insight into her own self. She wasn't sure she liked it.

43

The Church of the Holy Light, in order to raise money for Herb's God's Love group, was holding a bake sale at the small old train station. Given that the ladies of the church had earned fame for their skills, the place was mobbed.

Miranda Hogendobber baked orange-glazed cinnamon buns as well as luscious breads.

Harry held down the fort at the post office. She and Miranda spelled one another. Sometimes it was nice to scoot out of work early or take a long lunch.

Everyone noticed when the Rescue Squad ambulance pulled out of the brick garage and they also noticed when it drove by, heading out of town.

Big Mim, as Crozet's leading citizen, felt she should be informed of every single event the moment it occurred. She flipped out her tiny cell phone, dialing the sheriff's office.

“Mother.” Little Mim thought her mother could have at least walked outside to call, but then again it was cold.

“Don't tell me what to do.” She tapped her foot, clad in exquisite crocodile loafers. “Ah, hello. Is the sheriff in? Well, have him call me then, Natalie.” She dropped her voice as she worked over the daytime dispatcher. “You don't know who just rolled by in the ambulance, do you? Well, have him call me on my cell phone. Thanks. Bye.” She pressed the Off button, folded her phone, slipping it in her purse.

“People do have heart attacks without consulting you.” The daughter smiled sweetly as she drove home a light barb.

“They shouldn't. They shouldn't do anything without consulting me.” Mim smiled sweetly right back. “I suppose I ought to buy some brownies.”

“The orange cinnamons are all gone.”

“Really, Miranda should open her own bakery. She's got a gift.” Mim noticed the squad car with Rick and Coop stopping at the post office. “Here.” She handed her daughter fifty dollars. “I'm going across the street.”

“Without me?”

“Oh, Marilyn. Just buy the stuff and join me.” Mim was out the door before she finished her sentence.

Rick and Cooper set foot in the post office but before they could open their mouths, Mim charged in. “Did Natalie call you?”

“About one minute ago.” He exhaled from his nostrils. “I was going to call you as soon as I finished here.”

Big Mim's eyebrows raised up. What could be so important that Harry had to be consulted first?

“Bad news.”
Pewter trotted over from the small table in the rear.

“Why don't you all come back here?” Harry flipped up the divider as Mrs. Murphy stretched herself on the narrow shelf behind the postboxes. Tucker, awake, watched.

Rick realized he was going to have to tell Mim something, so he thought he'd get that over with first. “Randy Sands found Tussie Logan in her bathtub shot to death.”

“What?” Mim clapped her hands together, a gesture of surprise.

“How did he know?” Harry asked the pointed question.

“The water was running and it came through his ceiling below. He came home from work, noticed it, and ran upstairs. He's in a bad way. I called Reverend Jones to go on out there.”

“Shot.” Mim sat down hard in one of the wooden chairs at the table.

“Well, that's no surprise to us,”
Mrs. Murphy said.

“Being in on it and being dead are two different things,”
Tucker sagely noted.

“Ugh.”
Pewter hated the thought of dead big bodies. She didn't mind mice, mole, or bird bodies but anything larger than that turned her stomach.

“Good Lord. I wonder if it was Tussie who called me?” Mim was incredulous.

“Her death ought to tell you that.”
Murphy paced on the narrow ledge.

“If they knew what we knew, it would.”
Tucker had more patience with human frailty than the cat.

“How long had she been dead?” Harry was figuring in her mind whether the killer crept up by night or by day.

Rick added, “It's hard to tell. Tom Yancy will know.”

“Struggle?” Harry was still reeling from the news of the murder and that Tussie was the chain-letter writer.

“No,” Coop simply stated.

“Whoever it was may have been known to her but having anyone walk into your bath ought to provoke some sort of response from a lady.” Mim saw her daughter, laden with food, leave the train station to put the booty in her car.

“I don't know but it wouldn't be terribly difficult to walk into a bathroom and pull the trigger. She wouldn't have time to struggle. This was fast and effective.” Rick slipped a cigarette out of the pack. “Ladies?”

“No. I thought you quit.” Mim didn't care if anyone smoked or not.

“I quit frequently.” He lit up.

“Why do humans do that?”
Pewter hated the smell.

“To soothe their nerves,”
Murphy said.

“It ruins their lungs.”
Tucker also hated the smell.

“You don't see cats smoking,”
Pewter smugly said, secure that this proved yet again the superiority of cats.

Murphy kept pacing.
“Rick's not just here to deliver the news. Mom wouldn't be first for that.”

“Yeah, that's true,”
Tucker agreed.

“Harry, I think we'd better cancel having the Cramers hunt tomorrow. It's too dangerous. And I'm going to have Coop stay with you at night until—” He noticed Little Mim walking toward the post office.

“The Cramers?” Mim's voice rose. “Do I know the Cramers?”

“No.” Harry quickly spoke for she, too, saw Little Mim. “They hunt with Orange and Middleburg.”

“Must be good.” Mim wanted to know what was going on.

“Mrs. Sanburne.” Rick leaned over. “We're close to our killer here. I know you like to be in on everything but right now I would expose you to danger, serious danger. The reason I'm here with Harry is that she was struck over the head at the hospital.”

Mim raised an eyebrow, saying nothing, since Miranda had sworn her to secrecy when she told her, but Mim had figured it out anyway. Rick continued. “I can't take a chance. The killer or killers may think she knows more than she does.”

“And I don't know anything.” Harry shrugged. “Wish I did.”

“What do the Cramers have to do with Harry?”

“Well, uh, we were going to hunt together tomorrow. They're in the hospital business and—”

“Mrs. Sanburne, I promise you I'll fill you in as soon as we're—” He paused, searching for the right words. “Over the hump. Now could I ask you to intercept your daughter before she gets in here? Just give me two minutes with Harry.”

Mollified slightly, Mim stood up, walked over, flipping up the divider, and caught Marilyn just as her hand was on the doorknob. She ushered her back toward the car across the street.

“Rick. Let the Cramers hunt. It will be the straw that breaks the camel's back. We've got Graham, we've got Dennis. They're military men. They're horsemen. They know what they're doing. They can protect the Cramers. Dennis is riding down with them in their rig and he'll ride back. I really believe we can shake our gorilla out of the tree tomorrow.”

“It's a hell of a chance.” Rick ran his fingers through his thinning hair. He knew Harry had a point but he hated to risk civilians, as he thought of them.

“Coop, I know we can do this. I wouldn't use the Cramers as bait if I didn't think it would flush him out,” Harry pleaded.

“Yeah, Harry, I know, but I just saw Tussie Logan.”

Rick and Coop stared at one another.

Rick puffed, then put down his cigarette. “Okay.”