Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) (4 page)

Chapter 6

I’d called Officer Hard Ass before heading over to my parents’ house, agreeing to his request to find the truth about Delia. He was on the job at the time and at his insistence, we set up a meeting at Huntingford City Park by the entrance to the wooded trail at nine p.m. Nope, not a scary place at all. In the dark. On a cold, cloudy night.

I was cutting the time a little close. Once my mother started reading my list of transgressions, it was almost impossible to make her stop. And doesn’t every kid bite their mom at one point? Okay, I may have been more excessive than most. I’m sure I didn’t mean to leave scars. Jeez, time to let it go, woman.

Now at five till nine, I looped my car around the winding, dark lane of the park. All five acres of it. Past the kiddie playground and the jogging track, across the bike path, working my way toward the back end. A wooded trail circled the outskirts. Not being a big fan of woods and ticks and creatures that carried rabies, I rarely had cause to come here.

Parked beneath a street light and facing the bike path, Andre sat behind the wheel of a big, white SUV. I pulled in next to him and shut off my engine before climbing out of my car and into his.

“Can we meet somewhere less isolated next time?” I asked, slamming the door.

“No.” He tossed a USB drive at me which I fumbled before sticking it in my coat pocket. “Here’s everything
in the official file. Show it to no one. And don’t call me before eight p.m. What did you find out from Randa today?”

“Gosh, I’m fine, thanks for inquiring.” Maybe my dad knew a good surgeon for Andre. One who specialized in stick-up-the-ass-itis.

He exhaled loudly. “Miss Strickland, my job is on the line. And if I get caught leaking information, I’ll go to jail. I don’t have time for games or inane chitchat. What did you learn from Randa Atherton?”

“Delia blackmailed Randa into spying for her, reporting back any gossip she picked up. And Randa hated her for it.”

He nodded once. “Yes. That makes sense. What kind of information did Delia have on Randa? It must have been something juicy.”

My mind wandered back to the scene in Randa’s office. It was like a bad porn movie being played on a loop in my brain. “Randa’s having an affair with a married cop. Sam something.”

“Sam Landers. Everyone knows about that. It’s old news. But I suppose if Delia had lodged some kind of formal complaint, Randa and Sam would have both lost their jobs.”

“I suppose,” I said. “Tell me about David Ashby.”

His body stiffened. “Why?”

“Because Delia seemed obsessed with him. What do you know?”

He rotated his shoulders and stared at the deserted bike path. “Until two years ago, I worked under Captain Charles Bentley. A good man. A good cop. But when we made a bust on a midlevel drug dealer, Mathers wanted us to cut him loose. No charges, no follow up surveillance. He wasn’t trying to catch a bigger fish, he was sweeping it under the rug. I never found out why. Anyway, Bentley wouldn’t play. Next thing you know, my captain’s arrested. Accused of taking bribes and offering protection for drug dealers.”

He scrubbed a hand over his cheek. “Mathers and I were playing on the same softball team at the time. I gave Martin a ride and on the way to the game, he asked me what I thought about Bentley’s fall from grace. I told him I thought he’d been stitched up, that Bentley wouldn’t do something like that. I’ll never forget Martin’s response, Miss Strickland. He looked me right in the eye and said, ‘Never play against me. Charley thought he could win. But he wasn’t ready for the big leagues.’ When I asked him to clarify, he started talking softball. But from that day, I was on notice. If I didn’t side with him, I’d be out, too.”

“You don’t strike me as a man who succumbs to threats. You’re a straight shooter, Officer Thomas. Too much so, if you ask me.”

He cast me a sideways glance. “If you ask anyone. Look at me. I’m a thirty-four-year-old desk jock. I have a Master’s in Psychology. I could have risen in the ranks by now, but I still wear a uniform because I don’t want to put myself in a morally difficult situation. Once you break a rule here or skirt the law there, you’re on your way to being a dishonest cop. I try to hold the line every day. Enforcing the law is the only thing between order and anarchy.”

I shook my head. “But you know your boss is dishonest. How can you work for him?”

“I don’t work for him. I work for the people of Huntingford.”

