A Crying Shame: A Jesse Watson Mystery (17 page)

“Yeah, I know, Mom. She helped us out a lot when the police
came. She told Detective Trainum he could talk to us after we had our tea and
had a chance to calm down. She told him we had suffered a terrible shock.”

“What did that hateful man have to say about that?”

“Not much,” I said. “It seems Abigail carries a lot of clout;
her husband is filthy rich, so nobody messes with her.”

“I’m glad you have her on your side.”

“I am, too. She’s been a big help.”

I heard a doorbell chime.

“Mom, I have to hang up. The police are here to question us.
Tell Billy everything I just told you. I’ll call back as soon as we talk with
the cops and give you all the details. And don’t worry about us; we’re fine.”

“Be careful, Jesse,” Mom warned. “I know how you are when you
get mad. Just don’t say the wrong thing and get yourself arrested.”

“I have everything under control,” I said. “You have nothing
to worry about. It’s all going to work out.”

I hope.

Claire and I slowly descended the winding staircase, our
heads held high. We didn’t do anything wrong, so we had nothing to fear.

“I told the detective that the two of you were resting,” Abby
said as she met us at the foot of the stairs. “However, he insists on talking
to you immediately.” She winked at us. “He’s waiting in the parlor.”

We followed her to the parlor and upon entering the room,
Detective Trainum and the two police officers with him, stood to greet us. At
first, I didn’t think he seemed agitated, until he opened his mouth.

“What were you two doing at Mr. Benson’s house?” he asked.
“Don’t you know that I could have you arrested for trespassing?”

“Is that the best you can do, detective?” I asked.

One of the officers placed a tape recorder on the table and
asked, “Do you mind if I tape this interview? It would be a lot quicker than
going to the station.”

“If you have to, officer,” I said. “We have nothing to hide.”

The doorbell chimed again.

“Hold off on that for a minute,” Abby said as she laughed and
walked out of the room. A minute later she returned with a tall, handsome,
well-dressed man by her side. I guessed his age to be somewhere around forty.

“Hello, my name is Randolph Morgan,” he said as he shook my
hand and then Claire’s. “You can call me Randy.” He then turned to Detective
Trainum and asked, “Have you interrogated my clients without my presence?”

Claire and I looked at each other in surprise and then turned
to Abby.

“Randy is my son and my attorney. He handles many things for
me, but he specializes in criminal law. He’s here to make sure you two get
proper treatment. You can trust him; he’s good.”

“Now Abigail, why did you have to go and call him? All I need
to do is ask a few questions, and then they can be on their way,” the detective
said.

“My name is Mrs. Morgan, or did you forget?” Abby was
obviously throwing her weight around.

“Stop being so stubborn and let me do my job, Abby.”

“Stop, right there,” Randy said. “My mother told you to
address her as Mrs. Morgan, and I expect you to honor her wishes.”

“Sure… sure… whatever you say.” The detective grimaced as if
his underwear was too tight and he desperately needed to tug on them. “Mrs.
Morgan, I apologize.”

“Then let’s all have a seat,” Abby said. She turned to the
officer and said, “You may turn on your tape recorder.” She looked over at the
detective and said, “Would you like some coffee, Frank?”

Randy laughed. “Mom, you’re such a troublemaker.”

“No, thanks, Mrs. Morgan,” Detective Trainum said. “My
stomach’s had enough as it is.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Ask your questions, detective.”

Claire and I sat down on the sofa opposite the detective and
his men while Abby sat in an overstuffed chair at the end between the two
sofas. Her son sat down in a matching chair opposite her. The interrogation
began.

“What were you doing at Carl Benson’s house?”

“Don’t answer that question,” Randy said to us.

“How did you get into the house, and what were you looking
for?”

“Don’t answer that question.”

Detective Trainum stood up in a huff and said, “What’s the
point of me trying to get anything out of these two if you keep telling them
not to answer my questions? I guess I’ll just have to take them to the
station.”

“Calm down, Frank,” Abby said as she stood and walked over to
him. “Why don’t you give my son a few minutes to talk to his clients and then
maybe we’ll be able to proceed. I think we got off to a bad start.”

