Author: CJ Birch
Category: Other
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Sandy tramped toward the house on her left and pointed an enraged finger at Mr. Rutherford’s front stoop. “I can tell you plain as day it was John Rutherford who ripped up my garden.”
Elle turned toward Mr. Rutherford’s house. The front stairs were equipped with an extra metal handrail. An old Chrysler sat in the driveway, one of its tires deflated from lack of use. “Sandy, the man is, like, a hundred years old. He barely has the energy to make it to the station to file his complaints. How do you expect him to rip out an entire garden without you seeing it?” She was glad of Sandy’s outrage. It kept her mind from thinking of Jessie’s open body a little over a mile away.
Sandy stiffened. “He had all night to do it.”
Elle’s patience, bored from lack of use, got up and walked out. It was at this moment Robin chose to enter the scene. She stepped onto the porch where she had an overview of the two women squaring off, Sheriff Elle Ashley towering over the sturdy Sandy Collard.
“For Christ’s sake, Sandy. You can’t actually expect me to believe that a ninety-eight-year-old man with arthritic knees made it into your garden in the middle of the night to tear out your plants?” She put her hands on her hips. “And why the fuck would he want to?”
Sandy stepped back and huffed. She’d never heard Elle swear before. Silence permeated the air, broken only by the morning stirrings of nesting birds. Sandy was used to getting her way. Her husband was on the city council while she served on the festival committee. They both belonged to Turlough’s Business Association and went to church every Sunday. If Sandy wanted something done it was usually a matter of deciding which person to talk to. Elle had never played the same kind of politics as Bailey. She never did favors for anyone. This didn’t bother most since she tended to be fair. Sandy didn’t work that way. She owned the most successful B&B in three counties. Since she took over the decoration committee for the festival, everyone said it was the prettiest they’d ever seen it. Sandy Collard deserved special treatment. Without her, Turlough would be just another third-rate Podunk town. The fact that Elle wouldn’t stop everything and personally investigate the matter herself was tantamount to spitting on the baby Jesus statue outside the alcove at Holy Name.
“Feel free to file a complaint. Stan will look into it.” Elle turned and stomped toward her cruiser. Once inside, she sat for a moment, waiting for her hands to stop shaking and her breath to find a much more comfortable rhythm. She hated swearing in front of people. It was unprofessional. But it was so ridiculous to think Mr. Rutherford had anything to do with Sandy Collard’s azaleas.
Elle’s body jerked at the soft knock by her head. She turned and saw Robin watching. Her embarrassment was complete. She rolled down the window.
Robin jerked a thumb behind her at the garden. “If you want a witness, I was here the whole night. Whoever it was, they were very stealthy. Like ninjas.” Her grin spread across her face, revealing two dimples. “Mind if I grab a lift into town?”
Before Elle could argue, Robin had buckled herself in and arranged her skirt so it didn’t ride up. Elle caught the hint of a garter belt. Her cruiser suddenly felt a lot more crowded as the smell of Robin’s perfume invaded the car.
It took her a second to focus. “Um, Sandy said they were torn out two nights ago. Were you in town then?”
“Huh, I guess I didn’t notice it when I checked in yesterday. I got in Monday morning.”
If possible, Robin was even more decked out today. Her charcoal skirt and matching blouse were crisp and so clean Elle could smell the detergent from the driver’s seat. It was as if she’d gone out of her way to show Elle how a professional was supposed to dress. She glanced down at her uniform, glad she’d showered and changed.
“I’m sorry,” Robin said. She turned toward Elle wearing her most earnest expression. “I wasn’t the most sensitive person yesterday and I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.” When Elle didn’t respond, she continued, “I would still love to interview you, but I understand if you need to take some time. I’ll try to keep my distance.”
Not sure how to take this, Elle remained silent. She pushed the speed limit as much as she dared, in hopes of dropping Robin off as soon as possible. This woman was dangerous with her dimpled smile and easy charm. If Elle wasn’t careful, all her years of guarding secrets would end with a few questions from the charismatic reporter.
