Weeds in the Garden of Love (29 page)

Craig paced the floor outside Heather’s room. He struggled to regain his composure. Suddenly, he realized he hadn’t left a message for Vikki. She was returning home tonight from a business trip. He checked his watch. It was shortly after eight. Her plane was scheduled to land at ten-thirty p.m. Vikki had parked her car at the airport to save Craig the trouble of picking her up. She’d worry if he wasn’t waiting for her at home. He found a pay phone. “Hi, Vik.” Craig tried to sound calm. “Listen, sweetie. I’m at Mercy Hospital Emergency. My kids were in a car accident. My airhead ex-wife was driving. Heather is in recovery and it looks like she’ll be fine. Robbie is still in surgery. I’ll call you later. Love you.”

Craig needed Vikki. He couldn’t face this alone.

* * *

It was pounding rain that Friday morning when Detectives Roy Wood and Dave Astor arrived at six-twenty a.m. Yellow police tape strung across the front of the residence indicated the scene was secure. Uniformed officers were stationed outside, their wet slickers shining in the floodlights. Vehicles were parked haphazardly: black and whites, crime scene vans, an ambulance and a meat wagon from the coroner’s office. Vans from several local TV stations were parked close by as well.

“
Looks like the media already has this covered,” Dave said.

Roy parked behind a police car. “Doesn’t take them long to get wind of a big one. Gruesome crime is always big news.”

The scene was a large two-story home in Woodland Estates, an upscale gated neighborhood on the west side of the city. The area was ultra high-income, and many residents employed private security firms. The crime rate was low; especially murder.

“
Upstairs, Roy,” Lt. Coulter said, as they checked in. “It’s my scene and I need your report a.s.a.p. Looks like we have a possible entry point. The patio doors in the family room are jimmied. Dave, I want you to work that while Roy is upstairs. Listen, you two. As you saw outside, the media’s all over this. Downtown’s got the heat turned up—told me we gotta nail this son-of-a-bitch sooner, rather than later.”

That was typical Coulter. He always got right to the point. He also knew how to run a scene and maintain the evidence chain. Roy respected Coulter and was glad he was in charge.

The master bedroom was enormous. At one end was a dressing room leading to a luxurious marble bathroom with dual sinks, a corner shower and Jacuzzi tub. An over-stuffed sofa with matching lamps on antique end tables was at the opposite end of the room. The entire wall at that end of the room was windows and sliding glass patio doors leading to a balcony. A king-size four-poster bed was on one side of the room. On the opposite wall sat an antique armoire, its open doors revealing a large television set.

The bedroom was a hub of activity. Crime scene specialists were taking photos, dusting for fingerprints and collecting relevant evidence. Yellow death blankets covered two cadavers on the bed.

“
Hey, Roy,” Jim Close said. “Nice morning for it, huh?”

Over the years, Roy had worked many homicides with Jim. He was one of the best crime scene techs in the coroner’s office. “Hi, Jim. Got a time yet?”

“
Body temp and rigor peg it around midnight, maybe one this morning.”

Roy was writing in his notebook. “Any signs of a struggle?”

“
None,” Jim said. “But you better have a look.”

Jim walked to the bed and pulled back the blankets. The victims were a middle-aged couple, lying side-by-side. Both had been shot in the head. Above the bed, written in blood was the number “
6
” with a line through it. Below that, a number “
4
.” Roy was studying the bloody inscription.

“
I see you noticed the art work,” Jim said. “Any idea what it means?”

Roy didn’t offer an explanation. He suspected the murderer was telling them he was going to kill four more people. He didn’t have enough evidence to confirm it, and he wasn’t about to speculate. He asked Jim about the murder weapon.

“
We have a small hole in the forehead and a big one back here.” Jim rolled the male’s head over to the side. “Looks like a three fifty-seven, but we’ll wait for ballistics. And check this out.” Roy looked at a bloody mass partially protruding from the male victim’s mouth. At first, he was puzzled. Then, he took a closer look and realized what it was.

