It Takes Two to Strangle (9 page)

They watched the fireworks in relative silence. Bursts of color shattered the night sky over Washington, D.C., in time to patriotic music pumped out by oversized speakers. Damon tried to enjoy the show but couldn’t. After five minutes of silence, Damon ventured a glance at Rebecca who was standing stoically beside him and staring at the fireworks. A tiny tear drop hovered at the rise of her cheek, not yet succumbing to gravity.

“Rebecca,” he said lightly. “Do we need to talk?”

“No,” she responded quickly, delicately inhaling to clear her nose. “I’m fine. Everything is just fine.”

“Rebecca. I don’t want you to be upset.” And that was true. He didn’t want to upset her. But he also wanted to go out with Bethany.

“Just shut up for a minute, Damon.”

At least he knew now how she felt about him. It wasn’t like Rebecca didn’t go out with men on occasion. She just didn’t let any of them stick around for long. Maybe he was the reason why.

Immediately after the fireworks ended, Rebecca made a perfunctory excuse and strode briskly past the canopy area in the direction of her house.

Damon’s mother and Charles Swickley walked arm in arm toward him. She wore jeans that accentuated her still-shapely legs and a pink open-necked polo.

“Damon, what in the world did you say to Rebecca?” scolded his mother. “We just saw her run off.” Lynne Lassard-Brown didn’t air her frustrations often, but she was an ardent admirer of Rebecca’s so he wasn’t surprised by the verbal attack.

“Nothing mother,” he replied.

“Well I’m sure it wasn’t nothing. You better make it right with her. She’s too good of a woman for you to lose, Damon.”

Damon silently nodded his head. He knew she was right, but that didn’t mean he was going to give up his chance with Bethany.

“Lynne and I are going to have some sherry at my place,” Charles Swickley said. “Would you like to join us?”

“No thank you, Mr. Swickley,” Damon responded politely. “I promised to help clean up here.” While he could have handled a drink in their company, Damon didn’t relish the awkward moment when he was ready to take his leave and his mother would have to decide to go with him or remain in Swickley’s company.

Rebecca’s reaction to his news about Bethany had dampened his spirits. As he stooped to pick up a discarded soda can, he heard Gerry’s familiar voice calling his name. Damon rose and saw the detective and his wife. Trina waved and then veered toward the folding tables to make two plates of food from a smattering of leftover dishes.

“Looks like I missed the fireworks,” Gerry said. While the Slomans didn’t live in Hollydale, a number of county representatives usually showed their support by attending the event.

“Is the fair going to re-open tomorrow morning?” Damon asked.

“I’m not sure,” Gerry said, digging his hands into his pockets. “The chief and commissioner are discussing it right now.”

“Have there been any major developments today?”

“I was down near Charlottesville,” he said. “Remember the couple I told you about, Tobin and Angela Corb? It turns out they both have criminal records, and his includes more than one fistfight. There was enough evidence of violence in the database to justify taking a trip down to Charlottesville where all of his arrests were made.”

“Any luck?” Damon asked.

“No, other than verifying Tobin’s predilection for solving his problems with physical force.”

“That’s a start. Have you guys ruled out Skipper yet? I saw him here tonight with a local girl. From what I know, she’s a good kid, and he seems to be pretty upstanding himself.”

“Unless we crack Jim Riley and he gives us something on Skipper, the kid is off of our radar.”

The cell phone clipped to Gerry’s belt sounded a bland monotone chime. He put it to his ear and turned away. Gerry’s voice grew animated. He punched off, and turned back to Damon, his face beaming in the glow of the streetlights.

“That was Margaret,” he said. “Jordan Hall just turned himself in for Lirim’s murder.”

Damon wasn’t naïve enough to believe that physicians were above reproach or even above murder, but he hadn’t seen it in Dr. Hall.

“According to Margaret, he’s claiming self-defense,” Gerry said. “We’ll see what that means. I have to go now. I’m not sure if he’s going to make a statement or hire a lawyer right away.”

“You really think he’d talk without a lawyer?”