“So where does David Ashby fit into all this?” I asked.

“Martin Mathers, David Ashby, and Judge Keeler are very close—they have one another’s back. If one were being dramatic, one might refer to them as a triumvirate. Ashby is the assistant PA. He’s powerful and has his sights set even higher. I’m wary of men who like power, Miss Strickland. You should be, too.”

“Tell me again why you care if Mathers is popped for this murder. You’ve put your career aspirations on the back burner so that you won’t cross him. Why not let it play out? He’s guilty of a lot of crap. Shouldn’t he be punished for those crimes?”

“It’s not supposed to work like that. If he didn’t kill Delia, he shouldn’t take the rap for it. No matter what else he’s done.”

“What if Mathers did commit this crime? He and Delia could have argued about the pregnancy and in a fit of rage, he killed her?”

“No. I don’t believe that. And when you read the report, you’ll see that’s not how it happened. Delia was murdered in her bed, probably while she was asleep. There are no defensive wounds. None of the neighbors heard a sound. These facts were held back from the public.”

“And you’re sure it was Martin’s baby?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “No. There were more rumors that Delia had been seeing someone else. That’s where you come in. I want you to find out what really happened. Whether it leads back to the chief or not. But my instincts tell me he didn’t do it.”

It was a lot to take in. I needed time to let all the facts play out in my head, read over the report. “Got any scoop on Annabelle Mathers? I’m meeting with her tomorrow.”

“How did you manage that?”

“She and my mother are friends.” I decided not to get into the whole shebang with Barbara’s dueling request to prove Martin’s innocence.

Andre shrugged. “I’ve only met her a couple of times. She seems fragile to me, delicate.”

“Did she know about Martin and Delia’s affair?”

“I have no idea. But their children are a handful.”

“What do you mean?”

“His oldest, Mason, has been to rehab on numerous occasions. The boy’s sixteen, insolent, a delinquent, and worse. We’ve caught him several times with drugs, but we always cut him loose. And Molly is eighteen. She’s a brilliant musician from what I understand. Word is, she’s been to psychiatric clinics. Gifted, but troubled.”

Martin Mathers was a piece of work. I felt sorry for his kids, being raised by such an asshole. Of course they wouldn’t reach adulthood unscathed. Not with him as a father.

“I want you to set up a meeting with the cop and the dispatcher. The sexting ones that got fired.”

He stared out the windshield, his fingers stroking the curve of the steering wheel. “I have to tread carefully here. Tell you what, I’ll call them and see if they’re willing to meet with you. That’s the best I can do.”

Exhaustion made my brain a little fuzzy and my attitude a smidge bitchy. “Then just give me their names, I’ll talk to them myself.”

“Fine. I’ll set it up and call you.” He shook his head. “Perhaps this whole thing was a mistake,” he mumbled to himself.

“Possibly. But a wise man thinks about the consequences before he embarks on a task,” I said.

He pointed his chin at me. “Who said that?”

“Master Dragon Chinese Takeout. Found it in a fortune cookie last week. If you think of anything else, call me.”

“Likewise,” he said.

On my way home, I phoned Roxy and asked if she wanted to meet up at my apartment. I needed a strong cup of coffee and a second pair of eyes to look over Delia Cummings’ file. Rox was waiting in the lot by the time I got there. Together we exited our cars and climbed up the stairs.

“So how was dinner with your mom?” she asked as I unlocked my front door. “Does she have a tumor?”

I walked in first, flipped on the light, and hung my jacket beside the door. “You’re not going to believe it. She wanted a favor. To clear her friend’s husband of murder.”

She shrugged out of her pink fuzzy coat. “Your
mom
asked you for a favor like that? And who’s her friend?”

“Annabelle Mathers.”

“Oh my God,” she said between chomps of gum, “that’s perfect. It’s like the universe is calling your name. And it’s not even speaking Klingon.”

“Right?” I flipped on my refurbished laptop, and because it took longer to boot up than sending a message by carrier pigeon, I had time to make coffee. “Now I’ll have access to Martin Mathers’ wife and all of the family gossip. I’m meeting her after work tomorrow. The bad news—my mom insists on coming with.”

