Death of a Christmas Caterer (19 page)

Chapter 32

“Look, Hayley, I've gone over the facts of this case about a dozen times and nothing makes sense,” Bruce said, sitting behind his desk the following Monday as he bit into a grilled meat loaf sandwich on a whole wheat roll he had picked up at the Epi Sub & Pizza Shop on Cottage Street.

Hayley sat opposite him on an uncomfortable metal chair in his tiny, stuffy office at the
Island Times.
“But that doesn't mean you close the book on it. There has to be something we're all missing.”

“Would you mind opening the door a bit more?” Bruce said, wiping some stray ketchup off his cheek with a wadded-up napkin.

Hayley turned to see the door already half open. “Why?”

“I just want to make sure everyone knows we're simply having a professional conversation about a local murder investigation and that nothing inappropriate is going on in here.”

“I'm sure they know that, Bruce.”

“Sometimes people get the wrong idea.”

“You mean after what happened at the Christmas party?”

“Do you
have
to bring that up?”

“Is that the reason you're so nervous to be alone with me?”

“No, of course not.”

“Come on. You were never concerned about us talking in your office alone before that incident. I thought we decided to forget about that whole office-party thing.”

“Just crack the door open some more, would you, please, Hayley?”

Hayley sighed, reached over, grabbed the handle, and opened the door all the way before calling out, “In case anyone out there is wondering, Bruce and I are having a strictly professional, work-related dialogue about his next column. Is everyone clear on that?”

There was a single “yeah” from the sales office.

Everyone else was out to lunch.

“Thanks for that,” Bruce said, frowning.

“Let it go, Bruce. I did the morning after it happened.”

Hayley suspected that the silly groping incident was far more magnified in Bruce's mind because it brought up some unresolved feelings he might still have for her, but there was no way she was ready to delve into that discussion, given the drama she was currently juggling with Aaron and Lex.

“I'm not even sure what to write about in my column anymore. I'm as stumped as the police are.”

“There are questions you can raise, Bruce. For instance, Sergio found a lit pipe in Garth Rawlings's hand.”

“So?”

“So, if someone is smoking a pipe, doesn't that suggest he was casually minding his own business right before he was killed?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And if Sabrina's findings are to be believed—that Garth suffered massive internal injuries, which was what killed him—how does that square up with him smoking a pipe? That would mean the killer had to get inside the locked warehouse somehow, beat him to death, then take the time to light a pipe and put it in between his fingers before fleeing the scene! It's a ridiculous scenario!”

“What if someone bludgeoned him outside the warehouse, attacked him on the street, but he was still alive after they left, and he managed to stumble back inside and lock the door, but then died from his injuries before he had the chance to call for help?”

“That still doesn't explain the lit pipe! Wouldn't you call 911
before
you took the time to light up a pipe and smoke it?”

“It sure is a head-scratcher. I'll give you that,” Bruce said, polishing off his sandwich and tossing the napkin, the wrapped wax paper the sandwich came in, and a crumpled brown bag into the wastebasket next to his desk.

“Sergio examined the pipe. The only fingerprints he found belonged to Garth Rawlings. So Garth lit that pipe himself
before
whatever happened to him happened.”

“Okay, so what do you want me to do?”

“Just keep the story alive. I don't want this case to be swept under the carpet. I want whoever is responsible to know we're not letting this go, and eventually we're going to nail him.”

“You mean Nick Ward.”

“Yes.”

“You are one hundred percent certain it's him?”

“Yes.”

“Even though there isn't a shred of evidence that implicates him?”

“Yes.”

“So you're relying on your woman's intuition?”

“That's a sexist term, Bruce. I prefer ‘gut instinct. '”

“Fine. Whatever. I'll keep writing about the case. But if you ask me, this is one mystery that is going to remain unsolved.”

Hayley took that as a personal challenge.

