Cracked to Death (5 page)

Chapter 6

 

The early morning light was teasing the birds to welcome the day as a young couple strolled down a narrow beach with their chocolate Lab, Charlie. His puppy energy was focused on catching and fetching the driftwood stick the young man threw out into the shallows of Boca Ciega Bay, the intracoastal channel that separated the main peninsula of St. Petersburg from the barrier beaches of Treasure Island.

Charlie lost interest in the stick when he got a whiff of something that captured his attention. He lifted his nose high and sniffed great gulps of salt air to find the prize. Spying a dark shape in the soft dawning light, he galloped down the beach a hundred yards to sit beside the source of the fascinating scent. He was puzzled by the reaction of his owners. They didn't seem at all happy to find the lifeless diver lying facedown at the edge of the water. Not happy at all.

* * *

“Are you the couple who found the body?” Officer Boulli's substantial bulk stood over the couple who had found a small bit of driftwood to sit on in a tiny bit of shade. Charlie was lying on the sand, panting like a steam engine. They were about twenty yards from the activity around the diver.

The young man nodded. “Yes. My wife and I were on our regular early morning walk with Charlie.” He looked over at his wife, who was drip feeding water from her bottle into Charlie's lapping mouth. “We live a few houses down the street. We'd like to go home and get Charlie out of the heat.”

“Okay, okay.” Officer Boulli opened a tattered notebook and pulled a pen from his white uniform shirt. “Your full names?”

Standing up, the young man said, “My name is Paul Wedlake, and this is my wife, Julie. We live in the second Mediterranean Revival house over there on Park Street.” He pointed to their house and waited until Officer Boulli had lifted his head and noticed which house before telling him their full home address. “We were taking Charlie out for some exercise when he found the diver.”

“Did you touch anything?”

“I turned him over to see if there was any sign of life, but it was obvious he had been in the water for a long time.”

Officer Boulli scribbled in his notebook. “How did you know? Are you medical specialists?”

“No, we're not medical specialists. We're certified divers and have experience in researching sea life using robotic surface and underwater vehicles.” He paused and inhaled a shallow breath. “Crabs don't feed on the living.” He looked down the beach toward all the activity. “Can we go home now?”

“Give me a contact number.” The officer wrote it in his notebook. “Most likely, the homicide detective will be along to get statements from you.” He put his pen away, pulled out a wrinkled handkerchief, and wiped his face before handing them a business card. “Until he gets your statement, don't leave your house.”

* * *

Homicide detective David Parker arrived at the crime site at the same time as Coroner Sandra Grey. They both parked on red brick–lined Park Street, near an enormous, three-story Mediterranean Revival mansion.

“Good morning, David. It looks like we got the call at the same time.”

“How are you?” His smile brought out the small dimple in his chin. “I haven't seen you in a while.” Only Sandra could look sensuous in the white forensic coveralls. They fit her curves perfectly. He wondered if she had had them tailored for her petite form.

“That's because the city of St. Petersburg has been strangely silent on murders lately.”

“It's the dog days of summer. Most of those who can afford it are now cooling themselves in the mountains of North Carolina. The rest of us are too hot to get up to much.”

They followed the yellow crime-scene tape back to the narrow beach area behind the mansion's garden and screened-in pool. A portable canopy with view-blocking panels on three sides had been erected to discourage onlookers.

The tide had gone out, and the body was faceup and fully outfitted in diver's gear, with one flipper missing and no sign of a tank. Sandra knelt beside the diver's face.

“He's been struck . . . a single blow.” She glanced at the hands. “It doesn't look like he put up a fight, so we might not get DNA from his fingernails.”

“His diving knife is also missing from its sheath. Time of death?” Parker had been scribbling away in his notebook.

“You know I don't like to speculate on TOD prior to the autopsy.”

“I do know that. I also know how much experience you have.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled as winningly as he knew how.

“Okay, okay. You can turn off the charm. It looks like he died sometime after midnight and probably before two a.m. He's been in the water at least a few hours. Sufficient?”

Detective Parker nodded. “Before the body is taken away, can we look in his dive bag?”

“No problem. We can do it now.” Her gloved hands untied the blue mesh bag, the size of an eight-by-ten-inch sheet of paper, from the diver's weight belt. She pulled open the top and removed a key ring and what looked like fragments of a broken deep blue bottle. She held one of the larger fragments, which appeared to be the bottom of the bottle, up toward the rising sun. “It looks odd.”

