Heart-Shaped Box (Claire Montrose Series) (10 page)

Tyler’s gaze examined each of them in turn, but he was answered by silence. A few people shook their heads.

“
And if Belinda was the one who found the body, then where is she?”

Claire answered. “She stayed back at the casino, I guess. She was really starting to loose it.”

As they were talking, the cop named Greg - who looked no more than twenty - bagged the heart-shaped box and put it in his trunk. Then he took out a roll of yellow crime scene tape. He began to mark out a rough square, about two hundred yards on each side, with Cindy’s body in the center. He wrapped the tape around light poles and, in one case, around the antennae of a car, a gray Dodge Dart spotted with rust patches.

“
Hey, that’s my car,” said Jim. “And I have to go home tonight.”

“
Not in that car, buddy,” Tyler said. “That car is now officially part of the crime scene, at least until I say otherwise. Tell the hotel that I asked them to comp you a room.” He raised his voice. “Greg, take these people back to the Hoe-Down Room. Tell Marc to get their names, addresses and phone numbers, as well as room numbers if they are staying here. Then I need all of you to not leave until I can talk to each of you. I hafta to ask all of you about what happened tonight. And don’t go talking about this case with each other while you’re waiting. We need you to tell us only what you saw, not what someone else thinks they saw.”

Greg lifted up the crime scene tape, and they dipped under it, one by one. When they left, Tyler was methodically walking from corner to corner of the crime scene, taking photos of the body from every angle. Claire flinched at every burst of light from the flash.

Tyler’s idea that they would be sequestered from the other reunion-goers evaporated the minute they approached the hotel. Greg was no match for the two-dozen people who surrounded them as soon as they entered the lobby, asking if it was true, if Cindy Weaver were really dead. The group who had found her body was the center of attention. Questions buzzed past them.

“
What happened to her?”

“
Was she shot?”

“
What did she look like?”

“
How long had she been dead?”

Jessica took center stage, her low voice pitched to cut through the din. “It’s true. Cindy Weaver Sanchez is dead.” There was a pause between each word. Jessica could have been announcing the passing of a queen. “When we found her, Cindy was lying on her back like this.” She dropped to her knees in the entryway. Twisting one leg behind her in imitation of Cindy’s awkward sprawl, she lay back on the carpet, which was patterned to look like a Pendleton blanket. Her denim skirt crept up her legs until it reached her crotch, but Jessica didn’t seem to mind. “She had been savaged. Her blouse had been ripped open, her skirt was up around her waist.” Jessica sat up on her elbows, her hands at her throat. “And there were these terrible marks on her throat.”

“
That’s enough, lady.” Greg barked, finally realizing he had to take control of the scene. “You heard what my boss said - no talking to each other about the scene. Get up off the floor.” Jessica didn’t move until he extended a hand.

“
Greg, what is happening here?” The other cop appeared on the scene, shaking his head. “This way, people, this way.” He led them back to the Hoe-Down Room Claire had been planning on leaving thirty minutes before. Now it looked like she was in for a long night.

They sat back in their same places. Dante handed her her gin and tonic. Slivers of ice were still floating in the glass.

When she reached out for it, Claire realized she was shivering, a fine quaking shiver that ran up her back, down her arms, and out through her trembling fingers.

Dante scooted his chair next to Claire’s and put his arm around her. “You’re still shaking.”

“
You are, too.” It was true. Dante looked as if he wanted to forget what he had seen. Now that there was nothing to occupy him - no one to direct, no one to soothe, no pulse to check - Dante seemed to have lost his bearings. He picked up his half-full glass and put it down again without taking a sip.

“
The only other time I’ve seen a dead body that wasn’t lying in a coffin was that one time that guy fell out the window.” Claire knew what he was talking about, a man who had fallen sixteen stories while they both watched, horrified. “You didn’t have to get too close to know that guy was dead. But tonight - I was hoping when I touched her throat that I would feel something. Just a faint, thready pulse.” He closed his eyes, but she could still see his eyes moving underneath the lids, as if he were replaying what had just happened, only making everything right. “But the minute I touched her, I knew she was dead.”