She stood up and stepped outside the office. “Thank you for that very enlightening review of the case, Bruce. You're a crackerjack crime reporter and I am happy to report to everybody within earshot that there was not even a mild flirtation going on during our constructive conversation.”

Hayley heard giggling coming from the sales office.

Bruce came out from behind his desk and angrily slammed his door shut.

Hayley had not taken her lunch hour yet, so she closed out her computer, threw on her winter jacket, and headed to her car. She drove directly over to the building that housed Garth Rawlings's kitchen warehouse. She wasn't sure why. She just thought walking around the outside of the building once or twice might tell her something she may not have thought of previously. She knew there were no windows for an assailant to enter through. The only way inside was through that locked door. When she parked her car out front, she noticed that Lex's construction office next door looked closed up and deserted. She assumed the guys were probably out doing a contracting job at a local residence. The yellow police tape draped across the front door of Garth's office had finally been removed by the police, indicating Sergio felt there was no further need to scour the inside for clues.

Hayley got out of her car and circled around the building.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

She walked back to the front of the warehouse.

She felt a chill.

Not from the cold wintry air.

It was more like a feeling.

As if someone was watching her.

She scanned the area.

No sign of anyone.

She was definitely alone.

Maybe Bruce was right and this case would just remain an unsolved mystery.

She started crunching through the hardened snow back to her car; then a heavy wind gust blew through and she heard a rattling sound.

Hayley pivoted to see the door to Garth's office bang against the hinges.

That wouldn't happen if the bolt had been slid securely in place.

Hayley raced over and turned the knob.

She opened it and poked her head inside. “Hello?”

No answer.

She quietly entered, shutting the door behind her.

She decided that this would be her last chance to find anything that would shed some light on what really happened that fateful night. And if her final search of the crime scene turned up nothing, she would be done investigating.

After nearly thirty minutes of wandering around the kitchen, her last-ditch, spur-of-the-moment fishing expedition was officially over.

She found nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Bruce was right.

Garth Rawlings's death was going to be an unsolved mystery perhaps featured on a couple of true-crime shows, like the Investigation Discovery network or CBS's
48 Hours Mystery,
but otherwise soon forgotten.

She was about to turn to leave, when a bag was suddenly thrown over her head and arms of steel encircled her, pinning her arms to her side. The attacker lifted her violently up off the ground. She struggled mightily in his grasp as he half carried, half dragged her over to the far end of the warehouse before releasing her with one arm and wrapping the other around her neck in a choke hold while reaching for something. She heard some kind of door open; and before she knew what was happening and could tear the bag off her head to get a look at her assailant, she was shoved inside a bitter-cold space. Her head smacked against something hard. She grabbed at it and it felt like a big slab of frozen beef.

She knew exactly where she was—the walk-in freezer that Garth kept his food stored in so it wouldn't spoil.

She finally managed to rip the bag off her head just as the door slammed shut, enveloping her in darkness. She ran over and pounded on it, but she knew in her heart that it was hopeless. The person who threw her in here was already gone.

Hayley reached for her cell phone.

No bars.

No signal.

No way to call anyone for help.

It was only a matter of time before she would succumb to the harsh freezing temperature and the lack of oxygen.

Someone had left her here to die.

Chapter 33

Panicked, Hayley banged on the steel freezer door for almost five minutes, screaming at the top of her lungs for help, but to no avail. There was no one outside. She felt so helpless. Her lips quivered and her whole body shivered. She hugged herself in a vain attempt to keep warm. She was angry she didn't fight back harder against her attacker. Deliver a swift kick to his shins. Maybe he would have loosened his grip long enough for her to get away. But that was all hypothetical. The reality was she was stuck in here and she was now in a very serious and deadly situation.

She used the light from her cell phone to look around. There were just stacks of frozen meats and vegetables and cartons of ice cream. A couple of hanging slabs of beef were there. Nothing she could use to aid in any kind of escape. The freezer door was sealed up tight. Her phone was already flashing its low battery signal. Once her phone was dead, she would be in total blackness, left all alone with her last thoughts before eventually succumbing to hypothermia.