Parker tipped his head so he could also take a look through the fragment. “Difficult to tell with so much grime and growth.” He placed his hand on Sandra's and turned her hand ever so slightly. The new angle revealed the broken edges of the glass. “This is a recent break. You can see the clear color of the glass, without any evidence of it being underwater.”

“It looks like the entire bottle is in the dive bag.”

“Well . . . ,” he began, then quickly released Sandra's hand, as if it had a mind of its own. “I know a young woman who knows a lot about glass. I'll give her a call and see if she can help identify the bottle.”

Sandra put the key ring and the bottle fragments back in the dive bag, pulled its string tight, and placed it on top of the diver's chest. She rose and signaled for the technicians to prepare the body for transport to the morgue downtown. “I'll start the autopsy immediately. We're going to need some luck with this one, David.”

“I'm going to need more than luck. Thanks.” After admiring Coroner Grey's retreat, Detective Parker spotted Officer Boulli and waved him over.

“Where are the witnesses?” the detective asked.

“Oh, they're a young couple with a dog who live right in the neighborhood, so I sent them home to wait for your interview.”

Detective Parker lifted his eyes to the sky and growled low. “What if they were not telling you the whole truth, Officer? What if they wanted to escape, perhaps? You certainly gave them an easy way to leave. You had better hope they are honest citizens. Now, give me the address, and you stay here and keep people out of the crime scene.” Under his breath Parker continued, “And out of my way.”

The walk back toward the street gave Parker the small bit of time he needed to recover from his temper. Officer Boulli could frustrate a monk, but he always managed to perform his job minimally—not in any way proficiently, but not badly enough to be dismissed or reprimanded.

The witnesses' house was indeed only two doors down from the body of the diver. Detective Parker rang the doorbell, and a fierce barking instantly followed. He could hear the owners telling their dog to quiet down. The barking instantly stopped, and then the door was immediately opened.

“Good morning.” Parker showed his badge. “I'm Detective David Parker, a homicide detective from the St. Petersburg Police Department. My colleague Officer Boulli gave me your information. Are you Paul and Julie Wedlake?”

“Yes. Please come in.” Julie said.

The young couple led him through the sparse but beautifully furnished house to the huge screened-in lanai, dominated by a sparkling pool with an unobstructed view of the water. The carefully placed landscaping gave the illusion of privacy. Julie waved her hand at a large sectional, with a low table the full length of the sofa, facing the water. On a short outdoor kitchen counter to the side were an electric kettle, a small sink, and a selection of clear canisters filled with loose tea and ground coffee.

“Make yourself comfortable. What would you like to drink? I have regular and decaffeinated coffee, but I also have green tea and herbal tea,” Julie said.

“Black coffee please. Regular would be great.”

Julie nodded, deftly filled a French press with ground coffee, poured hot water into it, and brought it, along with an empty cup, over to the low table and placed them in front of Detective Parker.

“Thanks.”

She grabbed her green tea from the table and sat with her hands folded around the ceramic mug. “This is an upsetting situation. I crave my comforting routines. You must be used to it.”

In a low voice he said, “I hope I never get used to a violent end to life, Mrs. Wedlake. Never.” He pulled out a notebook and pen from his inner suit pocket. “Now, as clearly as possible, can you describe how you came to discover the diver?”

* * *

Back in his office, Detective Parker opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a new manila folder. With a perfectly sharpened pencil, he wrote “John Doe–Bottle” on the tab. Although most modern-day investigative information was stored on the St. Petersburg Police Department's secure server, there were still bits of paper that needed wrangling with even after they were scanned.

Sandra Grey leaned into his office, waving a few sheets of paper. “Would you like to see my preliminary autopsy report?” Without waiting, she plopped the report in the center of his desk and sat down in the nearest of the two guest chairs. “It's not complete, of course, but there's enough for you to start.”

“That was fast.” He scanned through the pages with a practiced eye, then looked up from the report. “He didn't drown?”

“Nope. I thought you might find it interesting.”

“How? It wasn't obvious at the beach.”

“Well, we were hampered by the wet suit. It covered a massive trauma to the spine. He died in a matter of seconds.”

“Any indication of what type of weapon was used?”

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “I've noted the ubiquitous blunt instrument, but it was the same shape as the injuries we saw on his face.”

Detective Parker sat staring at the last sheet of the preliminary report.

Sandra sat forward and waved a hand slowly in front of Detective Parker's face. “Earth to Parker. Where are you?”

“I'm trying to visualize where he might have been in order to be attacked. He was wearing a complete wet suit.”

She tilted her head. “It would be uncomfortable in this heat, but it offers excellent protection. A friend of mine is a frequent cave diver in the natural springs up around Ocala, Florida. She says she wouldn't even think about not having a full suit.”