“
Are those his—”

“—
genitals,” Jim said. “Severed and stuffed into his mouth.”

“
Post-mortem, I hope.”

“
From the amount of blood, I’d say yes. The poor guy was already dead. Doesn’t matter though, it was still cold and brutal.”

“
What about her? Looks like an exit wound on the back of her hand.”

“
Yup, sure is. The bullet went through the palm of her right hand.” Jim turned her hand over. “It penetrated the forehead and into the brain. Evidently, the perp did him first. She knew what was coming. Looks like she put her hand up to shield herself. Didn’t help much.”

“
Who found them?” Like any good investigator, Roy assumed the person who discovered the crime was a suspect—even if it was a cop.

“
A private dick. He was working for them. He’s downstairs. Also claims he has a suspect.”

“
I’ll go down and interview him.” Roy looked at the bodies. “Charles and Arlene Talbot. What a waste.”

“
Yup. Hard to believe the Director of the SOE murdered like this,” Jim said.

“
Former Director.” Roy walked towards the door. “And his former wife.”

* * *

Vikki arrived home from the airport that Thursday night at eleven-fifteen p.m. She left for the hospital as soon as she heard Craig’s phone message. She rushed across town through the pouring rain. Craig was asleep in a chair when she arrived. She kissed him on the forehead. He woke up and hugged her for all he was worth. He quickly brought Vikki up to speed on what he knew.

“
Oh, Vik. I don’t know what I’d do if Robbie—”

Vikki wrapped her arms around him and gently rubbed his back. “No, no, no, it’ll be okay. They’re doing everything they can. All we can do now, is hope and pray.” Over Craig’s shoulder, Vikki saw two police officers at the nurses’ station. One of the nurses pointed, and the officers walked towards them. They were the officers who were investigating the accident. One of them explained what they had determined so far.

“
It appears, sir, the children’s mother was at fault. Witnesses at the scene said her vehicle crossed the centerline. We suspect alcohol was involved.”

Craig didn’t know what to say. He knew Chrissie was an alcoholic. He always feared something like this would happen one day. “It’s all my fault. I knew she had a drinking problem. I should have forced her into rehab—forced her to quit. I should have taken my kids away from her. I should have at least tried.”

Craig was clearly punishing himself. The officers assured him he was not responsible for the injuries to his children. They told him the decision to drive drunk was his ex-wife’s. Before they left, they shook his hand and said they hoped everything would turn out for the best.

Craig was riddled with guilt even though the situation was beyond his control. As irrational as it was, he couldn’t help blaming himself. He wouldn’t allow Vikki to convince him it wasn’t his fault. He was hurting too much to listen to reason. He didn’t say a word. He sat and stared at the floor. Finally, he looked up at the clock. He wondered why it was taking so long—why no one was telling him anything about Robbie. Vikki hugged him and wouldn’t let go. He was so thankful she was with him.

The elevator door opened. A doctor wearing green scrubs got off and walked to the nurse’s station. He was looking for Craig. He was Dr. Gorham—Robbie’s surgeon.

* * *

The private investigator was talking to a uniform when Roy walked into the Talbot’s living room. “Thanks, officer,” he said. “I’ll take it from here.” Roy shook the P.I.’s hand. “Detective Roy Wood. Your name is?”

“
Paul Austin.” He took a business card from his suit pocket. “Austin Security Services. I was hired by Mr. Talbot.”

Roy chuckled to himself at the acronym but didn’t say anything. He figured Austin had heard it before. “Well—Paul Austin,” Roy said, as he took out his notebook. “Tell me, why would Charles Talbot feel the need to hire a private investigator?”

“
His wife was being followed. She kept seeing the same car … or one like it … I guess … anyway, it was tailing her. She even saw it parked down the street from their house on several occasions.” Austin hesitated. He waited for Roy to ask another question.

“
You have any idea who was following her?” Roy was beginning to suspect Austin was not a bright light.