Marc, the older cop, had to shout to be heard over the babble of voices. “Okay, people, now listen up. Me and Greg here are gonna take your names and addresses. We will also ask you your whereabouts during last two hours. And if you are one of those people that found Cindy’s body, then our chief of police is going to want to debrief you. Tonight.” There were scattered groans and a comment about how late it was getting. “Settle down, people. We’ll get you out of here as quick as we can. In the meantime, we don’t want any of you who were out in the parking lot comparing notes about what you might have seen or heard.”

The room seemed even more crowded than it had been before Cindy’s body was found. But Claire noticed that one table remained empty, a silent island in the middle of several dozen chattering people. The table where Cindy had sat - empty now, except for the glasses marked with her lipstick.

GON4EVR

Chapter Eight

From the interview with Kevin Sanchez

The night manager had vacated his own office for Tyler. It was a narrow, windowless space. Three sides were lined with wire shelving stacked with cardboard boxes. There was scant room for the scarred metal desk. On a section of shelving sat the things that had once been on the desk: a Rolodex, a hand-made ashtray, a lumpy ceramic pot holding pens and pencils, and a framed picture of a woman and a young girl. When Kevin saw this last he pressed his lips together so hard they turned white. His eyes were red from weeping, his voice hoarse from screaming his wife’s name.

“
First of all, Mr. Sanchez, I want to thank you for your cooperation at such a difficult time. Your wife,” Tyler sighed noisily, “your wife was a beautiful woman. I want you to know that we’re gonna catch this guy.”

Kevin nodded, his face drawn. “Thanks.”

“
There’s a couple of things I need to get out of the way. I’m gonna need to take your picture so that I can show it to the hotel staff. That way, if they tell me they saw Cindy with a man, and then they point at your photograph, I’ll be able to rule that out, okay? You being her husband and all.”

A curt nod. “All right. If that’s what you need to do.”

Tyler looked through the viewfinder of the Polaroid camera, then put it down again. “What’s that mark on your shirt?” It was dark brown, a roughly oval blotch about the size of a half-dollar.

Kevin looked down, but his view was blocked by the open collar of his white dress shirt.

“
There. Just below your left shoulder.”

“
What are you - oh, God. It looks like blood. I guess that’s what it must be. Cindy’s blood.” He touched it gingerly, tenderly, almost stroking it. “When I went out there and saw her lying on that hard ground with everyone gawking at her, I just wanted to hold her. To protect her. I guess part of me knew she was dead, but I just couldn’t believe it.”

“
It’s a hard thing.” Tyler nodded in agreement. He picked up the camera and snapped the picture, leaving Kevin blinking from the flash. “I’m also gonna need your fingerprints. Same story. It makes it easier to find the perp if we have everyone else’s fingerprints on file.”

Kevin turned his hands over and looked at them. His fingers were long and narrow, unmarked by anything but the plain gold band on his left hand. While Tyler rolled his fingers on the ink pad, Kevin held his upper body rigid. From one of the restaurant’s cardboard boxes, Tyler handed him a little package of moist towellettes (the restaurant handed them out after barbecue meals), and Kevin wiped his fingers clean.

Picking up his narrow tan notebook, Tyler flipped it open. “Okay, could you please state your name, address and occupation for the record?”

“
I’m trying to be cooperative, officer, but I don’t see how this is going to help anything. Shouldn’t you be out there finding out who killed my wife instead of going through all this rigmarole?” Kevin ran his hands through his hair. There was so much gel that his fingers left furrows.

“
That’s what we are doing. I’ve got one of my men talking to the hotel staff, trying to find anyone who might have seen what happened out there. The other one’s working the crime scene, getting fingerprints and looking for any other evidence.”

“
That’s just two people. Two! You need more than that!”