“So you're thinking that he considered this dive to be dangerous?”

She paused. “It was.”

Chapter 7

 

Savannah turned her car's radio dial to the local news station on her way to Webb's Glass Shop. She listened to the news only during the short commute from her Craftsman bungalow to work. Her goal was to keep up with the major news in the Tampa Bay area, and the time spent listening in the car was usually just enough to give the appearance to her customers and students that she was somewhat tuned in to the real world. It was certainly enough news to make her question the viability of the human race.

She turned down the alley behind the shop before she remembered that Amanda would open up Webb's today, since she was teaching in the morning, while Savannah would go and open up the studio. But who was she kidding? Since his pub was right next door, Savannah really hoped to see Edward again. His breakfast omelet with cheese and onions had been amazing, but he had returned to his condo at the crack of dawn to feed his kitten.

She was pulling into the parking spot in the back of Webb's when the radio announcer said, “The police department is asking for any information about a missing diver. The general description is a young man of medium height, with olive skin and light brown hair. Citizens are asked to call the tip line with any information that would help the authorities identify the body that washed ashore early this morning.”

She unlocked the back door, keyed in the alarm code, and turned on the lights throughout. Since she had taken over the shop after her dad's death, this had become a comfortable routine. It surprised her with its feeling of belonging.

Dropping her backpack on the antique oak swivel chair in her office, she did a quick cleaning in the bathroom and followed with a quick sweep of the floors to pick up any major glass shards. The cleaning service came twice a week, but she was more comfortable with a daily roundup. Glass splinters were sharp, and you could never be too careful.

The next stop was the kiln in the supply room, but as she reached for the large bar across the front of it to lift the heavy lid and see the results of the overnight run, she stopped.

The next task in opening the shop was to fire up the cash register in the display room. She crossed her fingers and pressed the ON button. She heard the ancient computer groan with reluctance, while the protesting fan wailed a high-pitched whine for a moment, until it dropped to a humming drone. At last, the screen flashed bright with the main page of Webb's Glass Shop.

As a custom product, the register worked, but it was time to upgrade to a modern application that would handle both the shop and the studio. She sighed at the thought of what her accountant would say to yet another expense to replace a working system. Savannah thought her own arguments were good, but Burkart always had another viewpoint, one that usually required financial restraint on Savannah's part. Anyway, the upgrade would support better inventory control and therefore would result in more turnover and profit. But money had been a bit tight since the purchase of the warehouse for the studio.

The last bit of routine was to unlock the front door and turn the sign from
CLOSED
to
OPEN
. She glanced at her watch. It was already nine o'clock.

She pulled out her cell and dialed Amanda. It went straight to voice mail.

“Hey, Amanda. Is everything okay with your mother? Let me know what's going on.”

Savannah ended the call. Amanda was probably on her way. Unfortunately, if her mother was in the hospital, there was no way to reach her. Cell phones weren't allowed in the intensive care unit.

After picking up a notepad, she walked into the supply room and started a list of glass sheets to order. She could hear Burkart's voice again reminding her of the strained budget.

By the time she had finished the entire inventory, it was five minutes to ten and she had left two more voice messages on Amanda's cell phone.

The bell on the front door jangled, and SueAnn walked in, with Yvonne right behind. Each was carrying an armful of glass plates and bowls for today's workshop.

“Good mawnin', Savannah.” SueAnn headed straight for the classroom.

“Hi, Savannah!” Yvonne smiled and shrugged her shoulders at SueAnn's abruptness. “I guess she's excited to see what comes out of our efforts today.” She followed SueAnn, who was removing a spiral notebook from her bag, along with a pen.

The Rosenberg twins arrived next, with Patty between them. Rachel and Faith wore another one of their head-to-toe ensembles, this time in a vivid lilac. Patty had inadvertently played into their color scheme with a pale yellow T-shirt over green slacks. The colors assaulted Savannah's eyes, having an impact that reminded her of a birthday confetti explosion.

“I thought you told us yesterday that you were letting Amanda run Webb's.” Rachel rolled her eyes at Savannah. “You do know how to delegate, don't you? Your father was miserable at it.”

Savannah took a deep, calming breath. “I know how to delegate. Make that ‘I'm learning how to delegate. ' As soon as Amanda arrives, I'll scoot over to the studio. She texted that she's had a family emergency, but that it should be resolved by now. You know her mother's health is a constant source of concern. She's become very frail.”

“Oh my. Such a trial for Amanda,” said Faith. “We went to see her mother last week.”

“But our visit was short, since she didn't know who we were.”