She sank to the floor and hugged her knees. There was nothing for her to do. She wondered who would find her, how long it would take. Her kids would call Sergio when she didn't come home. Sergio would contact Aaron. There would be a thorough search around town: the
Island Times,
Drinks Like A Fish, all of the places she normally frequented. Sergio would sweep her house and office for clues, but he wouldn't find anything suggesting she was at Garth Rawlings's kitchen warehouse. The last person she spoke to was Bruce, and she gave no indication where she was going when she left him—only that she was taking her lunch hour. Then Sergio would check all the local restaurants that were open this time of year. And would turn up nothing. No one would have seen her. She drove over to the warehouse almost on a whim. That meant someone had to be following her and was afraid of what she might find here.

How long? How long would it take before someone finally opened the freezer and found her frozen corpse? Days? Weeks? Months? The only person who used this place was very much dead.

She wanted to close her eyes.

Fall into a deep sleep.

At least, then, she would finally escape this arctic hell.

Her eyelids were heavy.

Her fingers were numb.

She hugged herself more tightly.

It wouldn't be long now.

Hayley fought the urge to close her eyes, but the idea of relief from her surroundings was overpowering.

She was giving up.

Her last thoughts were of her children.

And how much she loved them and would miss them.

And then everything went black.

She wasn't sure how long she was out before she felt a pair of hands grabbing her coat.

She was weak.

Disoriented.

Confused.

Unable to move.

Like a deadweight.

Someone dragged her slowly across the floor.

When her eyes fluttered open, they hurt from a blazing fluorescent light. She brought her hand to her face, covering them until they could adjust to the harsh light.

She finally managed to focus on someone standing over her, a woman, holding a stack of blankets. When she knelt down to wrap Hayley in them, trying to bring her body temperature back up, Hayley saw her face clearly.

“Tiffany . . .”

“How the hell did you lock yourself inside the freezer, Hayley?”

Hayley coughed. Her body was still spasming from the shivering cold.

“I didn't. . . . Someone . . . put me there—”

“What? Are you serious? Who?”

“I don't know. . . .”

Hayley was slowly coming back to life.

She checked her hands for frostbite, but they looked okay.

Tiffany scooted to the kitchen and made some hot coffee and cranked the heat in the warehouse to eighty degrees. After about twenty minutes Hayley started to feel a little better.

“We should get you to the hospital so they can check you out,” Tiffany said. “Can you walk?”

“No, I'm fine, Tiffany. I don't need to go to the hospital. How did you find me?”

“The building's owner called this morning and said if I cleared out Garth's belongings by New Year's Day, he would let me out of the lease. So I dropped by to take a quick inventory and see what kind of moving job I was going to be faced with. Then I went to rent a U-Haul and decided to start with the freezer first, and there you were balled up on the floor, passed out.”

“If you hadn't come along . . .”

“You would have frozen to death. Yes, I saved your life. You see? Even adulteresses can have a good side.”

Hayley nodded. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?”

“Yes. Tiffany, when you got here, did you see anyone else around?”

“No. No one suspicious anyway. Just one of Lex Bansfield's crew, but he works right next door, so it wasn't exactly out of the ordinary.”

“Which crew member was it?”

“The foreman, I think. Nick something.”

“Nick Ward?”

“Yes. Him.”

“What was he doing?”

“He was getting in his truck as I pulled up. I waved at him, but he didn't see me. He looked like he was in a hurry. Do you think he was the one who put you in the freezer?”

“I can't say for sure, but right now I'm betting on it.”

Hayley climbed to her feet. She stumbled and swayed a bit, and Tiffany held her arm to steady her.

“I need to go—”

“Look, Hayley, we haven't exactly been the best of friends lately, and I wasn't quite prepared for you to dig so deep into my personal life, but I'm worried about you.”

