Black Princess Mystery (18 page)

“Well, you
scared the living hell out of everyone.”

“Was I
that bad?” he inquired, feeling deflated.

“It
doesn’t matter,” she consoled, “because they were already terrified anyway.”

“Oh,
okay,” he mumbled stoically, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Let me
tell you how we feel,” Tasheka said. “Lakeside has always been a quiet village.
The most heated discussion about Lakeside in the local council during the last
decade was over Matt’s dog and Shep’s nuisance barking. Occasionally a man gets
drunk and starts a fight, or kids get into trouble for ringing doorbells. But
murder? No, murder is alien here. Everyone knows each other. We’ve gone to the
same school and the same church. We’re a close-knit community, or at least we
were until someone smashed in Father Tim’s skull. Now everything has changed.
What happened here is like the carnival queen finding out she has breast
cancer. She looks in the mirror and suddenly the image has been radically
altered. The world turns upside down overnight.”

“If the
carnival queen has breast cancer,” Thorston said, “she must do what she has to
do to get healthy again. You find the cancer, you remove it, and you live your
life free of it.”

“It’s not
that easy, detective. Even if the cancer is removed, there is still the pain
and the scars.”

“Life is
full of pain and scars,” Thorston replied. “That’s what separates us from
machines. But pain and scars do not end life, they inform it, they give it
depth and understanding.”

“If
someone would kill a priest and desecrate his body, who is safe?”

“Like I
said, I think people do not need to fear for their safety. This was a targeted
killing.”

Tasheka
shrugged. “At the assembly tonight I’m sure everyone had the same thought. They
all wondered if the killer was sitting in that hall, possibly only a few chairs
away. As you say, the murder was a specific hit, so it must have been someone
with a terrible grudge. Who would have a grudge if not someone known intimately
to Father Tim? To know him so well, one would have to associate with him. That
meant someone close. It could have been any one of us, Thorston.”

“I suppose
that’s true.”

“So, you
see, it’s not your fault if people are upset and worried.”

“I’m
interested in Mike Power,” Thorston noted, tapping his fingers on the steering
wheel. “Do you know if he ever made a death threat against Mr. Murphy?”

“Mike
threatened to kill Father Tim, but I’m sure you already knew that. Why are you
asking me something you already know?”

“Just to
verify,” he said.

“Did you
get any information back on the hatchet in the shed?”

“Yes.”

“It was
covered with rabbit blood, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, how
did you know?”

“Mike buys
rabbits from boys who snare them and then sells them, either skinned or whole.
When he skins them, he does it behind his shed. He cuts off their heads and the
bottom half of their legs with the hatchet. That’s what you confiscated, a
rabbit hatchet.”

“Right,”
he said. “I’m impressed. But now tell me what we found out about the nine-iron.”

“I’ll say
that because of some microscopic particles left behind by the attack, you
believe Mike’s missing nine-iron is the murder weapon.”

“That’s
right,” Thorston said, apparently surprised by her deduction. “The question is
who swung it?”

“Precisely,”
Tasheka agreed. “Mike may have lost that club or had it stolen. After the
tournament, he may have thrown it away in disgust.”

“He did
throw it away,” Thorston said. “We asked around. On his way back to the car
after he lost to Father Murphy, he tossed his nine-iron into Matt Vendor’s back
yard and supposedly never retrieved it.”

“Any
report of it being found?”

“Matt
Vendor discovered it one day, thought someone would be back for it, and leaned
it against his storage shed. He said he forgot about it. When we checked, it
was gone.”

“When was
the last time Matt remembered seeing it?”

“Sometime
last month. That’s as close as he could peg it.”

“That
leaves you with nothing,” Tasheka mused. “Anyone could have picked up that
club, you do not have the murderer’s hatchet, and Mike Power has an alibi. You
may have to start looking somewhere besides Big Mike’s store.”

“Power did
make a death threat, though.” Thorston nodded meaningfully. “And this very
person has, in fact, been murdered.”

“Granted,”
Tasheka conceded, “but Mike was drunk. He used to drink a lot and when he gets
drunk, he gets stupid. But everyone knows it’s just the booze talking.” She
paused, remembering different incidents. “I suppose he’s probably threatened a
dozen people over the years when he’s been drunk, but all of them are still
alive.”

“He was
violently angry that day,” Thorston reiterated.

“That was
months ago,” said Tasheka. “What have you done for me lately?”

“A few
days before the murder,” Thorston countered, “all the members of the Lakeside
Golf Club received a brochure from the club. It detailed upcoming fees, hours
of operation, the names of staff and events planned for the new season.”