“
Look, I’ve got exactly eight cops working for me. That’s to cover seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. The best I can do at any one time is two, and that’s stretching it. Right now, I’m working off the clock, but here I am, questioning anyone who was at the reunion. And don’t forget about the medical examiner. He will be looking about the time of death, et cetera. He’s already sent swabs to the lab.”

“
Swabs?”

Tyler’s words were a mumble. “From the, the body.” He began to tap his pencil rapidly on the edge of the desk.

“
But why - you don’t mean Cindy was raped, do you?” Kevin’s face paled. “Oh, God. Some son of a bitch raped and strangled my wife?” He gripped the arms of his chair until his fingers turned white.

Too late, Tyler began shaking his head. “I’m not saying that at all. We just hafta look at all the possibilities. Then we can rule them out.” Thankful to change the subject, he asked again, “So, what is your name, address and occupation?”

“
But I still don’t see why you need to ask me these stupid questions. I already gave that other cop some of the same information.”

Tyler nodded. “I understand why you feel the way that you do. But for us to catch the perp who did this, we’re gonna need information. Lots of it. If you make me give you a reason for every question I ask, it’s gonna take a lot longer.”

“
All right, then. Kevin Sanchez. 3434 Pine Terrace, Minor, Oregon. I’m a senior partner with Denight, Sanchez and Torch. That’s a law firm in Portland.”

“
And Cindy? What was her occupation?”

Kevin’s voice became high-pitched, strangled. “My God, she’s really dead, isn’t she? I keep forgetting that. Just - just a minute.” His ragged breathing filled the small space. Pressing hard, he passed his hands over his face, leaving his expression blank. “Okay. Cindy is a sales rep for Nelsons, the biggest cheerleading outfitter in the country. And she also does some consulting with local cheerleading teams.”

“
Like the Blazer Dancers.” Tyler nodded. “She told me that.”

“
Yeah. Like the, the Blazer Dancers. Like them.”

“
And how long were you two married?”

“
I still don’t why you have to ask these questions. You should be out there,” he waved his arm behind him, “finding the guy who did this to her.”

Tyler’s voice was flat. “I know this is hard, but please humor me.”

“
We’ve been married for sixteen years. Together for twenty. We met in college. I was a senior and she was a freshman.” A soft smile transformed Kevin’s face. “She was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. They used to call us day and night, because she was so blonde and I was so dark. While she finished up school, I went to law school at Lewis and Clark. We got married the same year I joined my dad’s firm. That was hard on her. Cindy never understood about those ninety-billable hour weeks. And then my dad died when he was only fifty-two. Those were big shoes to fill.”

“
What kind of law does your firm practice?”

“
Estates, mostly. It’s not a particularly dramatic area.” The police chief looked up as a tension entered Kevin’s voice. “They won’t ever make a TV show about the kind of cases I handle.

“
Why do you live in Minor instead of Portland? Isn’t that a long commute?”

“
Cindy grew up here. Even if it’s changed a lot, she still feels like this is her home turf.”

“
And how would you rate your relationship with your wife?” Tyler strove for a jovial, ‘you can tell me anything because I’ve heard it all before,’ note, but it fell flat. “Any troubles in that arena?”

There was a long silence. Kevin finally broke it, his expression now impassive, haughty. “Are you saying you are looking at me as a suspect in my own wife’s death? I think I may need to make a phone call to my attorney.”
“Look, I gotta ask the question. You know that. It’s part of the procedure.”

“
You may think that this is an area you need to examine, but let me assure you that you’re wrong. Cindy and I got along very well. She’s a beautiful woman. We’ve been - we were - married for sixteen years. We have a daughter - Alexa. Oh, God. Alexa.” He half got up from his chair, then sat back down heavily. “How can I tell her that her mother is dead?” Then Kevin interrupted himself, his voice taut with anguish, “Tell me, do you think she suffered? Do you think she was in much pain?”

“
No,” Tyler said. Perhaps too quickly. “I don’t think she suffered. It would have been over in a minute or two.”