“Busy day?” Elle asked.
Robin nodded. “Yep, I’ve got an interview with your illustrious Mayor Brady this morning. Any tips?”
“Bring salt.”
“Pardon?”
“I’d take everything he says with a grain of salt. That man loves to hear himself speak, and about half is bull.”
“I take it you two don’t get along?”
Elle took a moment to think of a response. Already she’d said too much. She didn’t want Robin to think all they did was fight. “We get along fine. It’s only that he’s very much a politician.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
As Elle opened the door to the morgue, the smell of formaldehyde wafted out, mingling in an unpleasant way with the mug of coffee she carried. She breathed an audible sigh at the white sheet covering Jessie’s body. Small pockets of red were beginning to form in strategic places like a morbid game of connect the dots.
“This isn’t TV, Ken. The answers don’t magically appear after half an hour.” Case wiped the blood off his Stryker saw and placed it on a cart between his skull chisel and toothed forceps.
“We don’t have the budget for that.” Elle closed the door behind her.
Brady stood off to the side, putting distance between himself and the corpse. He held a white handkerchief over his mouth and nose. His ideas of what a morgue looked like were threatened every second he stood there.
The room was the size of a galley kitchen. Along the far left wall were two stainless steel sinks, and to the left of those, two morgue drawers. The examination table stood in the middle with a white sheet draped over the corpse. What distinguished Case’s morgue from others was his collection of jars. Opposite the morgue drawers stood a floor-to-ceiling shelf covered with various-sized jars containing things found in nightmares.
To keep himself occupied, Case collected and anatomized roadkill. He displayed some of the more interesting organs on these shelves. Elle found it soothing. Case had organized the specimens by size and color, and when she stood back, there was almost an artful pattern to the arrangement.
“When will you know what killed him?” Brady asked, his voice muffled by the handkerchief.
“I can tell you right now he died from a bullet wound in his chest. Anything more than that will have to wait until we get the results back from the state lab,” Case said.
Forgetting the smell, Ken dropped the handkerchief, his irritation escaping. “And when will that be?”
“They’re coming by this morning. But it’ll take several weeks until we get the results, if we’re lucky, months if we’re not.” Elle finished the last of her coffee.
The closest lab, in Jackson County, was sixty-two miles from Turlough. All the evidence they had collected yesterday had been sealed and placed in the safe in Elle’s office awaiting pickup by the state police. It was a rarity for the Flynn County Sheriff’s Department to have dealings with the Illinois State Police. The lack of a serious crime rate and interstate highway kept the county autonomous. The staties usually didn’t pick up evidence, but they’d done Elle a favor because they knew how tight her budget was.
“A couple of weeks? That’s ridiculous. Can’t you get them to push it through?”
Elle sighed. Keeping her voice flat she said, “And how am I supposed to do that, Ken? That kind of rush costs money.” She motioned toward the door with her empty mug, her other hand on her hip. “We’ll let you know when we find anything out.”
As if a restraint had been lifted as soon as Brady left, Case threw back the white sheet, revealing the grotesque scene of a body half di
ssected. Jessie’s chest cavity was spread open, exposing a pliant pink crater. Elle immediately wrenched her gaze away, finding herself eye to eye with a jar filled with the stomach pouch of a small rodent.
“I’d like to walk you through what I’ve found.” Case pointed to some unseen place on Jessie’s body.
“I’d rather it wasn’t a visual presentation, if that’s okay.” What if this was how she pictured Jessie for the rest of her life? Like some splayed animal on a dissection tray. The only thing missing were the metal pins to hold the skin in place. Elle had seen her share of accident-mutilated bodies over the past eight years. This wasn’t even comparable. It reminded her of the day she had viewed her parents’ bodies. Only her parents hadn’t had their chests opened like the hood of a car waiting to be inspected.
“Elle, you can’t afford to be squeamish on this one.” Case picked up a white hand towel from a stack near the sink and placed it over Jessie’s head. “Is that better?”