Faith glared at Rachel. “Of course she didn't remember us. It was the first time we ever met her.”

With a measured stare, Rachel eyed the stack of glass dishes Faith was holding. “Do you have more dishes than I do?”

“No, of course not. You're not counting properly.” Faith scurried into the classroom, followed by Rachel.

Savannah walked through the classroom and stepped out the back door to see if Amanda was driving up. Nope.

She returned to the classroom. Walking calmly up to the podium, Savannah opened the lesson plan notebook and flipped to the page marked “Day Two.”

“So until Amanda arrives, I'll get us started for today.” She looked over the classroom and noticed the seat next to SueAnn was still empty. “Wait. Martin's missing.”

“Teacher's pet,” said the Rosenberg twins in perfect unison. Samantha's scowl forced them into a temporary silence.

“He's the scruffy one with the strange bottles,” said Faith.

“Of course. I wanted to tell him what I found out. They could be very valuable,” Savannah revealed. She looked at her watch again.

“Let's not wait any longer. Today is a fun day. We're making glass flowers for your garden using plates, bowls, cups, and whatever small pieces you want to recycle. I hope you brought plenty.” She ducked down to look into the storage shelves in the podium, then straightened.

Thank goodness Amanda prepared for this yesterday afternoon
, she thought.

“I have a few examples for you down here.” She bent down to the shelves in the podium and brought up a glass flower all in green, made from a plate, a bowl, and a tea light candle holder, then held it up.

“This is an example of drilling holes through the pieces first. Then you slip a bolt through each piece and a piece of copper tubing. Not only does this method hold them together, but the copper tubing acts as the pole to put in the ground, as well. This is an easy method, and the flower can be finished quickly. The drawback is that the length of the bolt limits how many pieces you can use. Also, some artists don't like the look of the bolt. The best trick is to cover the bolt by gluing a cover over it, like a button, an earring, or a toy china cup.”

“Do you use glue?” SueAnn poised her pen over her open notebook.

Savannah handed the green flower to SueAnn and gestured for her to pass it around to the students. “Yes, I use E6000 glue for outdoor use. Another option is to use GE Silicone II clear caulk. You can use either glue or caulk, instead of drilling the pieces.”

She pulled out another glass flower, created using pale pink Depression-ware dishes. It included a salad plate, a saucer, and a small dessert dish. “This is a flower I stuck together using silicone as the glue. If some of the plates are thin, that's your best bet, because drilling might shatter them.” Savannah handed the glass flower over to SueAnn for passing.

Faith held up a timid hand and cleared her throat. “How do you give the flowers stems?”

Savannah pulled out a completed glass flower from the bottom of the podium. “Here's a finished flower mounted on a copper pipe. You can use aluminum pipe, rebar rods, wooden dowels, copper pipe, branches, curtain rods, or recycled railing. Basically, anything that strikes your creative fancy.”

Rachel stood up in the back row. “Do you want these back?”

“Yes. Bring them up here. You can come up and look them over while you're assembling your own.”

SueAnn gave Savannah a queenly wave. “Darlin', what about our glass bottles from yesterday's workshop? Are we going to get to see how they wound up?”

“Absolutely. I'll—”

The hanging bell on the front door shrieked and jangled. It was followed by a huffing and red-faced Amanda running into the classroom. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I overslept. I didn't hear the alarm go off. I'm so embarrassed.”

Although it might be difficult for a stranger to discern, Savannah noticed that Amanda wore a hodgepodge of an outfit. Her makeup was a bit streaky, and her lime earrings didn't coordinate with the peach top and pale yellow slacks. Even worse, she was wearing one brown shoe and one black shoe, which looked more like Amanda's mother's style of comfortable footwear. Amanda had an unusual style, yes, but this was extreme even for her.

“It's fine, Amanda. It eventually happens to everyone,” Savannah said, using her best comforting voice. “Because everything was so well organized, I was able to cover the glass flower lecture easily.” Savannah's voice dropped down to a whisper. “Next time, call or text when something unexpected comes up. It looks like we don't know what we're doing, and it's not good for our reputation.”

Amanda wiped the stray wisps of hair off her forehead. “Of course. I don't know why I didn't. That's exactly what I should have done. I'm so sorry.” Amanda's voice mimicked that of a small child. “Do you want to take over the teaching?”

“No. Of course not. I was about to take the class into the supply room to open the kiln. I'm so glad you're here. I didn't want you to miss opening it for your very first class. It's such great fun.”

“Thanks.” Amanda looked around the classroom and noticed the empty seat in the front row. “Where's Martin?”