“Why don’t we just cut to the chase,” I said as I stood up.
“I’m tired of playing your game. Was it Carl in the cellar?”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Then who was it?” I demanded. “I can assure you that Claire
had every right to go into that house. Her husband sent her a letter and asked
her to come. That’s why we’re here. So stop fooling around and tell us the
truth.”

Randy looked over at Claire and said, “I need to see the
letter.”

She looked at Abby and said, “I need my purse, Abigail.”

Abby walked over to the credenza, opened the door, and pulled
out both of our handbags. She handed them to us. Claire dug into her purse
while I placed mine on the sofa and then sat down next to it. Even though I had
a concealed weapons permit, I didn’t think Detective Trainum would honor it
based on what Abby had said earlier.

“I thought you had the letter in your pocket,” I said to
Claire.

“I did, but…”

“It doesn’t matter,” the detective said, frustrated that
things weren’t going his way. “Just show your lawyer the letter so we can get
on with this.”

Claire handed the letter to Randy. He read it and then handed
it to Trainum. “It’s just like she said. He asked her to come. The letter’s
only a couple of days old, Frank. What does that tell you?”

“Something stinks!” The detective’s face turned red. “When’s
the last time you visited Carl’s house?”

Randy whispered something to Claire and she in turned
whispered something back to him.

“Carl and I are still married, so technically, it’s still my
house.”

“That’s not for me to say. That’s your lawyer’s problem.”

“To answer your question: I haven’t been back to my house
since I left Carl last year. I wouldn’t have come this time if it hadn’t been
for the letter he sent me. I have no intentions of getting back with my
husband, but I was hoping to get him involved in the lives of his children.
They miss him terribly. I was even willing to work out an extremely flexible
arrangement where he wouldn’t feel the need to snatch up his own kids to be
with them. He scared them half to death with his antics. I’m sure we could’ve
worked out something if he’d only used his head. I want him to be in his
children’s lives, but not if he’s going to traumatize them with his actions. I
was hoping this was going to be an amicable divorce, but I guess that’s not
going to happen. I tried to be reasonable, believe me, I did. That’s why I came
here, to work things out about the children.”

Where did that come from? I was so impressed with Claire’s
statement, I almost cried myself. She had really laid the sauce on heavy. What
cop, faced with the same situation in his relationship, wouldn’t believe her
sincerity and admire her for her selflessness? She had said all the right
things.

Detective Trainum read the letter again and then handed it
back to Claire. “I’m going to need a copy of that letter, Mrs. Benson.”

“We can take care of that right now,” Abby said as she
reached over and took the letter. She looked up at Randy and after getting his
nod of approval, left the room and was back within seconds. She handed a copy
to Trainum and then one to her son. She gave the original back to Claire.
“What’s the next step, Frank?”

“I’d like to ask…”

“I think it’s time you told me who the dead body is,
Detective Trainum,” Claire demanded.

He looked over at Claire and said, “We found a driver’s
license in a purse at the scene and the picture on it appears to match the
victim, but…”

“But what? You couldn’t tell by looking at the body?”

“The body’s been in the cellar for at least a week. There’s
blunt force trauma to the face and head and the body is in such a state of
decomposition that we’ll have to wait for the autopsy results for a positive
ID.”

“Give me a break!” I said. “Just tell us who you think it is.
I’m sure you have some idea of the victim’s identity. What was the name on the
driver’s license?”

“Ophelia Pitman,” he said.

Claire gasped and slumped down on the sofa. “I don’t believe
it!”

“Do you know her?” Detective Trainum asked.

“She’s an associate where my husband works.” Claire looked at
me. “Jesse, I told you about her. I met her at the last company Christmas party
that I attended. She came up to me and handed me her business card. She said
that if I ever needed a friend to talk to, I could call her. She was so nice,
but I had no idea what she was talking about, or why she chose me. I took the
card and slipped it into my purse. I’d seen her a few times in passing since
the party, but I haven’t seen or thought about her since I told you about the
incident. You said she was probably a lesbian looking for a good time. You
laughed and we brushed it off.”

