Dead Even (22 page)

“Were you aware that Simpson's first wife also died under mysterious circumstances?” Mike asked.

“Nothing mysterious about it as far as I could see,” Underwood replied. “Took her own life. We all knew that. Hell, Simpson didn't ever try to hide that fact. It was common knowledge here in town.” He opened a folder he had brought with him. “Course I checked it out after the fire. Right here's the report. Seems she couldn't get enough sleeping pills from one doctor, so she saw three different ones the day before she died. They each gave her a prescription for six pills, then the next day she took all of them. No question but that it was suicide. She even left a note saying she was sorry, and for Howard to look after their boy.”

“How old was the child at that time?” Butch asked.

Underwood checked his notes. “Almost five. Then two years later Simpson met Isabelle when he was in town selling insurance. They got married six months later and he moved here. Isabelle was a guidance counselor here at our high school, and a mighty fine lady, I'll tell you. Not much of a looker, though. She was well on her way to becoming an old maid when Simpson showed up. We were all glad Simpson seemed to look right past that plain face to the jewel underneath. And I never heard a word about his stepping out on her, or anything like that.”

“Did they seem happy?”

“Far as I know. They were real active in the town, and Simpson seemed proud of everything Isabelle did. I heard him remark once that she was a better mother to his little boy than the child's own mother had been.”

“And there's no question in your mind but that Simpson really did try to save her and the boy from the fire? It wasn't just show?”

“Show, hell!” Underwood said. “If a couple of the boys from town hadn't pulled him out, he would have died in that fire, too. He was in the hospital a week or so. Never did get his voice back right. And it was all for nothing. When the house exploded, those two were goners.” He shook his head. “I'll never forget carrying out those bodies. Just two big pieces of charcoal, that's what they looked like.”

“How long did Simpson stay in town after the fire?” Mike asked.

“Not long. He left almost as soon as he was released from the hospital. And I can't say as I blamed him none. Nothing for him here, but bad memories. But he stayed in touch. I always knew where he was.”

Mike looked knowingly at the big man. “You know why we're here, don't you? Captain Markham explained about the killings?”

Underwood nodded, pushing his wide Stetson to the back of his head. “I'm sorry, but I just can't believe it, and I know that's what most people say when they find out their neighbor or friend has done some heinous crime, but in this case, I really just can't believe it. Not Simpson. From what I saw of him, he wouldn't have the stomach for it.”

“Yes, sir,” Butch said, “but we have placed him in twenty-three cities on the nights the girls were killed. I'm afraid there isn't much question but that he did it, all right.”

Sheriff Underwood removed another piece of paper from his file and handed it to Mike. “I don't know if this means anything or not, but after your captain told me about Simpson, I remembered another incident that happened about that same time. I looked it up to be certain.” He pointed to the police report in Mike's hand. “Three days before the fire, we had another tragedy. The little Nevergall girl. Lee Ann. Her body was found just north of town. She had been raped and stabbed. Cut up pretty bad, truth be known. Only fifteen—and we never did find out who did it. Could be a coincidence, probably is, but I thought you might like to have the information.”

Mike looked at him, incredulously. “Yet you still don't think Simpson is our man?”

Underwood grinned. “I never argue with hard evidence, boys. If you say you have him, then that's that. I'm just saying that Howard Simpson is about as far away from my mind's eye of a serial killer as you can get.”

“Did he have many friends in town, or was he a loner?” Mike asked.

“No. I wouldn't say he was a loner—not by a long shot. He was a salesman, and a damned good one. That meant getting out and meeting people. I don't know if he had any one
good
friend, but in the six years he lived here, he got to know most everyone.”

“And his wife's sister still lives here, right?” Mike asked.

“Yes.” Underwood looked at his watch. “I called her, and she's expecting us any time.”

“You didn't mention anything to her about the killings, did you?”