“
Some guy named Lorne Davis, sir.” Once again, Austin waited for the next question.

“
And, you determined this—how?” Roy was losing patience with this cop wannabe.

“
I think it was around two weeks ago, during the course of my contracted duties, I spotted a car following Mrs. Talbot. I made the plate. A friend of mine at the D.M.V. said it was registered to Davis.”

“
Simply because he was following her, you think he did this? He’s the suspect you told the crime scene guys about?”

“
Yes, sir! But I haven’t told you everything. I saw him in the area a few times and decided to do some counter-surveillance on him. You know, track his movements.”

“
Instead of calling the police and letting us handle it?”

“
He hadn’t done anything wrong yet,” Austin said. “And I didn’t think you guys would be interested.” Roy knew this dunderhead was probably right. The police have more to do than chase down vague leads in a non-criminal matter. Still, in light of these murders, this would have been nice to know.

“
So you tailed him,” Roy said.

“
Yes, sir.”

“
And?” Roy was becoming increasingly impatient.

Austin described two other residences Davis was staking out. One was a house and the other an apartment—both in Botsford Downs. Roy wrote down the addresses. “He was at that apartment building last night,” Austin said. “I know because I followed him. I watched as he parked down the block and walked back to the building. He stood inside looking at the directory … you know, like he was looking for an apartment to buzz. The thing is, he never buzzed anyone. He kinda hung around near the inside security door. When someone came out, he slipped in before the door closed. I saw him get into the elevator.”

“
What time was that?” Roy asked.

“
Around eleven-thirty, I think. Could have been a few minutes earlier. He was at that apartment building for about ten or fifteen minutes. Then he left.”

“
Did you follow him?” Roy hoped he had an eyewitness who could put Davis at this scene in Woodland Estates.

“
Yes, sir! But I lost him right after he left Botsford Downs. I think he might have spotted me ‘cause he started driving erratically. It was around eleven-forty-five or maybe a bit closer to midnight.”

Roy was disappointed, but he understood. Successful surveillance utilizing one vehicle is nearly impossible. Any suspect with even half a brain would burn you nine times out of ten. “When Davis gave you the slip was he heading towards Woodland Estates?”

“
No, sir. He was heading the other way, towards the interstate. But I thought I should check the Talbot’s place, just in case. I drove right over, and it was quiet. Lights were out. No sign of Davis. I hung around for a few minutes and then left around twelve-fifteen a.m. I was tired, and I had to get up for an early shift. Mr. Talbot said he needed me here at five-thirty a.m.— to drive Mrs. T. to the airport. She was going to visit her daughter in, uh … in … St. Louis. I think.”

“
What time did you arrive here this morning?” Roy was trying to make a long story shorter.

“
Five-twenty a.m., sir. I always try to be early.”

“
And?” Roy wondered how this half-wit could actually make a living as a private investigator.
I don’t think he could spell investigation, let alone actually conduct one.

“
Oh, sorry,” Austin said. “The house was dark. When Mrs. Talbot didn’t come out to the car, I rang the front door bell. No one came. I tried the door, and it was locked. I was beginning to think something wasn’t right. I went around the back. Patio door was wide open. I found them upstairs, just like they are now. You know … I’ve never seen anything like that. It didn’t seem real. I meanI felt like I was watching a movie or a cop show on telev—”

“
Thanks, Austin.” Roy stood up to leave. “I’ll send in a detective to get a statement from you. We appreciate your help.”

“
Davis did this, Detective. I know he did this.”

Roy wasn’t about to jump to any conclusions or rule out any possibilities until all the evidence was in. Experience had taught him; if you never rule anything out, you are never surprised. The wall phone in the kitchen was dead, so Roy used a police portable to call his captain. He explained his suspicions about Davis. He requested they send someone to Lorne’s apartment to ascertain his whereabouts.

“
Lt. Coulter is looking for you,” Dave said, as Roy walked out of the kitchen. “We have another one.”

Roy wasn’t surprised.