Hayley stumbled toward the door that led outside the warehouse.

“Where are you going?” Tiffany asked.

“I need to get inside Lex's workshop and look around.”

“You
need
to see a doctor!”

Hayley limped out the door, leaving Tiffany to start her inventory, and crossed to the entrance to Lex's half of the warehouse. She tried the handle. It was locked. Frustrated, she jiggled it again.

“You could just ask me to let you in,” a man's voice said from behind her.

Hayley whirled around.

It was Lex.

He was climbing out of his truck as he struggled with his crutches.

“Lex, I know you're angry with me, but I just need five minutes inside your workshop. If I don't find anything, I promise I will let the whole thing go.”

Lex laughed. “Don't make promises you can't keep.”

He noticed her gripping the door handle to keep her balance.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Please, will you help me?”

He ambled over to her, using his crutches, while fishing a ring of keys from the pocket of his corduroy pants. He inserted one of the keys into the lock and swung open the door.

“After you.”

Hayley straightened herself and marched inside, taking great pains not to let on that she had nearly died twenty minutes earlier.

Lex flipped on all the lights and followed Hayley as she poked around, checking for clues. “Where is Nick Ward's desk?”

Lex pointed to a small metal table and chair in the corner. There was no file drawer or pencil holder or even a stapler nearby.

“Nick's not one for paperwork. He prefers banging nails and sawing wood. He spends more time out in the field than he does here.”

Hayley nodded and carefully scanned the workshop from top to bottom.

“What are you trying to find?”

Hayley shrugged. “How one man could kill another man when neither of them was in the same room.”

“That's crazy.”

She was just about done when suddenly she spotted something.

On the wall opposite Nick Ward's desk.

A few inches above another metal desk and chair.

“Who sits over there?”

“My intern, Hugo. Why?”

She walked over and examined it.

It was putty or some type of caulking.

“What happened here?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This. It looks like some kind of hasty repair job.”

Lex shuffled over and stood behind her, looking at the dried paste. “Beats me. Never noticed it before. Maybe it was here when we moved in.”

“Did you paint the walls when you rented the place?”

“We did. They were pretty scuffed up.”

“So this has to be a relatively recent repair. And this is the wall you share with Garth's kitchen next door, am I right?”

“Yeah. So? What are you getting at Hayley?”

“Come on.”

She led Lex back out of the workshop, not as fast as she would have liked, since she was still woozy from being in cold storage and Lex was following her on a pair of crutches.

She hurried back through the door into Garth's side of the warehouse, with Lex trying to keep up.

Tiffany was in the kitchen, stacking plates and saucepans she had laid out on Garth's long stainless-steel worktable.

“Excuse us, Tiffany, we just need to check something.”

“Oh, hello,” Tiffany said, noticing Lex.

He gave her a distracted half smile.

Hayley charged over to the far wall and started feeling it with her hands.

“Hayley, there's no way Nick somehow killed Garth Rawlings when Nick wasn't even here,” Lex said, sighing impatiently.

“Here. Look at this,” Hayley said, pointing to a small, neat hole in the wall opposite the kitchen area.

“So you think this place has termites?” Lex asked, snickering.

“This is the exact same spot on this side as the patched-up hole in your workshop.”

“I'm not following.”

“Hugo knew what happened. He slipped and said Garth was shot. And it was Nick Ward, I strongly suspect, who killed him.”

“What? How?” Tiffany asked, scurrying over to join the conversation.

“He pulled the trigger on the other side of this wall, and the bullet came through this hole into the kitchen and struck Garth as he cooked over here at his workstation.”

“But the coroner said someone beat him to death. She never said anything about him being shot,” Tiffany said, examining the neat hole in the wall.

“You have to admit, Hayley, that poses somewhat of a problem with your theory,” Lex said.

“She's wrong. She has to be,” Hayley said, grabbing her now-working cell phone. “I have to call Sergio.”