“No. Your captain made it plain that he didn't want any of this to break just yet.” He laughed. “No, son. I've been an officer of the law long enough to know what's going to happen to your peaceful community when word gets out that you've captured a serial killer. And you better have your leg work done by then, 'cause afterward, you're not going to be able to take a piss without some reporter counting the drops!”

Chapter TWENTY

“And so you just made up all that stuff about your mother being sick?” Audra asked Jason. “There's nothing at all wrong with her?”

Jason looked down at the floor. “Yes. I made it all up. And I told Momma that you needed to keep me to run some tests—some IQ tests. I knew she would believe me, because I most always tell the truth.”

It was all Audra could do to keep from laughing. Instead, she forced a serious tone to her voice. “But Jason, that was a very bad thing you did. Lying to me—to your mother. Why didn't you simply tell us what you wanted to do?”

He looked up at her, knowingly. “Would you have let me come? Do you think my mother would have?”

“No. I'm certain we would have both said no, but that isn't the point.”

Jason interrupted her. “Yes, Miss Delaney. That's
exactly
the point.”

Audra bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Sometimes when Jason spoke it was like listening to a philosophy professor—one that stood three feet tall, with a nose full of freckles and a missing tooth.

“If I had told you,” he continued undaunted, “then I wouldn't have been there, would I? And that man might have killed you, and then I would have gone through my life feeling guilty, and Bess would have been all alone, and you would have been dead.” He flashed a broad smile at her and winked. “This way, the story has a happy ending!”

Audra couldn't hold it back any longer. She burst out laughing. “Well, you have a point there, Jason. I suppose I should be thankful you made up this whole incredible story.”

“I know
I
am,” Bess said. “Seems to me the young'un should be gettin' an award, 'stead of a lecture.”

“Tell you what,” Audra said. “How about if we spend a few hours doing something real special before I take you home? Just the two of us. Would you like that?”

Jason's blue eyes flashed with excitement. “Can we go sledding? Out at the overpass? Bess told me she has two sleds.” He looked at the old woman for confirmation, and she nodded.

“I keep them around to give the kids somethin' to do when their parents get snowed in here. They're old, but they work just fine.”

“I don't know,” Audra looked at Bess. “Do you think they'll have the roads cleared out there?”

“I'll check,” Bess answered her. “But I imagine they'll have those roads open.”

Audra made her mind up quickly. “Okay, then. We'll do it, Jason. Just the two of us. A fun little adventure!”

*   *   *

Underwood pulled up into the driveway of a fashionable brick house. “This is it,” he said. “The sister's name is Dennison. Ivory Dennison. Some say the Lord gave Isabelle all the brains, and Ivory got the looks. Of course she's older now, probably about forty, forty-five, but she can still turn a few heads. And she and Isabelle were close. She took her death real hard.”

When Ivory Dennison opened the door, Mike saw what Underwood was talking about. Though she was older than the women Mike usually noticed, there was no disputing Ivory Dennison's beauty. Her skin was flawless, and she wore her blond hair short in a blunt cut that set off her features to perfection. She turned large olive-colored eyes on them.

“Hello, Sheriff. Come on in.”

Underwood made the introductions, and they followed Ivory into a large living room. She offered them coffee, and they waited, unspeaking, until she returned with a tray.

“Now, then,” she said. “What's this all about, anyway? Why do you need to talk with me about Isabelle's death? It's been twenty-one years since the fire. Surely you aren't investigating it after all this time.”

“No, ma'am,” Mike said. “We want to ask you a few questions about Howard Simpson.” The officers had already agreed to have Mike lead the interview. Questions from too many people tended to break down the lines of communication, and they wanted these lines open. He could only hope she would drop the wall of reserve once they began.

“Howard?” She turned cool eyes on them. “What could you possibly want to know about Howard?”

“Did you know him well?”

Ivory looked at them with astonishment. “Of course I knew him well. He was married to my sister for six years. What's wrong? Is Howard in some sort of trouble?”

“I'm not at liberty to say just now,” Mike answered her. “But you have my word we'll contact you with all the details just as soon as we are able.”

