Author: CJ Birch
Category: Other
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/cj-birch/page,12,517950-an_intimate_deception.html
Elle shrugged one shoulder, too tired to debate the semantics of cartoon animals. “Then the state police would send in a detective to first determine if they were required. If they were, then they would open a joint investigation. We don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, to begin with.”
“When was the last time you investigated a murder?”
“Me?” Elle shook her head. “I’ve never investigated a murder. Come to think of it, I think the last murder we had in the county, Bailey had just become a deputy.” She thought back. Her father must have told her the story a million times. “Thomas Rakely. Shot to death by his wife with his own shotgun while their son watched from under his bedroom door. A god-awful mess, according to Bailey.”
“That’s the previous sheriff?”
Elle nodded. “The whole town was in an uproar because Rakely was superintendent. That’s like a mayor in an unincorporated town. He apparently had been breaking rule number one: Don’t sleep with your secretary.”
“Ah, I’ve heard that’s an important rule.”
“That’s why it’s number one.”
“What happened then?”
Elle turned to her. “She got off on an inventive use of the Second Amendment.”
“The right to bare arms?”
“Her lawyer claimed she thought it was a burglar she was shooting. My dad was always really interested in trial law. He used to sit in on all the civil cases. He was too young, he said, to remember much. But what he did remember was how it polarized the town. Everyone took sides. People practically walked around with buttons saying ‘him’ or ‘her.’”
“You don’t believe in the Second Amendment?”
“Not when it’s an excuse for murder.” Elle shook her head, trying to picture what it would have been like to live here in 1967. “I can’t imagine how anyone could side with a murderer. It amazes me how quick people are to jump to violence to solve something and justify it, like they deserve it because they screwed up. We make mistakes. People make mistakes. It’s what makes us human. Unlike every other animal, we don’t run simply on instinct.”
“But isn’t murder a mistake?”
Elle’s head whipped around fast. She stared at Robin, gauging whether she was serious or not. “Murder isn’t a mistake. It’s a crime.”
“But still, it’s a mistake. You can be sorry after.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that you killed someone. It’s not something you can erase with a simple apology. It’s forever. Adultery doesn’t justify murder.”
“But isn’t adultery the number one rule you don’t break? I’m confused now, Sheriff Ashley.” She was half smiling, an uneven grin tugging at the corner of her eyes. “Can adultery be erased with a simple apology? When you think about it, it is the ultimate betrayal.”
Elle exhaled between tight lips. She shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable angle without leaning back. “I would think murder the ultimate betrayal. But that’s just me.” Her mouth was dry. Her tongue felt like it had swelled, sticking to every surface of her mouth at once. She wanted out of this chair, out of this hospital, but mostly out of this conversation.
“I don’t know.” Robin leaned back. “Haven’t you ever been cheated on?” She caught Elle’s eye and something there made Robin ask, “Or been the one to do the cheating?”
The cicadas outside quieted as if to hear her response. On the outside, the mood was like a corpse, an eternal pause, but inside the room buzzed. Elle could feel the heat of her blood as it reached the surface of her skin. The follicles of her arm hair sizzled with electricity, reaching out, dying to escape. Her breath felt bottled up. She wanted to push it out in one long gasp, but she tightened up. “I’m not sure which is worse, that you asked the question, or that you’re expecting an answer.”
Robin shrugged. In her mind, Elle had already answered the question.
The admitting nurse snatched another pile of file folders off the desk and started toward the filing cabinet. Halfway there a single piece of paper slid out of a folder. She stopped to look, then, like a dam with a crack, a cascade of white fell from beneath her arm. Each one struck the floor and curled up, caught by the circling fan above. The contents of her folders scattered, carpeting the floor in white and pink and yellow. A rainbow of triplicates. The farmer, a proper gentleman with more manners than common sense, stooped to help pick up the mess, forgetting both the handkerchief holding his middle finger and the blood-soaked rag wrapped around the other half still attached to his hand. As he reached to collect a pink form that had landed at his steel toes, the package on his lap slipped off.