“He’ll get one eventually, but on the rare occasion when a person turns himself in, we usually get a statement straight away. Of course, I’ve never heard of anyone turning himself in for murder.”

Gerry took off in a fast walk toward his wife, spoke briefly to her, pecked her on the cheek and sprinted for his squad car, leaving her standing with full plates of food.

Chapter 8

When Damon reached home, he promptly stripped down to his boxer shorts and started doing push-ups on the hardwood floor. It was one of his preferred stress relief techniques. He switched to stomach crunches and completed several hundred before collapsing flat on his back on the sweat-covered floorboards.

His mind raced from Bethany to Rebecca to Jordan Hall and even to his mother. Since his teenage years, he had always had mixed success with the fairer sex but never had the problem facing him now. He checked himself—he didn’t actually have two women desperate for his attention. Rebecca had demonstrated her feelings toward him in an unmistakable manner. But Bethany simply agreed to see a show with him at the Kennedy Center.

Damon knew Rebecca hadn’t intentionally stamped out his euphoria, but Damon couldn’t help but feel a modicum of resentment. He decided to wait out the situation. Rebecca was lighthearted and prone to flippant commentary, but she also had a sincere side that Damon, in an uncommon bout of optimism, believed would allow her to be happy for him.

His thoughts leapt to Clara. How would she react to Jordan’s confession? Maybe she would be looking for a shoulder to cry on. Damon immediately felt guilty. The woman’s boyfriend just admitted to killing her father and all he could think about was the sway of her hips.

He tore off several sheets of paper towel from a stand on the kitchen counter and mopped sweat from the foyer floor. Within minutes he was immersed in the bathtub under a thick layer of white frothy bubbles. He tipped his head back into the steaming hot water, dipping his ears below the surface.

Why had Jordan Hall killed Lirim? It was possible that Lirim’s degradation of Clara had gone too far and made Jordan snap. And Jordan was African American. Had Lirim’s vitriol stretched into racial epithets?

Damon wondered whether Jordan’s claim to self-defense was just an excuse. How could strangling someone with a clothesline that was cut from outside of Lirim’s trailer play a role in self-defense? Or for that matter, how was it possible to use two separate ligatures defensively?

One thing that did fit was the instrument used to cut the clothesline—Gerry said the murderer used an instrument that made a clean cut. Damon knew paramedics regularly used strong trauma shears to cut the clothes off of injured patients. It wouldn’t have been difficult for an emergency room doctor like Jordan Hall to lay hands on a pair.

Sleep came in erratic episodes and Damon woke feeling tired. He retrieved a text e retrived
 
Liz de la Cruz sent him late the previous night. She had spoken with the county commissioner and the fair was scheduled to reopen that morning.

Damon arrived at the fairgrounds just before ten o’clock. He wanted to ensure that the reopening went smoothly.

He took in a morning magic show at the amphitheater, then walked toward the line of silver trailers at the rear of the fairgrounds. He spotted Victor McElroy loading boxes into the trunk of a late model two-tone Chevy Caprice. Damon hadn’t spoken with Victor since Lirim’s body had been discovered. He cautiously approached the stocky man.

“Victor, sorry to hear about Lirim,” Damon said.

Victor hadn’t noticed Damon approach and looked up. After a moment of confusion, he recognized Damon. “It sucks. And now I’m out on the street.”

“Jim Riley fired you?” Damon asked, trying to hide his surprise.

“Just like that,” he said with resentment. “Two days after Lirim is gone, and I’m gone, too. I never did anything but bust my ass for this company and what good does it do me? None. That’s what.”

Damon was amazed at Victor’s vitriol, but he remained silent. Pointing out that he had been cheating Jim Riley wouldn’t accomplish anything.

“What are your plans from here?” Damon asked.

“I don’t know yet. The police told everyone here at the carnival not to go anywhere for a few days, but I guess that must be off the table now. Did you hear that the doctor Clara was dating turned himself in?”

“I did.”