Ivory gave a little sniff, clearly unsatisfied.

“Were your families close? Did you spend much time with them?” Mike continued.

“Yes. We had dinner together almost every week. First at Isabelle's place, then ours. Doyle and I—that's my ex-husband—we spent a lot of time with them. Isabelle was the only family I had. She practically raised me after our parents died.”

“She was older than you?”

Ivory nodded. “By about twelve years. She was older than Howard, too. Six years older if I remember correctly.”

Mike didn't doubt for a minute that Ivory Dennison knew exactly what the age discrepancy was. She seemed the type. “How did the two of them get along?”

Ivory smiled. “A lot better than Doyle and I, I'll tell you! Isabelle doted on Howard. Thought the sun rose and set with him.”

Mike nodded encouragingly. “And you? What did you think of him—really?”

Ivory leaned back in her chair, re-crossing her long legs seductively.
It wasn't the fire they were worried about, after all.
She had stewed all day for nothing. She relaxed, gazing intently at the handsome officer, wondering how he would be in bed, and wondering if he was into older women.

“Well, actually, Howard wasn't exactly my type. He was a little on the prissy side.” She leaned forward in the chair and smiled at Mike. “You know—wore lots of rings and other jewelry, had to have his shirts starched just so, always spoke in an even, well-mannered voice—that sort of thing.”

“Did you ever notice him doing anything violent? Did he have a temper?”

“Howard? Don't be silly. I never even heard him raise his voice.”

“He had a child, didn't he? From his first marriage?”

“That's right. Isaac. Howard used to call us his three
I's
—Isaac, Isabelle and Ivory. And now I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but that Isaac was nothing but trouble! Isabelle was just about at her wit's end with him.”

“He was what? About twelve?”

Ivory snorted. “Twelve going on twenty! The little bastard even made a pass at me one time, if you can believe it!”

Mike managed a wide smile. “I can believe it. You're a beautiful woman. The kid was probably madly in love with you.” He laughed, trying to draw her out even more. “Boys will be boys, you know.”

His compliment did not elicit the reaction he expected.

“God!” Ivory said. “That's what Howard always used to say. He couldn't see how really spoiled Isaac was. Always stuck up for him. He had a blind spot where that little prick was concerned.”

“You blame the boy for your sister's death, don't you?” Mike asked gently. “Because of the chemistry set?”

“Yes!” Ivory blurted. “And I blame myself for giving it to him. I should have known that the only thing he would do with it was burn down the house or figure out new ways to torture little animals. Him and the Kramer boy! Two of a kind. I caught them rubbing some concoction on a bunch of kittens one time. Poor little things were crying and carrying on, going crazy!” She stopped talking and shook her head in disgust. “Later, I found those sweet babies skinned and nailed to a tree. I couldn't even stand to be around Isaac after that. It made my skin crawl just to be in the same room with him.”

“And what did Howard do about this incident?”

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Isaac said after he saw how much the itching powder was hurting the kittens, he gave them to the Kramer boy to take in to Howard to bathe. He said that was the last he saw them, and of course Howard believed him.”

“And your sister?”

“She believed me. She said she'd seen enough to know Isaac needed help—more than she could give him. If you ask me, that little bastard was probably trying to kill Isabelle, and just got caught in his own devilment.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I talked to Isabelle the day before the fire. Doyle and I, we were trying to patch our marriage together, and we had taken a trip to Hawaii. Everything there was just so beautiful, I wanted to share it with Isabelle, so I called her. But she was real upset over something. She wouldn't say what, but I knew it had to be bad. She said she was afraid she might lose Howard over it, so I just supposed it was Isaac again.”

“And that was the last time you spoke with her?”

Tears filled Ivory's eyes. “Yes. And I didn't even get here for the funeral. All the information about our trip was in the house. When it burned, no one knew where to contact me.” She shuddered. “When I did get home, it was like I could smell her poor burned flesh even at my own home. I smelled that awful smell for weeks, just like I'd been right there.”