The door to the main hospital wing opened and a young nurse in light green scrubs stepped out with a clipboard. “Jackson Culpepper?” she said, then looked up. The room had become a tableau: the farmer stopped mid-grab, trying to decide which to go for, the form or his finger; Elle reaching down to help, her right hand still holding the gauze tightly to her back; the admitting nurse on hands and knees, scooping up folders.
“Pamela, is everything okay?”
The admitting nurse waved her off. “Just a filing mishap. Nothing I can’t sort out.” She then turned to the farmer. “Mr. Culpepper, please retrieve your finger and follow Nurse Parks.”
Jackson Culpepper had always done very well with instructions. He reached past the form, picked up his bundled finger, and straightened up to follow the nurse into the hospital with one swift movement. Nurse Parks let him past, then turned back to the room. “Actually, Sheriff Ashley, why don’t you come too. I’m sure Dr. Crawford will want to see you.”
Robin stood to join her, but Nurse Parks shook her head with practiced pity. “Just patients beyond here. You can have a seat.” She nodded to the row of chairs and was gone.
Chapter Eleven
It was dark before Elle made it back to the sheriff’s office. As she hung up the phone with the motel in Mason, Elle realized she hadn’t eaten all day. She felt light-headed. And what had started out as a sharp itch on her lower back had now blossomed into a full explosion of pain. The numbing agent the doctor had used was wearing off. Instead of concentrating on the case, the pain in her right side was all she’d been able to think about for the past hour. The only thing she wanted to do was down two or three of those painkillers Dr. Crawford had prescribed and curl up in oblivion for the next ten hours.
Neil shoved his head in the door and rapped on the doorjamb. “You ready for us?”
Elle waved him in. A few seconds later Stan followed with three mugs of coffee balanced on his clipboard, which he handed out before sitting down.
Elle pulled out a folder and opened it to reveal a stack of photos. A series of thin white lines ran along the bottom of each indicating they’d come from the basement printer. It was an ancient clunker shoved into a small storage room in the back next to the morgue, which also served as Case’s office. “I won’t keep you guys long. I just want to catch everyone up on what we have so far.” She didn’t add that it wasn’t much or that she felt it was more likely they’d find Jimmy Hoffa’s body than get an arrest for this. She thought it best to deal with the facts.
“According to Jack’s autopsy report, the victim was killed by a single bullet wound to the heart. The body was mutilated and there was a single stab wound just above the opening of the abdomen. Jack was able to get the outline of the hilt of the knife.” She sighed, took a sip of her coffee, and continued. “Of course, that’s useless if we can’t find the weapon to compare it to.” She flipped through a couple of the pictures and passed two of them around. “We found two cigarette butts and a boot print on the victim’s chest. Again, useless without anything to compare it to.”
Twice now, she’d replaced Jessie’s name with “the victim.” She could almost believe it wasn’t him lying dead in those photos. “The staties came and picked all that up today, so I’m expecting it back in about two years.
“Jack estimates time of death between eight p.m. Sunday and
three a.m. Monday morning. We can narrow that down a little more because when I did my patrol at nine Sunday night, there wasn’t any dead body.”
She opened her notebook to see what else she wanted to cover. “I talked to his wife today. His parents are still refusing to come in to answer questions, so I’m going to get you to go over there tomorrow, Neil.” She flipped a page and took another long gulp of coffee. “His wife didn’t have much except that they were having money problems. I don’t think she has any idea how serious. I’ve asked her to contact their accountant and get him to send over their financials.” She looked up at Neil. “You deal with the diner’s books, right? Can you have a look at them?”
Neil bulked up slightly, raising off the wingback as he nodded. “Of course. You know what kinds of things they’re sending over?”
“Filed taxes, income statements, their mortgage payments, that sort of thing, I’d imagine. We didn’t go into detail. She said she’d send over what they had. Which means we may not get what we’re looking for if Jessie was hiding anything.”
“What makes you think he was hiding anything?” Stan asked. He’d grown up in Mason and hadn’t known Jessie. But as word spread, he felt he knew more about Jessie Forrester and Elle then he should. Some of it made him blush. He’d made a conscious decision to avoid Dell’s for the next week or so. There are some things you shouldn’t know about your boss.