“So?”
Tasheka asked. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“At the
back of the brochure there was a recap of last year’s tournament. It showed all
the matches, including the one where Tim Murphy beat Mike Power. But Power had
used a pair of scissors to remove Tim Murphy’s name and then he had cut his
name into little pieces. McNab found the scraps in a garbage can and literally
pieced them back together on his desk.”

“He is
relentless, isn’t he?”

“He’s very
interested in Mike Power,” Thorston said with conviction. “Do you know the
woman who works for him?”

“Yes, of
course. Gina’s a single mother who’s lived in Lakeside her whole life.”

Thorston
pursed his lips. “She’s the supervisor of Mike’s store. She has flexible hours,
good pay, and a position of authority that she likes. If the kids are sick or
if school is canceled, Mike lets her stay home. She can walk to work. It’s
perfect.”

“You’re
saying she may have lied about the alibi to protect Mike?”

“To
protect her job,” Thorston clarified. “I’m not saying for one minute that Ms.
Dawson is lying, but the brain is a tricky little bird. She may be mistaken
about the time.”

“It’s
possible. It’s more likely that she is lying about it, but I don’t believe Mike
Power killed anybody. Does your partner really suspect him?”

Thorston
looked straight ahead as they turned down Green Lane. “McNab suspects everyone.
He’s been around long enough to know that sometimes round pegs fit into square
holes. Things aren’t always as they seem, and the obvious is worth no more
consideration than the hidden. There are several people of interest to us. We
have our eye on Jake Thompson and Henrietta Gable, too, among others.”

“I knew it was only a matter of
time,” Tasheka said. “Do you suspect me, Thorston?”

Chapter
Eleven

“Tell me
about Henrietta’s relationship with Tim Murphy,” Thorston responded, suddenly
looking very uncomfortable.

“Henrietta
definitely didn’t kill him,” Tasheka said with absolute conviction.

“How can
you be so sure? Were you there when he was killed?”

She
smirked at him.

“Henrietta
Gable had a history with him, you know. How can you be sure Henrietta Gable did
not kill him?”

“How do
you know your mother would not sell you to gypsies for five dollars?”

He burst
out laughing as they pulled into her driveway. “What’s that got to do with
anything?”

“Sometimes
you just know things. Would you have to witness your mother turning away
gypsies to be sure she would not sell you?”

“Point
taken, but not conceded. Until we catch the killer, I will do as my partner
does, and that means that I have to suspect everyone.” He pulled up to the
house. “Your mother isn’t home yet. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here with you
until she gets back.”

Tasheka
turned to him and the lights from her home illuminated the interior of the car.
Tasheka could see Thorston’s handsome face, his big, strong hands, and his eyes
gleaming with desire for her. He laughed nervously.

“What’s so
funny?” she asked.

“Nothing,”
he replied.

“Are you
fascinated with me?”

“Do you
think I’m fascinated with you?”

“Only you
can answer that.”

“How would
you feel if I was?”

“I
wouldn’t like it,” Tasheka said bluntly.

“Why?” he
asked softly.

“I
wouldn’t want you to be fascinated with me,” Tasheka said in businesslike voice
as she fixed her hair, “because fascination is temporary. It’s a fad. Little
boys are fascinated with the frogs they catch, but they toss them aside when
the fascination ends. I don’t play that game. With me, you check fascination at
the door.”

“Fair
enough.”

“Do
you
suspect me?” Tasheka asked. “Do
you
think I killed Father Tim?”

Thorston
slowly turned to her and their eyes met. “Why would I suspect you?”

“Your theory,”
she retorted, leaning back, “or rather your partner’s theory of suspecting
everyone.”

“Within
the confines of reason,” he qualified. “But tell me what you know about
Henrietta Gable. Paint a personality profile as if I’m a stranger who never saw
her but wants to know her through your description alone.” He crooked an
eyebrow. “Up for the challenge?”

“Henrietta
is an artist, a very good one, but she doesn’t make much money. She’s done a
few local shows and she sells a number of charcoal drawings and watercolors,
but for the most part she lives day to day. Her husband drives long-haul, and
he’s away from home so much she’s basically on her own. The only income she has
is from her painting and the few dollars Baxter can spare after paying his
child support. They’re very poor.”

“All
right.”

“An
elderly man hired Henrietta as a nurse. She made him nice meals, washed his
clothes, cleaned his house and played checkers with him. He grew very fond of
her and said he would leave his money to her, some two-hundred thousand
dollars.”