Elle turned to see what he’d done. Somehow it did make it easier. She could pretend it was someone else on the table. She circled around to stand next to him.
“You told Ken he died from a bullet wound. Why would someone shoot him, then stab him a dozen times?”
“Well, that’s one of the things I wanted to talk with you about. He died from a single bullet to the heart. A nine millimeter, if my guess is correct. This would indicate a clean kill. However, there was a fair amount of mutilation. His abdomen had been sliced open, revealing his lower intestines.” He pointed to a small circular burn on his left shoulder.
“A cigarette burn?”
“That was my guess too. The…excavation and burn mark are much messier.”
“And why mutilate someone you already shot?”
Case shrugged. “Your guess is as good a mine.”
Elle took a step back. None of this made sense. “How long?”
“Did it take for him to die?”
Elle nodded.
Case covered Jessie’s body. “It was very quick. I promise. Jessie didn’t suffer. In fact, he had very little time to figure out what was happening to him.”
“Thanks. I keep picturing him lying there all alone, staring up at that stained ceiling.”
Case wrapped a hand around Elle’s arm. “He was likely unconscious before he even hit the ground. And he was definitely dead before anyone used a knife on him.”
“I’ll find who did this. There would have been blood on their clothing, hands. There’ll be evidence. We just have to find it.”
Case nodded and pointed to a bag of vials and scraping samples. “Can you give these to the staties when they come? Tox screen, fingernail scrapings. I also found some blood on his hands. I swabbed to see if it matches. Might be we get lucky and it’s from the attacker. Everything’s labeled.”
Elle nodded, grabbing the bag as she left. At the door she turned to ask, “It looks a little too personal to be random, doesn’t it?”
“That’s your department, Elle. I just dissect.”
A patrol officer from the state police arrived at ten thirty to take possession of the evidence. Elle ushered the tall, well-built uniformed officer into her office. He whistled when he saw the safe. Elle began the arduous task of unlocking the behemoth. The two doors met in the middle with a bronze combination dial on the right door. The first set of massive doors revealed a miniature version of the outer doors. When Elle had those open she pulled at a thin silver chain around her neck holding a set of keys and unlocked one of the boxes lining the left side of the safe.
“I’d like to see someone try to break into that thing.” He grinned.
“I usually leave the doors open. We don’t have much worth stealing.” She pulled a large Ziploc bag with evidence tape sealing the top edge. “I use it for payroll.” She handed the bag over to the officer. “The safe’s probably worth more than anything we keep in it. We’d be better off selling it to afford something we could actually use like new tires for our cruisers.”
There was a knock on her door. Neil stuck his head in. “Cindy Forrester is here to see you.”
“Thanks, Neil. Show her in.” She turned to the officer. “Can you have someone call and let me know how long they figure it’ll take to process all that?”
“You bet.” He left, passing a petite blonde coming into the room. Neil shut her office door, giving them privacy.
Elle reached out and shook Cindy’s hand. “Thank you for coming down. I can’t express how sorry I am for your loss,” she said. It was rote, she couldn’t help herself, but she meant it more than Cindy could know.
Cindy nodded as she took a seat opposite Elle. She reminded Elle of all those sorority girls she went to college with, self-possessed and assured well beyond her age. She had a grace and sophistication Elle associated with having rich parents. As soon as she sat, her hands found each other and wrapped themselves in her lap. Her cool blue eyes stared out at Elle from beneath her rigid bangs.
Elle pulled a notepad toward her and clicked the tip of her pen. Any nervousness she felt she plunged deep into the pit of her stomach, leaving her voice strong and fluid as she began asking questions. “Do you know why Jessie was in Turlough? Or where he was staying?”
Cindy pursed her lips, coming to some conclusion in her own head. She spread her hands out. Her fingers were long and elegant. “I would have assumed if he was here he would be staying with his parents. As for why he was here, I have no idea. He didn’t exactly share his travel plans with me.” When she spoke, it was very soft with a slight Southern drawl.