Elle rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Sorry, guys.” She waved over her yawn. “He’s dead, Stan. That’s why I think he was hiding something.”
Stan nodded, feeling stupid for having asked something so obvious.
“We rule out the wife yet?” asked Neil.
“Yeah, I don’t think it was his wife. I confirmed she was at her monthly book club until ten forty-five Sunday night. She didn’t have any flights booked and it’s at least a four-and-a-half hour drive from Chicago. And that’s if you’re speeding the whole way. That puts her in Turlough after three a.m. It’s cutting it close, but then there’s the boot print we found on the victim’s chest. It was far too large to be a woman’s.”
“What about other woman problems?” Stan could only imagine a life where you could incur the wrath of one woman, let alone plural. He’d read books and fantasized that one day he’d fulfill at least a quarter of the qualifications it took to have women problems.
“What do you mean?”
Stan swallowed. “Um, what if he was seeing someone around here and her husband found out?”
“So he drags Forrester out to the Maverty house and kills him?” Neil leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling thinking about it, then nodded. “Could work.”
“It’s a nice thought, but it doesn’t add up. He was killed by a single shot. And then cut open. If you found out your wife was cheating on you and were mad enough to kill, would you make sure the guy didn’t feel a thing before you mutilated him?” Elle winced. They’d started talking about Jessie as if he was an object and not a human being. “His wife said she thought he was seeing someone, but I doubt they were from around here. He hadn’t been back in years.”
“What if the husband followed him out here?”
“Yeah, but it still doesn’t explain what he was doing here in the first place. I want to look into their money situation and we’ll work from there.”
Jack walked past Elle’s office door. She had to call out to him twice before he heard, stopping just outside her doorway.
“Did you want to sit in on this, Jack?” she asked.
His scruffy brows fused. He looked confused. “What are you guys going over?”
“The autopsy report for Jessie. I’m filling them in on what you found.” She took in his appearance. His shirt was untucked and his trousers were wrinkled like he’d been sleeping on the cot in the basement. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Just tired. I’ll pass if that’s okay. You’ve got my notes. There’s not much else to add.” He gave a salute. “Night, folks.”
“Night, Jack.” Elle took a moment to process that. She’d never seen Jack act like that. Not even after his wife passed away a couple of years back. She shook it off, promising to follow up later.
“What have you guys come up with?”
Neil cleared his throat. “I talked to Mrs. Collard this afternoon.” The way he said it made it clear he felt he deserved hazard pay for that.
Elle waved him off. “Don’t worry about her, I’ll smooth it over. She’s got her panties in a bunch over those stupid flowers.”
Neil made a huffing sound as if that were just the beginning of what he’d had to deal with.
“Did she hear anything or see anything suspicious on Sunday night?” Elle asked.
“Nada. She said her and Travis went to bed around ten, watched some TV in bed, and fell asleep around ten thirty. I tried to talk to Mr. Rutherford, but his hearing aid was out of batteries, and you know what that’s like.” He sighed as if he’d had the longest day ever. “So instead of yelling at a brick wall, we thought you could go over and talk to him. He actually likes you.” Neil cleared his throat and flipped a page. “Also, I talked to all his old high school teammates, those we could get ahold of. Only four of them were still in Turlough. The rest kind of scattered. I’ll follow up with the ones I got voice mails for tomorrow, but no luck so far. He hadn’t been in touch with any of them since the reunion a couple of years ago.”
“Okay, thanks. Stan, you have any luck with Jessie’s phone?”
He shook his head. “No. If we want to get past the lockout code we’re going to have to take it to a specialist.” But he perked up as he pulled a small Ziploc bag from his clipboard. Inside was a folded piece of paper. “But I did go through his wallet and found this.” He handed it to Elle. “It’s a phone number on Motel 6 stationery, the one in Mason.”
Elle recognized her handwriting immediately. She should recognize it. It was the cell phone number she’d jotted down for Jessie just three days ago. Her cell phone number.