Thorston
pursed his lips. “That’s a lot of money, especially in her circumstances.”

“She lives
in a rundown trailer and lives on hot dogs and tomato soup. To Henrietta, this
money would have been a fortune. But she never received a cent.”

“Why?”

“You tell
me,” Tasheka said, “because I’m sure you know by now.”

“All
right,” Thorston began with a lively gleam in his eyes. “About a month before
he died, the man Henrietta was caring for started receiving visits from Tim
Murphy. All his life the old man lived like a hermit and he was a penny pincher
of the first order. He thought he could find happiness in a fat bank account,
but when he got sick and realized the end was near, Tim Murphy learned about
his situation and sold him an acre in heaven in exchange for all his money.”

“Very
good, detective,” Tasheka said, genuinely impressed.

“Now,
you,” Thorston encouraged.

“The old
man changed his will and made the church in Lakeside his sole beneficiary, with
Father Tim entrusted to use the money in whatever way he saw fit. Father Tim
set up a shadow account called the Henderson Fund. He used the Henderson Fund
to finish the eighteenth hole on the Lakeside Golf Club and for his trouble was
given a share in the club’s profits, to be paid to the Henderson Fund, of
course. This gave him the distance he wanted.”

“Why would
he invest in a golf club? That seems risky.”

“Father
Tim was sure the Lakeside Golf Club was about to explode in popularity and
vastly appreciate in value. He saw the way the city is growing and sprawling
out toward Lakeside. He had no idea other investors were going to open another
club closer to the city and sap away most of Lakeside’s potential clientele.
The investment proved not to be so lucrative after all. The eighteenth hole
turned out to be less of an investment than a mere cosmetic change, and a
costly one at that.”

“Did you
know Tim Murphy’s mother’s maiden name was Henderson?” Thorston asked.

“No,”
Tasheka said with surprise. “He never told me that.”

“So,” said
Thorston, returning to the subject, “he scared the old man into believing he
was going to hell if he didn’t sign his money over to the Henderson Fund.”

“And it
worked. The old man changed his will and cut Henrietta out of the loop. Father
Tim ended up walking away with her golden egg.”

“Did you
hear about the rat?” Thorston asked.

Tasheka
lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “What rat?”

“A week
before the murder, Tim Murphy found a rat hanging on the rectory door. He was
understandably not amused and called the police, just like he had after that
nasty little run-in with Mike Power.”

“People do
all kinds of crazy things when they get angry,” Tasheka said, “but anger is a
quantum leap from murder.”

“Henrietta
definitely had a reason to hold a grudge,” Thorston said, “but with Mike Power
there is the added link to the precise murder scene in particular.”

“True, but
Henrietta also has a link, I suppose.”

“How so?”

“Dead
Man’s Oak is the showpiece of the final hole. Since the money Henrietta was
promised ended up paying for the construction of that hole, it, in general, and
Dead Man’s Oak in particular, became a symbol of how she was wronged. But even
though Henrietta was upset, anger is a normal human emotion. If you were down
on your luck and felt you had been robbed, I’m sure you’d have been unhappy,
too.”

“But would
it make me unhappy enough to kill?”

“The real
question is if you consider Henrietta a suspect, you have to ask yourself why
she would cut off his hand.”

“The same
reason a man would, I suppose,” Thorston said, “because some killers are nuts.”

Tasheka
shook her head. “In my studies of serial killers, I have noted that men often
dismember bodies for trophy parts, but women seldom do. The only exception that
immediately comes to mind is Carol Bundy of California. She allegedly placed
the heads of decapitated victims in the refrigerator and later the heads were
even taken out and used for sex acts, but she had a male accomplice and the
motivation for keeping trophy parts may have been his. As a rule, women just
don’t cut off hands and feet for hedonistic purposes and, without question, the
severed hand is the key to this crime. Until you find a reason why someone
would want to cut off Father Tim’s hand, you cannot find the killer.”

“Maybe the
key does lie in the hand,” Thorston agreed, “but it might not be so obvious.
Possibly Henrietta Gable envisioned Tim Murphy using his right hand to sign
documents that took away her money. Maybe she reads tea leaves and the hand
came to her in a vision. There is nothing stranger than the human mind. It is a
machine with emotions, memories, fears, and anger.” He paused and rubbed his
hands. “McNab had a case years ago where a man killed three college girls. No
one knew why he did it until he confessed that when he was in elementary
school, a student teacher, a college girl, had made him stand with his face to
the wall in front of his classmates. From that one seemingly trivial experience
he developed such a hatred for college women that he actually ended the lives
of three people. He murdered them because someone decades earlier had
embarrassed him. You’re right, the hand could be a key, but it could so obscure
that the connection might never be discovered.”