“When was the last time you saw Jessie, Mrs. Forrester?”
Cindy inspected her hands. “A couple of days, I suppose.”
“Two days?”
Cindy shook her head. “Probably three? He was very busy the last couple of months, traveling a lot, and I’ve been working so much. I’m putting together a new project with the Flechmann Group. I’m in charge of two different teams so it’s been—” She stopped at the sound of the growing excitement in her voice. “We didn’t see much of each other.”
There was a tentative knock at the door. Stan poked his head in, carrying a cup of coffee in each hand. Elle waved him in. He set one on the desk in front of Cindy. “Here you go, Mrs. Forrester. Two sugars, no milk.” He placed the other one in front of Elle. “Here you go, boss. Lots of milk and lots of sugar.” He arranged some papers in front of her so the coffee wouldn’t sit on anything important. He was like a hen, fussing over his chicks.
As soon as Stan left, Elle resumed her questions. “You said Jessie had been traveling. Do you know where? Can you be more specific?”
Cindy took a sip of her coffee. “Did you know my husband?”
Elle had been waiting for this, so she wasn’t surprised. She probably should have informed the woman before beginning. She nodded. “Yes, we dated in high school.”
Cindy smiled. It was abrupt but warm. “Of course. I grew up in Atlanta. I forget that everyone knows each other in these places.”
Elle opened her mouth to say more, but stopped. The less information she volunteered, the better.
As Cindy sat, her hands curled around her cup of coffee, recognition suddenly spread across her face. “Elle. Elle Ashley. I didn’t connect the name at first. Jessie spoke of you. Not very often, but he’s mentioned you.”
“It was a long time ago.”
Cindy nodded but didn’t say anything more. Elle decided to continue, to get this over with as soon as possible.
“Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against your husband? Anyone who would want to cause him harm?”
Cindy paused, considering the question. Her ankles were crossed right over left and tucked under her chair. Her posture was as straight as was possible in the worn wingbacks opposite Elle’s desk. She gave every impression of being a woman who would have full control over her husband, yet she hadn’t known where he was. “Besides the occasional client after seeing their check sans my husband’s sizable c
ommission, I can’t say there would be anyone who’d want to harm him. Not seriously anyway.”
“Were you two having any problems in your marriage?”
Again, she considered the question. Wondering how little or how much to tell Elle or how much relevance this had to the investigation? “I had suspected for a while that he was seeing other women. When I confronted him, he denied it. Of course. They all do. But I overheard him on the phone, a few days ago.” She looked up at Elle. “Three, I guess. He was making plans to meet up with someone at a motel.”
Elle stopped taking notes, her full attention on Cindy. “Did you hear which motel it was?”
Cindy shook her head. “He just said the motel.”
Elle frowned and scribbled a note on a Post-it. “You’re sure it was three days ago?” Cindy nodded. “And you’re sure it was a woman he was speaking with?”
Cindy laughed despite the question. “I think I know my own husband’s seduction voice, Sheriff Ashley. He used to use it with me.” She eyed Elle as she made notes, observing the woman who had dated her husband for most of high school, wondering if he’d perfected that voice on her.
Jessie’s parents had been reluctant to let her go alone to the station. Cindy insisted. But there had been something they weren’t mentioning. She now realized that it was the sheriff’s relationship with Jessie.
Cindy’s relationship with the Forresters had always been a little strained. Early on in their marriage, Cindy made it very clear that she had been the one to make all the sacrifices. She was the one who’d moved away from her beloved Atlanta. She was the one who had to make a lateral career change. And as the marriage wore on, it was obvious these sacrifices had not been worth it.
They’d met their sophomore year in college. Jessie was on a football scholarship to Georgia Tech. Word had gotten around that he was a bit of a dog. Cindy always liked a challenge and knew it wouldn’t take much to wrap Jessie around her pinkie. It had taken less than a year to get him to propose. She’d graduated with a degree in art history, but even more importantly, a husband.