The fresh, rich smell of brewed java filled my tiny room. I wished I had some cookies to go with it. Too bad I missed out on that chocolate soufflé earlier.

Roxy propped her hip against the counter. “You’re going to have to ask her about his affair with Delia. Awkward?”

“Totally. And my mom will be side-eying me the whole time.” I filled two mugs with steamy coffee, then plugged in the USB drive Andre had thrown at me. From my purse, I grabbed my pen and notebook, then we settled in at the table.

On the screen, one file popped up:
Delia Cummings.
I clicked it open. There were crime scene shots, including several of her dead body, an autopsy report, and the homicide detective’s notes.

“Holy shit,” Roxy said, pulling her chair closer.

“This is the official file.”

I clicked through all of it without taking the time to read it. Just to know exactly what I had. Then I went back to the beginning and started from page one, reading every word and studying every photo. The roast I’d eaten earlier turned in my stomach. The medical examiner filled in an intricate, detailed checklist that noted everything from Delia’s earrings, to the contents of her bedside drawer (pad of paper, pen, a vibrator, and a bottle of hand lotion), to the cause of death. Laceration of the thoracic aorta.

At a close up of her chest wound, I shuddered.

“Get off this picture. Go to the next one,” Roxy said.

I clicked on a zillion more photos of the body from every angle imaginable, the crime scene, more pictures of the knife wound, and up close and personal autopsy shots. I forced myself to examine them, but Roxy stood and paced the apartment, unable to look. Once I made it past the photos, she resumed her seat.

In the detective’s notes, we learned that the police questioned her neighbors. I made a note of their names: Brad and Eileen Whitehead were home that night, Tanya Delinksky, had been out of town. The Whiteheads hadn’t heard anything unusual. In fact, it wasn’t until Delia failed to show up for work the next day that her body was discovered. When she didn’t answer her phone, Martin Mathers sent a squad car to check on her. The door to her condo was unlocked and Officer Michael Cribbs found her in bed. Dead for at least eight hours.

Uniformed officers canvased the area, questioning all the residences along the street and the ones butting up to Delia’s small back yard. No one heard anything. No one saw anything out of the ordinary.

The rumors that she’d been pregnant were true. Sort of. Until very recently she had been pregnant. So recent, that her HCG levels were still elevated, but no fetus. Did she have an abortion? Delia told Randa Atherton she’d had a miscarriage, but was that true?

“I wonder how long the pregnancy hormone stays in your system?” I glanced at Roxy.

She looked a little pale.

“I don’t know. This is all so gross. She was a person, but they talk about her like she’s a lamp.”

I patted her hand. “They have to. Otherwise, they couldn’t do their job.”

We finished reading through the file, but it didn’t give any clue as to who killed her. The murderer brought his own weapon, which suggested the crime was premeditated.

Unless she and Martin had argued, Delia fell asleep, and Martin whipped out a long, serrated knife he just happened to be carrying? No, that didn’t work. It felt like I was trying to force a square peg into a round hole.

I turned my attention back to the screen. According to the report, the police had taken Delia’s computer and sent fibers in for analysis. They’d collected all of her personal information and put a rush on everything, but there were no leads.

Her parents, Stan and Marie Cummings, were her next of kin. I made a note of that, too.

The facts didn’t tell me anything. All I had were rumors. Rumors that Martin Mathers had knocked Delia up and then killed her. But if that were true, surely he’d have known she wasn’t pregnant at the time of her death.

I pulled the memory stick from the computer and laid it on the table.

“What do you think?” Roxy asked. “Police Chief or other?”

I chewed my lower lip, lost in thought. “If he did it, why not make it look like an accident? Surely he’s smart enough to figure that out.”

She stood and stretched. “Doesn’t sound like a crime of passion. She was killed in bed, no signs of a struggle, no sign of a break in, and nothing appeared to be missing. So what do we do next, Nancy Drew?”

I took our cups to the sink and gave them a quick wash. “We need to figure out who hated Delia enough to kill her. Do you think one of Martin’s enemies could have done this?”