“It’s a local number.” Stan grinned like he’d solved a big chunk of the puzzle. “Not listed, though, so it’s probably someone’s cell.”
Elle couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized it, having used it at least once a day, every day for the past two years. But then she realized she probably wouldn’t recognize his cell. On her phone, it showed up as “Stan—work.”
“Great work. I want you to go over to the motel tomorrow and bring a photo of Jessie to show the clerk. I just got off the phone with them. They said nobody by his name had checked in, but there was a guy who paid cash and fit his description.” She motioned to Neil. “Go with Neil when he questions his parents and get one from them. I’ll pull his phone records and see if he ever called this number.” She felt like the biggest asshole in the world knowing it would show up on his phone records at 7:45 Sunday night.
“Any luck with his keys?” Elle asked. She’d sent Stan to search the Maverty house for a set of BMW keys earlier that day. It was the one thing they’d not found on Jessie. And yet, the passenger’s window of his car had been smashed in. She hadn’t figured out why yet.
Stan shook his head. “Sorry, boss. I scoured that place. Inside, outside, even parts of the woods, but they weren’t anywhere.”
“Okay, thanks, Stan.”
“You think the killer took his keys?”
“Possibly. But then why is the window smashed?”
“Could be kids came along, saw the Beemer, decided to see what’s inside, and smashed the window. We didn’t find anything of value in it. It was a rental,” Neil said.
“Why didn’t the alarm sound, then?” Elle finished off her coffee. “Have McGrath take a look at the wiring, see if the alarm’s still intact when he goes over the car.” She leaned back in her chair, indicating she was finished. “That’s all I’ve got. You guys have any questions for me? Anything else you think we should be doing?”
“So what’s our working theory right now?” asked Neil.
Elle sighed
. “I think we work on figuring out what he was doing here, then go from there. Anything else?”
Stan raised his hand, “Um? If I’m going with Neil tomorrow, does that mean I’m off night shift?” He smiled, hopeful.
Elle nodded. “I’ll put Toby on the night shift the next day or so. He’s been asking for hours.”
Neil snorted. “Brady’s not going to be happy about that.”
“This is why we have reserve deputies. Don’t worry, I’ll handle Brady. Okay, see you guys tomorrow.” She flipped her notebook to a new page and began making notes.
Neil stood, but instead of heading for the door, he walked around Elle’s desk and lifted her to her feet by her elbows.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Go home. Eat something healthy and sleep. And when I say healthy, I mean I want it to have at least four of the five food groups.” She began collecting her notes and folders, but Neil pushed her away. “Shoo. Forget this for one night.”
She raised her hands in surrender. “Yes, Mother.” But as soon as his back was turned she grabbed the case folder before heading out.
* * *
EJ’s knee scraped along the hardwood as he lifted himself on top of her. Through the thinning denim of his jeans he could feel the dirt and debris surrounding them in the mess of the master bedroom of the old Maverty house. He fumbled with her bra, quickly abandoning his suave one-handed maneuver for the relative safety of two. Despite her eagerness, she let an impatient sigh escape. It drifted in the air above them unspoken, but deafening in the silence. With a triumphant breath, he released the clasp of her bra and began removing it. She grabbed his wrist.
“It’s kind of gross in here. I’d rather leave it on,” she said.
He let go of it and leaned back, watching as she redid in two seconds what had taken him minutes. He cupped one of her breasts and squeezed in what he hoped was a provocative way.
“Ouch.” She slapped his hand away. “They’re not udders. You don’t have to milk them.” The testiness creeping into her voice was all too familiar. This was as far as he ever got. A tantalizing peek of what lay beneath tight T-shirts and jeans. A quick, furtive reach beneath her panties before his hand was wrenched out and placed somewhere safer. He had once made it to the folds between her legs. They were wet, enticingly so. He still remembered the way the coarse hair rubbed against his wrist, the way her breath suddenly caught. He’d managed to sweep past the first guard, finger poised to take the plunge when she pulled his hand back from the brink.