“I sure can come up with some stupid ideas. That was so
callous of me. I’m sorry, Claire. When you tell me some of the things I’ve said
or done, I’m stunned at myself… stunned that I’m such a hateful person.” I
reached over and touched her hand.

“No, Jesse, you’re not…”

“Okay, cut the crap,” Trainum said. “What do you know about
this woman, Mrs. Benson?”

Randy walked over and put his hands on Claire’s shoulders. “I
think my client has answered enough questions for today. It’s getting late and
these two ladies have a long drive ahead of them. It’s snowing again, and if
they don’t leave soon, their trip could be very dangerous. Some of the roads
are already closed. Don’t you pay attention to the weather, detective?”

“We’re not finished yet,” Trainum said, emphatically. “They
can either finish my questions now, or we can take this downtown. Either way,
I’m getting my answers before this is over.”

“Fire away,” Claire said. She looked up at Randy and then
back to Trainum. “If you cross the line, I’m sure my attorney will forbid me to
answer your question.”

“What do you know about Ophelia Pitman?”

“I know that she’s a very beautiful black woman in her
mid-thirties, single, tall, slender, intelligent, out-spoken, and destined to
reach the top. Carl said she is brilliant.”

“Was your husband having an affair with her?”

“You’d have to ask him,” Claire said. “I have no idea what
he’s doing or who he’s seeing. Is it possible? Yes, it’s possible. I’m sure you
know that I left him because he was having an affair with his secretary,
Sherry Lane
. She was married to the man who put
a bullet in Carl’s leg last year. Oddly, I’ve heard that her husband,
Trevor Lane
, was killed in a fiery car crash
just two months ago. I deduced that maybe things didn’t go exactly the way they
planned when Carl showed up with my kids. Maybe he was supposed to run off with
Sherry—no kids included. Carl’s little surprise caused a fight with Sherry and
one of them got killed. For some reason, I was sure the dead body was either
Carl or Sherry. I couldn’t tell you how Ophelia figured into it all. My guess
is that Sherry had her husband killed, and Ophelia found out about it.”

“Hey, maybe Carl
and
Sherry plotted to have her
husband killed, stole your kids and planned to run off with them, but Ophelia
got in the way,” I added. “Who knows? Nothing would surprise me anymore.”

“Perhaps Carl killed Trevor for Sherry, and together they
were going to run off with my kids, and Ophelia found out,” Claire said.
“Ophelia confronted Carl, and he killed her.”

“My guess is…”

“I get the picture,” Detective Trainum butted in as if a
light bulb had just come on over his head. He was barking up the wrong tree,
and he knew it. “We’re finished here.” He stood to leave.

One of the police officers reached over and retrieved the
tape recorder.

“I guess that clears my husband of your outrageous
suspicions,” I said. “You were wrong. I told you so! All Billy did was rescue
Claire’s kids. He had nothing to do with the mess that’s in your lap now. Ha…
ha… ha!”

Detective Trainum ignored me, looked at Claire and said,
“Stay out of the house until the crime scene has been released. What you do
then is up to you. You’ll also need to move your car out of the driveway.” He
motioned for his men to follow him. “Good-bye, Abigail. It’s been a real
pleasure, as always.” He turned and walked out.

The front door slammed shut.

Claire grabbed her car keys and went outside to move her car.
A couple of minutes later she returned and said, “I don’t know why he insisted
that I move my car; the crime scene tape is up on the front door, not the
driveway and yard. I think he was just trying to be a jerk.”

“I’m sure he’ll have someone watching the house for a while
and your car probably obstructs their view,” Randy said as he helped Claire
remove her coat.

“That was fun!” Abby said with extreme vigor.

“You’re a crazy person,” I told her.

“I’m crazy? You’re the one who was making fun of Frank…
laughing at him and all.”

“You enjoyed every minute of it. And what’s with you and that
detective? Did the two of you have a fling or something? There was too much
undercurrent present for nothing to be going on.”

“Frank’s too young for me, silly. No, he dated my daughter
and let’s just put it this way, he didn’t get the girl. He’s extremely bitter
and jealous. Who would want him with that nasty attitude he has?”