“You know
what my mother says about me?” Tasheka asked him, staring straight ahead.

“What?”

“She says
I’m stubborn.”

“Are you?”

“I like
doing jigsaw puzzles,” Tasheka said. “Once I start, I will not stop until it’s
finished. The house could be burning down and I can’t tear myself away from
it.”

“If I ever
need help with a jigsaw puzzle,” he said, “I’ll know who to call.”

She
laughed, but only shortly. “Murder is a puzzle, Thorston. Every murder has
clues, histories, and interconnecting pieces. It’s just a matter of putting it
all together. In this case, without question, the amputated hand is the key.
It’s everything.”

“That may
or may not be the case, but there’s one more thing I’m going to tell you.
Again, let me emphasize that this is between you and me.”

“That’s
already been agreed.”

“I looked
through the files regarding the incident with Henrietta Gable. Though the whole
thing was swept under the rug, when Murphy saw the rat, he went outside and
searched the grounds. He found Henrietta hiding in the bushes and must have
just missed her little act of protest. Anyway, he confronted her and touched
her upper arm, apparently to lead her into the open. She violently pushed his
hand away and said something of great interest.”

“Yes?”
Tasheka asked, waiting expectantly.

“She said,
and I quote from the official report: ‘If you touch me, I’ll cut your goddamned
hand off.’”

“I see.”

“Tim
Murphy was right handed. He would have touched her with his right hand, the
hand that did eventually meet with that fate.”

“This
isn’t common knowledge,” Tasheka noted.

“Nor do I
want it to be. The situation was resolved peacefully, but Murphy was upset
enough that he did want it in the police files. I thought you should know.”

Headlights
lit up the driveway and Mrs. Green pulled into her parking spot. Henrietta was
sitting beside her in the passenger seat. They got out, waved to Tasheka and
Thorston, and then hurried into the house.

Tasheka
suddenly placed her hand on Thorston’s thigh and lightly trailed her fingers
upward, slowly feeling his cock. Their eyes locked. “Now that you’ve been with
a black woman,” she said, “what’s your assessment?”

“You know
the old saying,” he said, breathing shallowly. “Once you go black, you never go
back.”

Just as
quickly as she touched him, she pulled her hand away. She got out of the car
and smiled. Thorston returned the smile, albeit looking somewhat confused, and
then backed up and drove away. Tasheka turned the doorknob but found it locked.
As she searched for her key, the door opened and Henrietta Gable stood before
her.

She was
holding a knife.

Chapter
Twelve

“Hello,
Henrietta,” Tasheka mumbled.

“Tasheka,”
Mrs. Green said, looking around Henrietta. “I’m helping Henrietta make her
world famous stew. Come in out of the cold, dear. Help me finish my Russian
black bread. Even if the world is going to the devil, we will eat like pirates
tonight.”

Tasheka
quickly walked into her home and Mrs. Green immediately locked the door. The
three women, accompanied by Kie, proceeded to the kitchen, where Henrietta was
cutting stew beef into smaller pieces. Mrs. Green was preparing dough.

“I brought
a bottle of wine,” Henrietta said, taking a huge bottle out of her wicker bag.
“Would you like a drink, Mrs. Green? Tasheka?”

“Yes,
thank you,” Mrs. Green said.

Tasheka
walked to the fridge. “I’m just going to have some ice cream, Henrietta. But thanks
anyway.”

Tasheka
scooped out a small cupful of ice cream and then sat down on a stool and
watched as the other women poured the wine. Though they tried to pretend
nothing was wrong, and raised several toasts to Christmas and friendship, the
festive atmosphere soon gave way to the one topic on everyone’s mind.

“Who do
you think the cops suspect?” Henrietta suddenly asked Tasheka.

“I have no
idea.”

Henrietta
studied Tasheka’s face. “You just spent all that time with Detective Henry and
you have no idea who the suspect is? Or should I say ‘suspects’?”

Tasheka
shrugged. “They’ve got nothing solid, I’m sure.”

Mrs. Green
shook her head. “I just hope they catch him as soon as possible. As it stands,
can you imagine letting your kids go to the sledding hill or to school without
a parent walking with them? People are terrified. It’s very unsettling.”

“The
police must be interested in someone,” Henrietta said, a tone of aggravation in
her voice. “Surely Detective Henry gave you some idea.”

Tasheka
shrugged again. “His partner said everyone is a suspect.”