“We all heard about it this morning. That Liz woman called Jim to tell him the fair could open.” He chewed the stub of a fingernail. “She told him about the doctor. Jim went around knocking on doors this morning telling everyone the good news.”

“Good news?”

“That they found the murderer and it wasn’t any of us. I’d call that good news.”

That made sense. But Damon still couldn’t wrap his head around Jordan using two separate strangulation devices. Could the medical examiner have been mistaken?

Victor interrupted Damon’s thoughts. “I suppose I’ll try to join on with one of the other carnival outfits. There are more of these companies than most people think.”

“Well, best of luck to you,” Damon said and walked away. Victor grunted and turned back to loading the trunk of his car. Damon thought about Victor’s Caprice—he didn’t think there were any cars that traveled with the caravan.

At the front of the fairgrounds, Damon saw Gerry Sloman stepping hurriedly down the hill from the parking lot. “Gerry!” Damon called out.

Gerry quickly approached him. Anxiety creases lined his face, and he was wearing the same clothes he had on the previous evening.

“Celebrate too hard last night?” Damon asked with artificial optimism. Damon knew that Gerry’s idea of celebrating the collar on a major case would involve a glass of wine and an early night in bed.

Gerry shook his head. “Not even close. Do you want to grab some coffee in a few minutes? At the Dunkin’ Donuts? I have to tell Jim Riley to keep all of the carnival employees in town a little longer.”

“Sure, I’ll meet you there,” Damon responded. “But you better hurry. I just saw Victor McElroy packing his bags.”

The Dunkin’ Donuts along the main commercial stretch of Hollydale had a façade of brick with attractive wooden shutters and a relatively small sign. It blended well with its surroundings and made a charming storefront.

The inside was modest but well-kept and had the luxury of a second floor. The upstairs bore enough space for four tables, two of which straddled a balcony overlooking the doughnut and bagel counter below.

Damon purchased a large black coffee and found an empty table on the second level. Only one other table was occupied, and the couple gathered their trash and departed just before Gerry climbed the stairs ten minutes later.

Gerry flopped down heavily in the chair opposite Damon and rubbed both eyes.

“Hold on, Gerry,” Damon said. “Let me get you a hot coffee.”

He returned with the largest cup they sold, a whole grain bagel and a glazed doughnut. He set the mass of nourishment in front of Gerry, then ran back down to load his hands with creamer, sweetener and cream cheese. He spilled the accoutrements on the table. Gerry grinned and said, “Do I look that bad?”

Damon gave him a big smile in return, “I’ve never seen you look better, man.”

“I only slept for two hours last night, and that was at my desk.” He looked beat.

“So at the end of a double shift, a weary policeman pulls over a car for speeding,” Damon said, trying to raise Gerry’s spirits. “He looks the speeder over and says, ‘Your eyes look bloodshot, have you been drinking?’ The man gets indignant and retorts, ‘Officer, I couldn’t help but notice your eyes look glazed, have you been eating doughnuts?’”

Gerry laughed. “Thanks, Damon, I needed that.”

“So did Jordan give you a statement?” Damon asked.

Gerry slathered cream cheese on the bagel, took a huge bite and covered his mouth with the back of his hand. “He did. It was just the wrong one.”

Damon waited for Gerry to continue. He was happy to lend Gerry an ear.

“He didn’t ask us for a lawyer. Margaret and I put him in an interview room and he told us his story. It was a story all right. It sounded wrong right from the start.”

“Can you tell me what he said?”

“No, but I will. I need to talk about it with someone.” Gerry inhaled deeply, breathing in the sweet-smelling air that filled the doughnut shop. “Jordan said he left the hotel room at midnight after Clara was asleep and drove over to the fairgrounds. He parked in the elementary school lot and walked down to Lirim’s trailer. That would have been around 12:15, which is when the bonfire was breaking up, so the timing is reasonable. Margaret asked him which trailer Lirim was in. Jordan said the one at the end.”

 
“But he would have known that,” Damon said. “When he and Clara arrived at the fairgrounds on Thursday morning, there were police all over Lirim’s trailer.”